{silence} of the {lambs} >> cassie/shadow day 4

s h a d o w b i s o n

You turned your head to the side, pressing it into the mud, keeping your eyes shut tightly. Little hands remained stationary on Cassie’s bleeding wounds even as the hot sticky liquid began to seep through to your fingers. What more could you do? (Nothing.) She had remained silent but you could feel her body shaking underneath your grip, letting you know she was still very much alive. But wasn’t Cassie immortal, just as your father was? She would fall to no sword and you were certain that she would outlive you.

That belief had been undermined by the badgers.

Cassie had blood pouring out of her the same way it did from your stomach. The only difference was that she was cut up all over her body, whereas you had received very little of the damage dealt. She could have died and it would have been directly in front of you. She wasn’t that pillar of strength and resilience you had labeled her with in the very beginning; she was mortal and bled, just as you did, and her life was fragile too. You both were as vulnerable as wildflowers in a pasture, unable to move when the stomping feet of something bigger came along and trampled them. You could try to straighten the stems as often as you wanted, but once it was crushed there was no turning back. The wildflowers quickly began to decay, losing their brief life, unable to mend themselves from the damage. Neither of you were even going to outlive the wildflowers at this rate.

If you lost her, what would you have done? Watched her be shredded just as you had watched Hope burn? The thought alone was terrifying and you absentmindedly you gripped her tighter. She suddenly meant everything to you and was the only thing left in your short life you knew you could hold onto. When all the other tributes looked down upon you, she didn’t – Cassie was the one who took you under her wing and showed you that not everything was as frightening as you perceived it to be. (“You and I, little buddy. We’ll be alright.”) Neither of you were doing very well, though. You were not holding up your end of the bargain and nor was she – you both were hurt and losing at an uphill battle. It frustrated you and slowly but surely you were realizing the deal was futile.

You hastily straightened up and let go of Cassie, resting on your knees, threw your head back and let out a scream to the rainy sky. You didn’t care who heard; all the pent-up frustration, all the anxiety, all the hatred, and all the pain fueled it, cry after cry. The scream lasted until your throat ached, burning from the use, and your ears rung from the volume. You toppled over backwards and onto your side, curling up on the muddy ground. Your little fingers dug into the soggy earth, pulling up tufts of grass as you dragged yourself closer and closer to Cassie, reaching the point to where you just pressed your forehead against her side, catching your breath.

i’m faking glory
and send a smile over
and the stories brand new
but i can take it from here
i’ll find my own bravado

s h a d o w b i s o n

”Swing like hell, fight like the devil.” The words had stuck with you ever since your father first said them in the Justice Building. He was known for using little sayings like that and you were never sure whether or not to take them literally, but this one you knew for sure: don’t ever surrender. He may have been embarrassed by you at times but he did love you and he proved it whenever the opportunity arose; the quote was just his way of saying that he wanted to see you again (if the tears in his eyes weren’t clue enough). You wanted to return to him, too, and you knew what the cost was: twenty-three lives. (Or your own life, if you wanted to return to him in a wooden box.) How many families would be mourning? How many people total would be affected? No one would ever forgive you, not even yourself. Perhaps the only merciful person in all of Panem would be your father, thankful that his son was the lone survivor.

But returning to him meant that kids just like you had to perish, including Cassie. (That would be a kind of guilt to never leave you.) If she were to live, though, then that would ultimately mean your death. Was that something you could endure willingly? Perhaps. Death was far more terrifying than any thin tendrils of shadows dancing across the ground – complete darkness, almost like being engulfed in an eternal shadow. Your father had mentioned a few times in his stories about some kind of paradise after the good knights drew their last breath, but the idea never stayed with you for very long. Now, though, as you lay in the mud and let the rain soak your tunic and patter on the side of your face, you began to give it a second thought. Maybe there was some kind of paradise where only the good folk could go; why else would anyone try to do good in their lives if it never counted for anything? (And why would it be in all of the stories if it didn’t exist?) There was a very good chance it could only be some abstract vision or fantasy – someone’s coping mechanism for fear of the unknown just blown way out of proportion – but you refused to believe anything like that. (But because you were scared or because you really did think such a thing could exist?)

You were silent, listening to the sound of rain droplets hitting the leaves of the tree above. If you hadn’t known any better you would have felt like you were right at home in Five, sheltered by the canopy of a tree next to your house. The grass tickled your skin and the musky, earthy scent was very familiar – comforting, even. You took in a deep breath, keeping your eyes shut and somehow fabricating even the smell of cow manure from the muddy aroma. (Maybe, just maybe, when you opened your eyes you would see your dad walking with that rusty pail of feed over to the trough; maybe, just maybe, you’d see the cows all trailing behind him, little calves leaping around with excitement; and maybe, just maybe, everything had been only a hellish nightmare and you’d wake up tucked away safely in bed.) Ever so slowly you tried willing yourself to open your eyes but quickly lost the courage. You knew full well where you were and so the wisps of comfort faded, leaving you feeling drained and hollow.

A light touch fell upon your back, filling some of the void with its warmth. Your eyes remained closed while you focused on the contact, mentally following it around as it drew imaginary shapes onto your shirt. The motions were unrecognizable at first until you distinguished a stick figure – then another one – standing side-by-side. (Who were they?) The finger lifted to a spot lower on your back and drew what felt like a wide heart with ridges on the bottom, but you soon recognized it to be an apple when a stem and small leaf were added. (Apple, apple – you two were in an orchard, surrounded by apples; was one stick figure you?) The artist then added what felt like wide-armed V’s up above the heads of the stick figures, leaving you to wonder what they were.

The motions certainly had calmed you down. You were resting much more peacefully, and even the pain from wounds was not causing too much grief. The sogginess of your clothes was not very bothersome anymore, either, and you were comfortable curled up on the muddy ground. For once, things were okay. Cassie’s warm presence beside you was enough of a security blanket to allow you even to consider sleeping, but she was the one who needed to rest, you reminded yourself. She was hurt and it was your turn to prove that you cared.

You opened your eyes to see the blades of grass right in front of your nose, blinking whenever rain droplets rolled too close. The trees, too, were stretched out further in your line of vision, their large apples dragging branches down even further and you were sure that a few were going to snap at any moment. A deep breath filled your lungs and spurred a small jolt of pain in your belly that you quickly ignored, choosing instead to lift an arm and reach behind you, grabbing lightly onto Cassie’s hand. You pulled it around and set her palm onto your cheek while her fingers obstructed your vision. However, you merely closed your eyes again, tuning your attention on the contact of her hand. Still you held softly onto her wrist even as you breathed in the sickly copper scent of blood from her hand. It was an odd way of saying it, but like the strange quotes your father always said, you hoped to convey the message to Cassie that you really appreciated and trusted her; that she could close her eyes and you would take care of her. (You couldn’t have made it this far without her, anyway. Maybe there would be a paradise for her too.)

i’m faking glory
and send a smile over
and the stories brand new
but i can take it from here
i’ll find my own bravado