down goes another one [cato, trainblitz]

The silence within the carriage is deafening. Part of my justification for volunteering was to escape the insanity that overshadowed my childhood home. A home I will never see again. This is what I tell myself, chanting it inside my head as if it were a mantra that could take away the panic.

Our home was a place of sadness and melancholy – after the unfolding of tragedy upon tragedy in a string of successive events, it was a bitter curse that plagued our lives, set into motion with the disappearance of my father when I was little. Even with my partner’s presence in the carriage, several awkward seconds of silence pass before he is in front of me, arm outstretched, his stone face giving no indication of an inner turmoil only he belongs to.

‘Name’s Crusader.’

I extend my own hand to meet his.

‘Stella.’

The quiver in my voice is momentarily put to rest, the only evidence of the storm looming just beneath the surface of composure the slight tremble of slender fingers grasped firmly in Crusader’s grip.

‘You appear to be quite calm for someone about to be sent off to their death.’

It is an attempt at normality, and I sit – watching, waiting, aware of his presence but, above all, silently willing the sudden forthcoming of trepidation to subside as swiftly as it appeared.

‘I’ve accepted my death.’

His words strike a chord somewhere in my wayward heart, as if the very beliefs that governed his life were an imitation of my own. I am a frail girl – tanned skin, shaking hands, eyes full of wonder and secrecy; he is an overwhelming tower above me with piercing eyes that I cannot hold my gaze to. We bear no resemblance. That is clear to see. Yet despite the physical extremities of difference, it is only by delving beneath the surface of being that the similarities are presented. We weren’t fools; we were both alone.

The smile that spreads across his face does not appear strained, unlike those plastered across my own countless times in the past. For the first time since being whisked away from home, I feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards slightly in response. This time, it is not forced.

Coming to terms with the inevitability of death didn’t warrant a miserable suffering. It is this notion that propels me forward and makes me question the boy’s flippancy – that, and the possibility of the luxury of a first friendship. ‘Not everyone dies. One person gets to come back home.’

I’d only had one objective upon volunteering – bring havoc to the arena, which would later prove to be accompanied by vengeful urgings from Belle to kill. Somehow. There had never been a plan past that, nor did there deserve to be. I couldn’t win. I didn’t want to win, for winning meant being constantly tied to the Earth, so far from the land where the deceased dwelled, just out of reach. Winning meant returning to a run-down shack to forever look after the ghost of a mother I cannot even say I love. Winning meant unhappiness, and despite knowing I didn’t deserve anything less than misery, what stronger misery was there than in death?

I lift my eyes to his, a sad smile finding its way to my lips in the process. The meaning behind his words rings clear. It doesn’t mean he is right.

‘No, it won’t be.’ I shake my head slowly at him. ‘I don’t want to go back there. I can’t.’

Even if there was some small chance that I wasn’t immediately deemed an easy target, he couldn’t protect me. I wouldn’t let him waste his time on someone so insignificant.

But wasn’t that the point of friendship?

I didn’t know.

‘If I could, I’d choose to protect you over me. Any day.’ But I am just a girl, after all.

Already, the burden of friendship is a heavy price to pay for the disappearance of solitude, and I do not know yet whether the outcome of the deal I’ve sentenced myself to will be worthwhile.