bloody steps; white spirals // diorite & saummerand, day 2

She is a girl full of wants, desires that are never meant to happen.

She is a girl who cares too much, a fool, an idiot who thinks sympathy and caring still runs in the blood of teenagers like her despite them all being in an arena for death, this game of death.

She is a girl who was killed by herself, drowned in herself, the worst parts of herself.

She is the soul of Diorite Fray, but now only the body remains.

No more universes to ease the mind and nurture it, promise it that it's all okay at the end of the day and it always has its perfect planets that it's created even when everything goes wrong. Instead is endless blood and darkness, images of eyes like the blackest of night skies as it's surrounded in scarlet with the only white being the skin turning into the marble floor after death. They all remind it why it can no longer care too much, why she does and should get it now, why she's starting to fight now; why she killed a sibling.

Why she just killed Chaos O'Hana.

(Because all of this will happen to you, to Hela, and to Saummerand if not,

Diorite Fray.)

Yet they are my friends, I still put their lives over mine because I'm supposed to die here like they did.

("Aren't you just a fucked up type of crazy.")

Like so many others like us did.

("If you like the dead so much, just die.")

He and his sister should've made the right choice, but they didn't. Lightning and Chaos could've ended me right then and there, but they didn't. The O'Hanas could've killed Saummerand, but they didn't.

You know what I did? I still don't know if it's real.

I killed one of them.

And now the brother has quickly joined me in a sea of liquid shadows but he drowned at a much faster rate than I am right now, he now feels how I would've if they did actually kill poor, poor Sau.

(What a fucking hypocrite.)

He runs, my friend who is like a brother I've never had--he's running as fast as he can, as far away as possible from what we just encountered and I do not blame him but just follow instead. I quickly stuff the dagger back into my bag as he moves through staircases and it's like we've just explored the entire mansion even though we truly have not.

Up, down, left, right, walls, ceiling, and it's like we've gone in a circle because we then end up right back where we began.

"Oh God...!"

My arm still burns like anger with a red path beginning to form towards my wrist, I smell spoiled milk joining forces with a strong one of crayons? Our clothes look ridiculous and we look weak, but I can't worry about that when there's still Lightning who didn't run away first but instead attacked me in revenge for his sister.

He could have followed us.

He could be looking for us right now, he could be unsatisfied until we both die to him--

(So what do you do?)

"Let's just...go back to that room we were in, come on...before he can find us." I grab his hand again and away we go to the room of windows and vines, plants, green outside green and a place for good supplies; especially because we didn't have time to look for more when we had to face bodies of blackness and blood instead with a family of light skin, light hair, and true Career behavior.

We get there and immediately move, him to the wooden table of plants and I to the faucet for water.

(But then I reach for one of the jugs and instead I feel stickiness, hands and the

bottle meeting color.)

"...Oh."

With wide eyes, I check my tote bag and find all of the knives are gone, now only seeing two water jugs and a bunch of crayons covered in bright red and pink.

"...Oh...Saummer...?"

I show him.

"It looks like we're gonna need new weapons..."

I think to myself, seconds passing before I nod at him with a gentle smile. Were they supposed to melt? Why did they melt? Was it because we started using them in a fight, does that affect them in any way? How can we stop this from happening again?

"I'll draw you yours this time, and you can draw mine. Spear, right? Draw me some throwing knives?"

I don't know why I thought of this, and how it can help with the problem, but I did make up beautiful worlds to myself after all. This pathetic hope for reality to agree with me is no different to that.

A light brown becomes similar to the weapon he had, but mine has waves in the design all over the handle for the interested eye to take a closer look at. After it and up to the point, there is a much bigger and more detailed picture of them, but they're big. Heavy. Overlapping each other, as if they're screaming like we do in our own eruptions.

Like I did when I almost lost him.

My feet hurt--not so much as my arm but of course from all the running we've done--so a darker brown of simple pull-on boots is next. Just in case, a needle and thread of a dark purple for when he needs even kinder care to his wounds, and finally gloves of a light green so I can avoid anymore unexpected twists thanks to Cricket, Hera, and even sometimes myself.

Salty water and spoiled milk inside jugs,

a sea of crayons,

and trembling hands putting an end to her chaos and marking the beginning of my own.