rattle o'er the bogs [Feast-in-the-East]

My fists clutch the grass around me with stilled movement, as if it were but a whisper to the other actions I've done- and it is, for all intents and purposes- but this feeling of dirt, and dew, and pebble in the webs of my fingers is not new. For the past four days, I've fought alongside my allies with a vigour that hadn't yet been exposed- it was silent, and minimized, and at some points, non-existent, but it set my insides ablaze with every slash of halberd and every wince of pain. It was invincible, but I was not, and that proved myself to be human, beyond a reasonable doubt.

Sometime yesterday, I left him, though, and now alone is the only place I've been able to be. But it is not painful, like many would expect, and it is certainly far less worrysome than even I would have thought it to be when I took sleep in their presence not even a full twenty-four hours ago. But I have seen things since then, and they have left me since then, and it is no longer an obligation for me to cry wolf in the face of the wolf itself.

(I nearly fell when I saw it, and long after we had departed, long after I had become known as 'Neptune Liefde' rather than 'Neptune Liefde and' I dipped my fingers into the infinity black of ink and took to writing a pleasant set of words that would surely describe my aggression toward the tribute who had oh-so-creatively plastered werewolf entrails to the overpass of sea cliff.

'F;-( you.')

But there is no wolf anymore, just as there is no life for the bodies of Draco and Hannah and Paige and Odile and Leo and Leticia. I am not little boy blue, nor am I a sheep; I am a tribute in the 71st hunger games, and I am going to damn well act like it.

(My scrawl was certainly not chicken scratch, but writing on somebody's arm in the mist of sea foam isn't exactly the ideal place to be doing this; 'Win for District Twelve' was the only thing I had left to say to her when it was time to part and the memory of home was too much for me to handle without rawing my throat in stale air. It was nice seeing you again, Chloe.)

When I left her- when we left each other- our brief encounter plagued me with thoughts of home for the remainder of the afternoon. It was if I was two again and the only thing I knew how to do was ask questions, but that was alright because although the answers were but a finger tip away, they were not mine to see.

How is dad? (dead.)

Has step-mother been taking care of him? (no. she's the one that got him killed.)

Do my friends miss me? (yes, but sometimes, they don't even realize that you're gone.)

I wonder how they feel about me now that I've killed someone. (they don't blame you, not one bit.)

It's foreign, this feeling, and for a moment, its all I can do not to stare at the waves and let the fact that home is something that I'll never have again sink in. Even if I were to go home today- just as I am and just like this- there would be no wholeness to me. Sure I'd get off a hell of a lot better than the majority of the victors, let alone the tributes, but there would be something missing and no amount of capitalized fame could fill that void in. Your soul, once lost, is not an item that can be replaced.

So I sighed and in that moment, vowed with all of my life to keep it with me, even past when a wooden box is all I am and that final blow is dealt to the flesh of my existence. Rock solid- that's what I'll be, and even when things begin to spiral, I will be in control. I will always, truly, be in control.

I decide it's time to go to sleep.

After a night of restless tossing and turning- and evidently no danger to myself or my belongings (thank god)- I pack up camp and head out, back to where I knew the ground well and back to where the noise wasn't nearly as terrifying as in the current. Somewhere in the distance, a Delivery Word proclaims its call- perhaps one day, if I am still alive, I can catch one. But now is not the time, and today is not the day, I remind myself; after all, I have places to be and people to avoid, both of which are promises I'm adamant to keep, and nothing- absolutely nothing- will stand in my way.

Except for the shadows playing tag on the horizon.

(Win it for District Twelve.)

And all the kids cried out,
"Please stop, you're scaring me"
I can't help this awful energy
Goddamn right, you should be scared of me
Who is in control?

Restlessness devours my mind with every passing second that I slip more and more under the deafening spell of the raging war. I can hear the horrifying screams of death returning to my ears just as the day when I had first arrived, when we all had first arrived. Fear no longer races through the hollowed bones of my body as I see the blood swirling in scarlet pools upon the ground. All my life I have lived within the confines of my own throat, never allowed to escape or be free. Now around I find myself in a storm caused by the same pointless drive I have been combating for all of my eternity. They all fight for freedom while I simply carry on the duties I was forsakenly given in life. To them this was all just a game, but to me it was just like everything else I have ever known. It was just another burden for me to carry across my chest, and now I would deliver yet another blow to burden yet another innocent soul wandering the mysterious mists of this tomb we now battled in.