it's thoughts that bind me here (#squadghouls v mutts day 3)
Oct 29, 2017 14:12:30 GMT -5
Post by Lyn𝛿is on Oct 29, 2017 14:12:30 GMT -5
[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]
The carriage rolls up as we finish tending to ourselves, and Ezen and I step towards the oversized pumpkin, hundreds of times larger than any we get in District Twelve. The wheels are ornately decorated, and I can only imagine the expense the Capitol must have gone through to produce the level of detail on its rims.
We sit across from each other. The carriage's too big - enough to comfortably fit four, at least - and I'm reminded of those who could not make it here to share this moment with us. With strings of pumpkin flesh as our chandeliers and seeds for candles, I close my eyes and take a minute of silence for them.
Two cannons go off, and I wonder if someone killed Ansel, or if he had perhaps killed someone else.I wonder if it's the tiny kid I met at the plants station.
The anthem tells us the answer.
Samson Parish, District Four
Quillon Blackfare, District Nine
Even the mighty fall.
Samson - one of the Careers, one of the greater threats in this Arena. The Careers never betray each other this early, but if they hadn't, then who would have been strong enough to defeat them?
And Quillon - I can now place a name and district to the boy who had sprang from the darkness to stab Alice in the chest before disappearing into the cloak of the night. Strangely, however, his death does not satisfy me. He should have been mine, I think, they all should have been mine to kill, all eight or so of them.
Now that Quillon is dead, only seven remain, and I imagine myself crushing Ansel's chest, the spikes tearing through Ansel's brain and making mincemeat of Alfie's skull. I think I would recognise any others I come across, but I cannot be sure, not yet.So I must kill those who I do not. And why should it matter? I would kill them - I must kill them to protect myself and my ally.
Though it is but a false sense of comfort, I can't help but feel safe when the walls of the pumpkin block us from all view. With the gentlest of nudges, the carriage begins to roll on its own, and its soft jostling lulls me to sleep as it spirits us away from the Cornucopia. Tonight, at least, I sleep well, even as my dreams all smell of pumpkin.
It is the crying of a child that wakes me from my slumber. But when I peek out from the windows of the carriage, there is nothing but the empty stretch of dead trees and decaying ivy. These are woods of death. Perhaps the other alliances have not chosen to return to the scene, but I can never forget the feeling of Alice's hand growing slack beneath mine, or the cannon that sounded as Serena's body collapsed into the dirt.
These woods have been tainted with death since the very first day.
The faint rustling I hear is too gentle to come from any alliance. They are large and noisy, after all, much bigger than the two of us. Instead, it is a child that peeks out from the bushes, allowing me to put a face to the sound that has lured me.
"Are you my mummy???"
Someone's child, their crying muffled and distorted by the gas mask they wore over their face. A callback to the boy from last Games. Tiny as they toddle towards us, standing no higher than even the weapon I clenched in my hands; it'd be adorable if it weren't so eerie.
"Are you my mummy?" it wails again before raising its weapon and charging towards us.
Dear Ripred, am I really going to have to kill a child?
I can't afford these feelings, for even children are the enemy here, twisted and warped by a force beyond recognition. This toddler is not like the children of the districts, so innocent and fragile; they are creatures with no purpose but attack, no life in the rasping face covered by a mask.
Children who hold weapons are no children; these are merely another abomination and illusion. (But even if they were real, I am still powerless; the Capitol could order every baby in the Districts killed and there would be nothing we could do about it.)
A mutt that wouldn't hesitate to kill me, not a real child to be saved and protected. Within the tiny body there was a heart surely as cold and unfeeling as Ansel's, and if they think I will fall for such a trick then they are mistaken.
(I don't dare consider the alternative.)
"No, I am not your fucking 'mummy'."
(What kid says 'mummy' instead of 'mommy', anyways?)
So I must not hesitate in killing it in return.
