Is There Anybody Out there? (MD vs PLL vs F)

This fight has grown towards the central idea of you. You, and only you. However, in most fights, that's already the case. Most people don't fight to die, and if they did, they obviously volunteered for the right case. You either fight to win and win, or you die fighting. That's the constant cycle that you're put through.

Fight. Scream. Fight. Die.

Repeat.

It's the normal fighting routine in any situation like this, because you really do die eventually. Even if you survive every single fight the arena throws at you; that doesn't mean you're invincible. Not even the strongest of God's never die, because they have their weaknesses just as you do.

The fight's been circling around you because you're strong. Because they find you as a threat - funny they think of you that way, you're but a story teller. You gotta live up to the career no-shits-given attitude, because living up to expectations is everything in this world. Every family that's fallen to these games can prove you that;

Fray, Eckhart, Shim, Tate, Moreno, Lumiere, Summit.

They've all had to live up to the expectation of either winning (depending on your fortune) or dying, and you're lucky enough to not have the famous name. It's 'bout time you made yours famous anyways.

[ firestorm ]

"S-Saummer--"

She speaks. The one voice I cared about here was the one speaking, and in that moment I stopped. My heart dropped and my lungs felt like they did a 360, flipping from up to down to side from side. The way she says it brings a haunting air flow over my head. She shakes my shoulder, and at the moment she shook me I almost turned around and punched her.

But I didn't.

"Saummer, what are we doing?! We gotta go...!" You ask yourself that, Diorite. You started the fighting, not me. I can't say what we are doing. Fighting. Defending. We're following the rules that the Hunger Games has placed us in.

("Terribly, terribly boring... but we'll fix that. Your mandatory improvisation and
creativity training begins today. Each one of you volunteered to be here and —")

Oh?

"W-Wait, hold on a second..."

I stop. I mean, I'm not the kind of person to just go when they tell me to go. I watch her do her thing, taking a red crayon and drawing a dagger and it came to life, turning art into life.

Does art resemble life? In this game of life, it should be.

"It worked...? That's what these crayons are for...?" Well, at least something that we got was useful, because this skirt definitely wasn't one of those things. Maybe I could draw some pants for me or some shit. Maybe.

"Come on, draw some supplies of your own!"

Will do, my girl, will do.

The first thing I do is grab the blue crayon. It was the color that I wanted and I figured that it'd be nice to add a design onto the weapon I was making. The blue swirled and curled, wrapped its way around the spear. Making a 'wave' in a form. It was to represent the waves of blood overflowing national televisions.

After that, I made a jug with a soft green that seemed similar to my blue; all of a similar palette in a form. It didn't have the same design as the spear, but it still was pretty to look at.

[ firestorm ]