Violent Chemistry XX ||Day 8 Septys Oneshot||
Dec 4, 2015 19:42:33 GMT -5
Post by Muffinface on Dec 4, 2015 19:42:33 GMT -5
One time when I was about five, my grandmother asked me to check the stove to see if it was hot enough to cook on. My mother and father tended to one of my younger siblings, leaving me, the oldest and obviously the most responsible to tend to her wills and needs. The coils were so red and so beautiful- I didn't know red meant hot, I hadn't yet learned that lesson. How else do you check if something is hot than to touch it?
The swirling pattern remains glued to my flesh to this day, though two disjointed fingers on my left hand break apart the spiral. Even before she died when I was sixteen, she would sometimes stop mid conversation and apologize for making me check the oven, like it had literally just happened, and it makes me wonder what others around me would apologize for if they had a final chance- what Tyler would apologize for. Would it be regret, remorse for killing her? Or would it be dark, grim humor?
I can't see his face- my own blood covers my eyes, dripping down into abysmal sockets, but my hands dig and search. Heather isn't around as far as I know, but I definitely don't want to be around if she decides to pop her head up and catch me in the back. I feel my limbs trembling; they threaten to give out, and my lips spit out a mixture of foamy saliva as well as scarlet, thick syrup.
Fuck- I feel the pressure building behind my skull and the spray of blood flutter down to a trickle. Two lit- SHUT THE FUCK UP, I KNOW.
I'm so fucking finished with myself, with this damn arena, with everything, but I don't have the balance or means to literally be finished. Too much, I've lost too much- it's painting the landscape red, red, red, and I can't I can't I can't
I'm floating, adrift, peaceful. The gnawing pulse of a gentle wind rushes against my face. An exhalation exits my lips, shaky, trembling, but not fearful while dark eyes shoot open, and the tiniest glimmer, sparks pin pricked overhead flash in the sky. The moon hangs, suspended by thin sinew and viscera overhead- oh, no, that's literally my scalp.
Sitting up hurts, every bit of my body aches for a taste of the sun, muscles trembling from the cold but I don't feel it, I mean like... It doesn't actually feel cold to me. The smell of blood lingering on my skin is old and dry, and when I look around I am completely and utterly alone. I can't remember anything short of dressing myself with the dredges of Tyler's armor, and when I look around I can't see him- the capitol must have taken him away, just like they did Neptune and Taurus and her eyes stare at me, two yellow fingerprints glowing off to the left.
I hear it before I see it, the low beeping hum echoing across the trees, and my fingers fumble, stumbling across the surface of my rocky precipice before I find the smooth orb, a beautiful reflection of the moon shimmering, glittering upwards.
Fuck I look terrible. A flap of flesh hovers over my eyebrows, and I can't help but gasp- I'm pretty fucking sure that white reflection on my crown is more than the moon's gentle beams. Holy shit is that literally my-
I want Ruth more than ever- her gentle caress, her lips on my cheek, whispers of 'It's alright' and 'You'll live' and fuck this- I can't do it on my own and that thing growls in the distance, and I can see its own sharply pointed teeth, its fangs raised like it wants to attack. Oh fuck that noise- grating, so loud and my head is pounding ah shit-
Wait that's not the mutt. In my hand is a fiercely round orb, smooth, beeping. God damnit, just STOP. My hands twist the thing apart, and it grows quieter in halves- a small, zipping baggie rests inside, a note wrapped around the stuff. I doubt it's from Mohs and my brothers this late in the games unless one of them is a secret millionaire, but the medkit below is definately a welcomed gift.
My hands set to work, automatically patching my face up as best as I can.IfWhen I make it out of here, that's gonna leave one hell of a scar. I don't even feel the stinging of the needle in and out of my skin, but the cooling sensation is slightly... Wrong.
Her eyes aren't there anymore- they've moved lower, as if she were lying down, watching. I don't understand- she could have killed m any time she wanted, why hasn't she ponced on me yet? I break contact for a moment and stare down at the paper clasped between my bloody fingers. A confusing enigma of numbers reflects back at me, in neat, yet hurried script. Who the fuck can send me a medkit this late?
"10/12 = 20/24. Show me you're better than 4th.
X
— 29"
A second noise just behind me causes me to jump. The grating beeps continue, and my hands fumble for the thing behind me. Again, the spherical container feels smooth in my palm, and all draws to silence as I pull out a sealed shut object, pitch black oblivion inside.
"Oh my god." The note reads- "Aim true- Opal."
"Oh my god oh my god oh my god."
Miss sixty-fourth herself sent me tar. This must be it then- it must be me and one other. I must have missed the anthem tonight while I was unconscious, and I have no idea who may remain. Surely not Ruth, Taurus, or Neptune at the least, but where was Jeq? Did she make it out alive?
I can only hope.
The yellow eyes are gone at last. Her footsteps carry her across the sands, a clear cut warning of what I should do-
I light a bonfire.
