We Are {D r e a m e r s} (Ink, Day Five)

Don't ever look back on the world closing in,
Be on the attack with your wings on the wind.
Oh the Games will begin.
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I stumble out of the tower and into the crimson expanse of sand, my good hand held up to this newest injury inflicted on me when I least expected it. My fingers become soaked almost instantly and the scarlet life slips down into the creases of my palm and then spirals down my wrist. I groan and move as far away from the tower as possible before sitting down and digging through my bag in an attempt to find something that may be of use. My fingers grip the rough fabric of the socks and I pull them out, wiping my forehead with the back of my head as best as I can before pressing one of them into the wound, hissing in pain. I should have been more careful, even if I had just finished another fight. I cringe as I raise my bad arm up, bending fingers shakily to feel the beautiful feathers. I must look like a savage now, with wounds all over, a bloody sock held up to my head, a torn black outfit, and now feathers braided into my hair.

Knowing that sitting still for a moment while waiting for the blood flow to slow would be better than pushing myself forward some more, I sigh and glance around me warily. Spotting no tributes and therefor no danger, I hunch forward and watch the fingers on my bad arm twitch as I attempt to bend them all the way, ignoring the way stabs of pain shoot through my veins and bloom at the broken point of my bone. Then my eyes are drawn toward the tattered remains of the legs of my tribute uniform. Why not? All they're doing now is slowing me down. And so I drop the sock for a moment and quickly tear them off halfway down my thighs before the blood becomes too much, blinding me in one eye, and I have to press my sock back into it. Gripping the black material between my fingers as firmly as possible I use my teeth to tear it into strips and then drop the sock again to wrap half of the fabric around my entire arm. It's hard work and by the time I've finished have my face is stained scarlet, but at least the blood that had been leaking out of the wound in my arm has stopped and it looks a little better.

My eyes are drawn to the clean sock and I cringe slightly, knowing what I must do but also the pain that will be involved. I pick it up and dig my teeth into the fabric, which is tougher. My fingers have to grasp it tighter and my arm feels like it's lit on fire. Tears tumble down my cheeks, leaving trails through the red, but my face remains frozen in determination. I almost smile when I hear the satisfying rip that means my success, and after what seems like an eternity, I've managed to rip the sock in half. After my feat is accomplished, I sigh tiredly, enjoying the bliss of feeling the pain in my arm lessen. But I can't keep resting forever and so I gently fold the thicker half of the sock so that it forms a little rectangle that should absorb the blood well. I drop my now crimson sock and replace it with the cleaner half, using a few of the remaining black strips to tie it into place. By this point, the blood flow is slowing, and I know I have to keep moving.

That stupid kid! Whoever he was, he did some serious damage. I look upward automatically when I silently wish to see his face in the sky. If someone else doesn't do it, I'll do it myself. This thought pulls me up short, and I blink. Suddenly, I have a purpose in these Games. An idea. An offensive plan. Revenge. I know that it's not the best thing to follow, but I can't exactly play fair and kind. Not here. I rise to my feet, and a name suddenly rings clear in my mind. Julian. I press my lips together tightly and look back in the direction of the tower. I can't fight him today- he looked in great condition, and I doubt I can take much more damage. But some other day, some other time... I will find him. I will not hesitate to attack.

He wants to take me away from them.

My hand flies to my hip, where my morning star waits, and I smile. "I'll hunt you down, Julian." I turn back toward the sand, burying my red sock in the sand and taking the other half as well as the remaining fabric strips and putting them back in my bag. I need to get moving. Find water, maybe. I can't afford to get dehydrated again. "If someone else doesn't find you first, then I will. You can count on it." I know he can't hear me, but the cameras can. The sponsors can. My family can. How must they feel right now? Proud that I am doing well? Hoping I'll come home more than ever? Or are they disgusted, saddened, afraid? Do they hate me because I've turned into this unrecognizable thing? It's all for them, though. For the nights of singing in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace and the stories Luke would tell us and Imi's cool hand waking me during the nightmares. I'm fighting for the life I no longer have.

And with that thought in mind, I run as far from this place as possible.

((OOC: Ink has used her socks and fled))