my time is {up} (Willis vs Claude, Day 7)

willis keeni

afterlife. oh my god, what an awful word
after all the breath and the dirt and the fires are burnt
and after all this time, and after all the ambulances go
and after all the hangers-on are done hanging on in the dead lights of the afterglow

There is a lot of suffering and grief in the Games, but occasionally there are moments where you hold your breath. Something happens that makes you stop and stare. These moments are frozen in time, and last an eternity. Then they are gone, falling like ash into sand, and lost forever. You're left feeling empty and cold, and you feel the weight of what has happened - Good or bad. Eye Saw is dead.

"EYE, NO!" Helpless. I am absolutely helpless but to watch on as he is torn into pieces by a razor fan. Flakes of shredded red skin spray into the air as he twists with the motion of Lyric's slash. His voice catches in the air as he hits the ground with an unbelievable thump. Eye Saw is our rock - He's the guy who keeps us going, who keeps us fighting when we've given up. Eye protects us. Eye is dead. How can someone so full of life and energy be killed like that? Like-... Like he's been unplugged. Power out. Game over.

And it is undoubtedly, unquestionably my fault. I can still taste the whiskey in my mouth, and I hate it. I have done this. I have led us into chaos, and gotten Eye killed. Eye, my ally, my friend. I am screaming, but I'm not sure if any noise is even coming out of my mouth any more. I can feel how raw my throat is, like someone's stabbing me in the neck. I wish someone were. I don't deserve to be alive. It's my fault that Claire died, and this is just a case of history repeating itself. I got drunk, I couldn't defend the group, Eye Saw died. My fault.

My eyes are hungry, wildly searching for an answer to a question that I don't even know. Get me out of here, please. I am completely to blame, and the longer I stay here, the more it burns. I can feel it in the back of my head - My guilty conscience growing, manifesting into something more than just an emotion. It's like a black syndrome, clinging onto my brain and taking over. I'm rotting from the inside, and it won't be long before there is nothing left of Willis Keeni, just a shell of what he once was.

Laila is pleading with Eye's dead body, willing him back to life. Just give up. He's dead. What's the fucking point in grieving anymore? It just makes you more vulnerable, right? For the first time in a while, I know that the only option left is the one in front of me. No complications, no bullshitting. Just act. I get up and run forwards towards Laila Sycamore - The one person left in my life. I grab her with two hands and drag her away from her best friend's corpse. She kicks and screams, but I don't let go. I am cold and ruthless, denying her the time to grieve. You ain't got time to grieve, Laila. You gotta keep on living. That's what Eye would want.

We leave the other alliance, who are also grieving. Savannah Carey, the girl from Eight. I killed her. What's worse, I knew what I was doing. I wasn't drunk, or disillusioned, no. I wanted to kill this girl, and that's why she is dead. This weren't like when I killed Ari, 'cause that was a revenge-driven slaughter. No, I killed to protect my friends, this time. Still wasn't enough.

"Willis Keeni, famous by name and infamous by some rather disgraceful habits involving the bottle. I also hear you've got aim that's to die for." Yeah, well you died for it. My aim is good - Very good. What's more, I seemed to have mastered it even with the before-believed disadvantage of having shaking hands at all times. For once, I feel dangerous. I'm still pathetically weak, yeah, but at least there's some metal there. There's something that can lash out when needed. I suppose that's all I have to cling on to, now.

"I don't want to be like all of those kids who went into the Arena with all these regrets about the things they never did." I think of all the things that Savannah Carey never got to do, and never can, because of me.

There is a lot of suffering and grief in the Games, but occasionally there are moments where you hold your breath. Something happens that makes you stop and stare. These moments are frozen in time, and last an eternity. Then they are gone, falling like ash into sand, and lost forever. You're left feeling empty and cold, and you feel the weight of what has happened - Good or bad. I killed Savannah Carey.

