cosmo filps -- district two [fin!]

Once upon a time
I used to romanticize
Used to be somebody
Never mind
Don't miss it that much now

Within the young body of Cosmo Filps lies a Hope. Resplendent and imposing, Hope tumbles through his imperfect veins; a brilliant force seeking to cauterize the taint within his very blood. The chaste abnormality seizes hold of his mindset and purges his unsavory mental processes until the Cosmo that once was desists. Within the seventeen year-old boy now exists a promise of beatitude or an omen of atrocity. And all he has to do is wake up.

"Wake, Cosmo." Like every other time, it is impossible to identify these surroundings. The pressing sun seems to have subsided over the horizon, though it's hard to discern beneath this vibrant canopy. In its leafy entirety, the organic marquee has successfully obstructed me from investigating further; horned branches barricade me on all sides and the verdure has grown oppressively thick, giving the air a stuffy feel. An effective trap, but I get the feeling that I'm missing something. It's here. I know it is. "Cosmo, wake!"

Sheets and pillows. The damp foliage has been replaced by drab bedspread and monotonous wallpaper. It was a dream, just a dream. Just a damn dream. Like every night, the veracious reverie dispersed before I was able to find any meaning to it. The climate was unfamiliar -- damp and humid. Maybe the dream has nothing to do with District Two at all. Oceanic District Four may be humid at times, but never has it been mentioned to have a tropical aridity. Already I sense the dream draining into the deepest recesses of my consciousness where I will be unable to retrieve even the most minute detail.

From beneath my pillow I tug a leather-bound notebook. In it, elaborate descriptions of my circuitous dreams are etched infrequently throughout the yellow pages. Confounding at best, the barely-legible sprawls have no obvious connection with one another unless I count how every entry seems to mock me with its mystifying detail. My finger finds the most recent bookmark and pries the dried paper open. Hesitantly, I draw my squat pencil over the unblemished white, leaving a dark slash across the page. My fingers work mindlessly, extending that solitary line into the outline of a leaf, attaching a number of barbed vines to that and eventually constructing an image of a leafy cage. As an afterthought I add "Wake up Cosmo!" beneath the smeared illustration. That voice wasn't mine. Troubled, I set aside my work and drift back off to sleep.



"As much as we admire your perseverance, Cosmo, the answer is still, and always will be, no!" A sense of aggravation floods through me, a tint of red in everything I see. Twice in the same month my parents and I have disputed the matter of school attendance versus early labor. Comprehension is an attribute I strive for, whereas manual work is an activity I'd prefer to avoid forevermore. "I, for one, encourage you to pursue a future similar to your father's!" Hold your breath, Cosmo. Squelch your anger and tune her out. "Look at how happy your father is. A wife, a nice little house, and two brilliant boys - one of which has already begun his Peacekeeper training! Choosing the right path could very well guarantee future happiness!"

"So you'd rather I turn out like him than make something decent of myself? I'd rather die! The Peacekeepers are nothing but a corrupt group of tyrants!" My father's chair falls behind him as he stands, two large strides bringing him right in front of me. He backhands me, my chair - with me still seated in it - lunges backward. My head contacts the floor in what I'm sure is a solid sounding thunk. The room begins to spin and I am only able to concentrate on the ceiling which is plastered with dancing stars...

Black. The darkness is endless, the icy black stretching an eternity, it seems. I remain upright whereas my feet have yet to touch down on ground, so I'm either falling to my death or I've come to be in space; the place where the stars live. I raise my arms, then my legs - I am light as air. Waving my arms as if I were swimming, I am able to choose the direction in which I float.

Something's watching you.

For a moment, I'm almost too horrified at what I'll see that I refuse to turn around. I steel myself, however, and twirl around to face this would-be stalker, gut in my throat. With such a vivid imagination, I had expected countless abnormalities. A large, demonic creature waiting to devour me; a serial killer who managed to follow me up here. What I hadn't prepared for was seeing a reflection of myself. Or, almost a reflection.

Reflection Cosmo looks in bad need of a wash. His hair sticking out at all odds and ends, dirt smudged at his lips, chin, and everywhere. When he opens his eyes they're bloodshot, and the skin directly below has turned purple, hanging lower than before. Though for every difference between the two of us, there two more similarities. The almost-black, brown hair. The pimply nose. The heavy eye lashes. The full, boyish lips. The ruffled button-up shirt with the collar popped. The freckles sprinkled across the nose. The tan skin, with a build that suggests I haven't been actively working out for a while.

Fingers find fingers as I grasp for his hand. I tug insistently at his arm, willing him to open his eyes and say something. When that doesn't work, I poke at his chest: another failed attempt. I lean forward and press my forehead to his and I close my eyes - just as his snap open. "Wake up, Cosmo!" His hands grasp around my throat and squeeze. The air is pushed from my lungs and I struggle with his arms. "I said wake up!"

At first, my dreams were simple things. There were dreams in which I could fly and there were dreams in which I fought crime with extraordinary super powers. Lately though, they had transformed into something more vivid as if these weren’t just dreams – these scenes were a part of my life. Always I was trapped. Whether I be locked in a cage or caught up in nature, I was never able to escape. There would be clues; there would be times in which I was almost out – and I would wake up. After several months of this hit-and-miss, I began keeping journals. Every morning I woke in a pool of sweat, I’d grab my journal and etch out the details.

There was one dream I remember in particular: I was sitting in a large cage, a small mound of hay beneath me for comfort – but in this dream, I wasn’t alone. The man was sitting across from me, nearer to the entrance. He was very attractive – I had been questioning my sexuality long before this, so it wasn’t necessarily surprising that my heart pounded when he looked at me – but he also had an aura of danger. He didn’t speak, only stare at me. Try as I might to return the gaze, my eyes were always drawn to the floor. When he leaned forward – to hurt me or kiss me, I was never certain – I woke.



A door slams somewhere farther along in the house and I wince. Tears threaten to spill over and the heat of anger burns at the back of my throat. Why does my father not accept me? I had finally told him about my ever-changing sexuality; he had reacted by throwing his chair at the wall and stomping to his room. Hadn’t gone as I planned, but at least it’s out there. I can hear him yelling; ”Why couldn’t he have just turned out like his brother?” I rub at my temples and close my door. It hurt, knowing he didn’t approve of my current lifestyle, but it was something I could work around. With that in mind, I close my eyes, praying for another night in the stars.

I open my eyes to Hell.

Walls have been replaced by bars, uncomfortable mattress by hay. A single light shines on the area around me, the bulb much too bright to inspect. I hear the shifting of bodies in the cells next to mine and scurry to the wall, pushing myself against it as hard as I can, willing this all to be a dream so that I may wake up in five minutes, returning to my disapproving father and unpredictable mother.

Several minutes pass; then another few. I don’t wake up.

Realization hits me like ice water: I am already awake.



So basically when Cosmo was kidnapped and put in captivity for these death tournaments, he slipped into denial and has been living his past life in his head. He "wakes up" and realizes the truth toward the end. Sorry if it's confusing and horrid, it was rushed. <3

83571d -- other
947750 -- main text
c0a34e -- thought process
C08F4E -- speech
e0b57d -- other speech

-- Ever After Marianas Trench
-- Gregg Sulkin
-- Jumping on this nifty color/coding design band wagon because I can <3
-- Part of Cass' death-tournament plot
-- <img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">