[Mila attacks Hollow with spiked blunt]
5Sa08OJgspiked blunt
14184 -- DEEP GASH ON CHEST -- 9.5 damage
(Spiked Blunt)spiked blunt
mila breukelen
The carriage rolls up as we finish tending to ourselves, and Ezen and I step towards the oversized pumpkin, hundreds of times larger than any we get in District Twelve. The wheels are ornately decorated, and I can only imagine the expense the Capitol must have gone through to produce the level of detail on its rims.
We sit across from each other. The carriage's too big - enough to comfortably fit four, at least - and I'm reminded of those who could not make it here to share this moment with us. With strings of pumpkin flesh as our chandeliers and seeds for candles, I close my eyes and take a minute of silence for them.
Two cannons go off, and I wonder if someone killed Ansel, or if he had perhaps killed someone else.
The anthem tells us the answer.
Samson Parish, District Four
Quillon Blackfare, District Nine
Even the mighty fall.
Samson - one of the Careers, one of the greater threats in this Arena. The Careers never betray each other this early, but if they hadn't, then who would have been strong enough to defeat them?
And Quillon - I can now place a name and district to the boy who had sprang from the darkness to stab Alice in the chest before disappearing into the cloak of the night. Strangely, however, his death does not satisfy me. He should have been mine, I think, they all should have been mine to kill, all eight or so of them.
Now that Quillon is dead, only seven remain, and I imagine myself crushing Ansel's chest, the spikes tearing through Ansel's brain and making mincemeat of Alfie's skull. I think I would recognise any others I come across, but I cannot be sure, not yet.
Though it is but a false sense of comfort, I can't help but feel safe when the walls of the pumpkin block us from all view. With the gentlest of nudges, the carriage begins to roll on its own, and its soft jostling lulls me to sleep as it spirits us away from the Cornucopia. Tonight, at least, I sleep well, even as my dreams all smell of pumpkin.
It is the crying of a child that wakes me from my slumber. But when I peek out from the windows of the carriage, there is nothing but the empty stretch of dead trees and decaying ivy. These are woods of death. Perhaps the other alliances have not chosen to return to the scene, but I can never forget the feeling of Alice's hand growing slack beneath mine, or the cannon that sounded as Serena's body collapsed into the dirt.
These woods have been tainted with death since the very first day.
The faint rustling I hear is too gentle to come from any alliance. They are large and noisy, after all, much bigger than the two of us. Instead, it is a child that peeks out from the bushes, allowing me to put a face to the sound that has lured me.
"Are you my mummy???"
Someone's child, their crying muffled and distorted by the gas mask they wore over their face. A callback to the boy from last Games. Tiny as they toddle towards us, standing no higher than even the weapon I clenched in my hands; it'd be adorable if it weren't so eerie.
"Are you my mummy?" it wails again before raising its weapon and charging towards us.
Dear Ripred, am I really going to have to kill a child?
I can't afford these feelings, for even children are the enemy here, twisted and warped by a force beyond recognition. This toddler is not like the children of the districts, so innocent and fragile; they are creatures with no purpose but attack, no life in the rasping face covered by a mask.
Children who hold weapons are no children; these are merely another abomination and illusion. (But even if they were real, I am still powerless; the Capitol could order every baby in the Districts killed and there would be nothing we could do about it.)
A mutt that wouldn't hesitate to kill me, not a real child to be saved and protected. Within the tiny body there was a heart surely as cold and unfeeling as Ansel's, and if they think I will fall for such a trick then they are mistaken.
(I don't dare consider the alternative.)
"No, I am not your fucking 'mummy'."
(What kid says 'mummy' instead of 'mommy', anyways?)
So I must not hesitate in killing it in return.
no haven for this heart
no shelter for this child in mazes lost
heaven keep us apart
a curse for every mile of ocean crossed
no shelter for this child in mazes lost
heaven keep us apart
a curse for every mile of ocean crossed
[Mila attacks Hollow with spiked blunt]
5Sa08OJgspiked blunt
14184 -- DEEP GASH ON CHEST -- 9.5 damage
(Spiked Blunt)
![Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] Avatar](https://timberline-adventures.com/wp-content/uploads/Rain2-250x250.jpg)
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