The night is a blur, and not because I'm drunk. The blood has rushed to my head, and I'm angry. After dragging Laila's unconscious body to a safer location, and setting to work on stitching up her wounds, it isn't long before I am physically exhausted. I leave Laila to lie against a thick tree, whilst I take a moment for myself.

The night's sky is almost blue. I'm not sure if that's because I am tired, or under some optical illusion, or if it actually is blue. It's not the real sky, I know that much. It's a load of giant screens all pieced together like a jigsaw, forming a dome. We learned about it in school when we were kids. They are screens so that the Gamemakers can change the length of day-time or similarly night-time to suit them. Even the temperature is fake. We're in one massive room that can be altered without us questioning it's legitimacy. It's nearly completely dark, and yet it wouldn't surprise me if it was really daytime out there.

On cue, a patch of screens all light up at once, forming the face of Savannah Carey. The anthem music booms around the arena, bouncing off the volcano and echoing back, sounding distorted and twisted. Another face in the sky that is my fault. Yesterday it was Ari's face, now Sav's. How many more people will I kill? I'm not even sure what kind of person I have become, but it certainly isn't the person I wanted to be.

"He’s dead, isn’t he?" Laila's frail voice startles me, but I don't turn to look at her. I'd be a mess to look at - Red faced, haunted, shaking like a leaf. I'm completely unstable, and I can't be the strong imposing role-model she needs me to be at this moment in time. Eye was a lot better than me at that. If he was anything, it was stable. I don't reply. I don't know what to say to her.
"I didn’t imagine it." She assesses. Yeah, he's dead. She knows it though. She just wants confirmation, like that would make any difference to our situation. Pretending he's alive ain't gonna save us.
"And you dragged me out before I could kill the girl that killed him." Something snaps inside her, and she speaks with a new malice. If I had left her there, they would have torn her apart before she even set her sights on them. She was caught in a moment with Eye.

"You were vulnerable.." I tell her, my voice surprisingly clear. I had expected a crack or a stutter.
"I don’t care," She stands up with her signature pout. Such a brat. How dare she make me the bad guy in all of this. If it weren't for me, she would be dead. No question 'bout it. I could have left her, but I didn't, just like before, when I killed that Giant Mole, or helped her across the ocean, or killed Ari, and even killing Savannah. I have saved her so many times, and she still thinks more of Eye fucking Saw.

It's my turn to snap.
"Well maybe you should care! I saved your fucking life! And you know what? This isn't the first time either!" I grind my teeth together, my hands shaking violently. "I could have left you, but I didn't. I got you out of there, I carried you until I was on the verge of collapse, and then I stitched you up.." I never had to. I didn't even know this girl two weeks ago. She's never shown any gratitude, or warmth towards me.
"Maybe you should care…" I say, almost challenging her.

"I never asked you to save me," She starts getting defensive, folding her arms with a frown, "What do you want, a fucking medal?"
Bit of fuckin' gratitude would be nice.
"Ah, fuck you then." I am done with her. I could easily get up and walk away. She means nothing to me, right? Don't even know the girl, yet I feel like I should protect her. Could have let her die so many time, but didn't. Maybe I'm just too nice a person. Despite all I been through, I am nice. Heh. Where's the whiskey? Ain't got too much left - Maybe half a bottle? I search my bag, taking out a few of those plants they told us were good to eat, back in the training center.
"No one ever fucking appreciates me..." I mutter under my breath, but not so quiet that Laila can't hear me.

"Go cry about it. You’re acting like a little kid."

What?

"A kid?" I bite. That's it, I am done with her bullshit. Who is she calling a kid? She's like 12 years old! I was never-... I never got to be-... My childhood was taken from me. My childhood was nothing but pain and misery. This ain't acting like a kid. She needs to know that. I drop what I'm holding and pull my shirt off, revealing my bare chest. It is lined with bright pink, almost white scars that zig zag grotesquely. There are also burn marks from stubbed out cigarettes and fires. This is the end-product of my father's handywork.

