Reprise, Reprisal • [#SG vs. DI vs. DT, Day Four]

Everything is shattered and now I am carrying the pieces. Sharp ends bite at my skin, embedding the pain further and further into my body.

It is a relief when Alfie takes out the last mutation, now it is time to salvage the free hours before the chaos ticks by again. Day after day it will be like this, there is no rest until my head hits that ground; limp or in victory. There has always been a hope of me returning at the back of my head but that thought is slowly fading

All my sense knocked out of place and it already feels like it is game over.

There is no remedy to this malfunction, the moment those pumpkins exploded, is continuously repeating in my ear drums. All over audio is a fade, words from my allies just a blur as I try to translate from this foreign language. All I can do is drag my body away from the scene, just cuts and scratches paint my body but the agony says different. How fucking weak are you. My left hand rests on one of my ears as I drag the sponsored luggage across the ground in my right.

I salvage this next few hours of rest as we call it a night by the cornucopia. Buzzing eardrums hold back any chance of me falling into a sleep; I will just have to spend the night looking at the inside of my eyelids. A post stands unfilled, the lookout that has been shared each night. I predict a restless night, at least it will be something to entertain my mind?

No.

A mess like me, there is no way I can execute the job and well it is someone else’s turn before mine. That is not something I want to do…have to do.

”I am not being look out so don’t bother asking me.”

And that is that.

Any response from the boys blows away in the crisp breeze that is slowly beginning to twist in the area. I am living in an operated world, the climate dictated by the switch of a button. My hearing swiped away by the click of a Capitol workman, their job role is to end the life of a child, I bet they are proud. The food on my plate back home, stained with the blood and sweat of another.

One man’s suffering for another’s fortune.

That is where the dilemma has always lied.

My eyes glitter at the gold that lines my father’s pockets but I pity those begging to just have one piece. For all to be equal, it just isn’t easy. I have spread my wings but the suffering still continues, cracks fill my father’s livelihood but it still operates. Two words and I hoped to free the world of my father, a brave choice?

A stupid choice.

No thought into it, just two words and the curtains were drawn and now here I am. Hearing has escaped me and my head rests in my hands, trying to conjure back the simplest of things. My stomach cries out for attention, my tongue already drying, after being bathed in a bottle full of liquid just yesterday.

I am not a survivor.

I am too reliant on others.

There is no way I am getting out of this. No fucking way.

Spoilt brat.

The insult is coming to life.

---

It happened at some point last night, my eyes faded and I was hauled into the land of sleep. No dreams projected in my mind, only darkness; the same darkness that I wake up too now. A strong breeze wraps around my torso as I drag myself off the ground, the very first thing to greet me this morning.

The buzzing is still there.

Same tempo, same volume, nothing has fought the irritation that now enslaves me. A scar of reality; the first misfortune in my life. I don’t deserve this shit.

There is no exchange of good mornings, we just pick ourselves up and venture to the next events of the day. Tribute or mutation, neither of which I have the energy to face this morning. I just want to curl up, cradling my ears, anything to silence this infuriating noise.

”Guys I can’t, my ears haven’t stopped ringing.”

Moans and groans, attempts to break the annoyance but there is response from the boys. Hollow selfish shells, The Bandit, Self-Defence and Mr Silent; what a lovely trio I filtered out to accompany.

”A lot of help, thanks.”

The breeze that already grips onto me picks up, dictating on where I go next. Behind, the boys have being taken hold of too. It is obvious; the Capitol’s strings are guiding us to the next fight.

An organised death and our opponents are hand delivered to us on a plate. Faces we have already encountered, friends to The Bandit’s victims. ”I’d watch your back Ansel, a thief can be robbed from too.” My own words sound like a blur to me, I don’t know whether I am shouting or whispering to the boy from Six.

My attention retreats to Alfie’s District partner, friend to the pair that Ansel stole. Boy from Six is my company; he can’t be stolen away already.

”It is like they want us to kill each other, how awkward is this.”

Spitting venom and the dancing of blades, replicas of the days gone by. Foes already encountered in the past, our paths are overlapping, and it is obvious they have been placed that way. Their numbers have dwindled, mainly by the hand of the bandit that fights besides me. Although LaChance’s disappearance is a mystery, new news to me and my lack of acknowledging the anthems every night. They say history likes to repeat itself, not this time and for the better.

It sails in the air, there is no co-ordination in my attack but it somehow finds its destination in the back of the girl from Twelve. Thought has never attached itself to my attacks each day. All I have delivered in scratches and gashes, not the final blow to end it all. My hands aren’t of a thief’s but if I am to step back onto that train and not in a wooden box that will have to be the reality in the days to come.

What does it feel like?

How are you even meant to feel?

One person holds the answers; he fights besides me, his spear kissing the forehead of the girl that I target. Our last conversation ended too abruptly, he will listen this time and not be a dick about it. I will make sure of that.

A cannon disrupts the bedlam for just a second, all the bodies still stand so death has fallen elsewhere in the arena. Such a common sound now, there is no distinguishing whether it brings joy or distress. The same sound over and over, no telling the difference of each one and yet it is always someone unalike to the other falling with it. It is just another death to the Capitol, another bet lost, another name to add to the hundreds and thousands.

Sirrah is the only one in our party taking the force of the attacks, Ten, Twelve and One are the ones receiving the sweet peck of the blades. There is no guessing on who will cause the next cannon to sound. If I followed the men back home and placed a bet on anyone stood here, Ansel being the thief would be where I place my money.

“Die!” A single word screams into my ears, the owner being the girl from twelve. It is followed by the quietening down from Seven but it just isn’t enough.

”Hey Twelve, Breakeudhalen or whatever it is. Be silent, I don’t want my ears to bleed.” I trace her figure with the wooden stake. ”You’d think having a boy like that from One by your side, you would be winning this fight.” My eyes flick to the Moreno, victim to Sirrah and Alfie. ”Funny how to two low Districts are beating him up.”