"Why are you showing me this?" Laila asks. If only you knew, girl. Yeah, well as it happens, she doesn't know what I've been through. She don't know shit. All the impressive darts-play, the nice-guy persona, the alcohol - It was all a black mask to hide my blackened past. Well, now she knows. Now she knows what I am, and why I am. This is Willis Keeni - The scarred, the weak, the broken.

"You know what I went through as a kid, huh?" I challenge, almost breaking down, "You wanna go there? I've been through pain like you wouldn't believe. I can't close my eyes without feeling these scars." Even now I can feel his brutal grip on my arm, tugging me away from my bedroom and downstairs. "Mama, help me!" I cried out desperately, but she didn't care. She never gave a fuck. He was too overpowering, even for her. She knew her place, and it weren't protecting me. I still smell the whiskey on his breath - It lingers on mine now. Ain't that funny. I still taste the blood in my mouth as he smashed my front teeth in. Guess them baby teeth was gonna fall out anyway.

Worst part is, the fucker is still alive. Papa McGee still walks the streets of District Six with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a knife in the other. I swear to Ripred, if I make it out of this alive, I'll kill him. Don't be fuckin' stupid, Willis. You ain't strong enough for that. He'll likely kill you first.

"I was never a kid, Laila. I never got to be a kid..." I declare, trying desperately to get her to see it from my point of view.
"You're feeling like the adult here? Want to grieve? Here, have a fucking drink, on me." I shove the bottle into her hands - They seem to be shaking more than mine. She afraid? Good. Can't afford not to be anymore. Fear keeps us fighting.

But then she does something that makes my heart twist inside my chest.
"Screw your drink!" Extending her arm, she throws the bottle of precious liquor at the tree she was leaning against. I reach helplessly, but I am helpless but to watch as my whiskey smashes into a thousand pieces, and it drank up by the thirsty dirt. For a long time, I am silent, frozen to the spot in cold disbelief.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"
It's gone. It's all gone. I'm going to die sober. I'm going to die in pain, and shaking, and afraid. That terrifies me.
I should kill her. I could really kill her for this.
"That stuff doesn't help anyway! I saw you throwing up today!" She recalls, acting like it's not even a big deal. Doesn't she see? She's ruined it. She's killed me. Not Soap, not Claude, not Anni or Fran or Ares. Laila Sycamore has damned me to hell.
"Well it ain't gonna help now! Don't you realize what you done?" I say, tears surfacing.
"I CAN’T DIE SOBER!" I yell, my throat coarse and dry. I'm gonna have to. Ain't no one gonna sponsor me more alcohol. It's gone. It's all gone.
"I can’t.."

"You can, and you will." This might be the most terrifying sentence I have ever heard.
I toss and turn in Eye's tent. I have a lot more room now that he's dead. I still feel responsible for that. I was drunk, damn it. I was drunk and I couldn't defend him. He got swarmed and I couldn't help. How many more deaths will I be responsible for? Prob'ly just the one, now. Just her left. I can't be responsible. I can't go on protecting someone who don't give a fuck about me. I can't forgive her for what she did with the whiskey. She has no idea how totally inconsiderate that was. She don't know that I'm dependant. Guess I never really talked to Eye or Laila about it. Never talked to anyone about it.

There is a lot of suffering and grief in the Games, but occasionally there are moments where you hold your breath. Something happens that makes you stop and stare. These moments are frozen in time, and last an eternity. Then they are gone, falling like ash into sand, and lost forever. You're left feeling empty and cold, and you feel the weight of what has happened - Good or bad. I am going to die sober.

I walk out of the tent. I walk away from the camp, away from Laila Sycamore and her bullshit. I walk until morning. I walk until mourning. I walk until I'm crying into the sand. I walk past the volcano and towards the Cornucopia, where this all started.

And when I walk into Claude, I don't hesitate. Kill or be killed. Catch 22, that.

[Willis uses Tar to light his Shurikens on fire]
[Willis attacks Claude, Gypsy (Flaming Shurikens)]
yGo0EVhv200+9000
[Shallow Cut on Thigh -- 3.5 damage]

range 1-50
[Extinguished]