Up The Wolves :: [Denali Oneshots // Day Two]

there will always be a few things
maybe several things

— the wheel of one of the carts kicking up and lurching back down packs enough force that Lex yelps in surprise. It knocks the air from Denali’s lungs, but she can’t tell the difference because —

there's gonna come a day when
you feel better

— again and again she sees the glaive colliding with Zion’s face. She sees it like the image of a saint burnt into her morning toast and she sees it in the patterns of her own freckles when she looks into the mirror to brush her teeth. If she glances out the window of her bedroom then there is slaughter in the clouds. Then a bear. Then a castle. Then nothing at all as the clouds disappear and there is only an ocean of sky, seemingly untouched because somehow the waves washed everything away until —

and float
from branch to branch

— the floorboards outside of Zion’s bedroom. Denali runs her fingers over the gouges she’s dug into the wood. Nothing has come out of them yet, but there’s a hole straight through into the space between here and the kitchen ceiling, full of electrical wiring and support beams. It looks like the face of the body that can’t possibly be her brother. Their parents must have locked him inside of his bedroom, to keep him safe. (Please.) Digging through with a steak knife is slow going and she can’t see inside yet, but when she finally breaks in the following night —

just when that day is coming
who can say?

— the air is empty of everything except Lex’s voice. "I'm glad they didn't stick us in a winter arena. I don't like the ice very much." No sounds of fighting ring out. There is only the breeze and the steady drone of one-sided conversation. It’s good to have something to attempt to concentrate on that isn’t a memory of a body turned slightly inside out. "I fell through a frozen river once — got swept downstream so fast. Drowned a little bit." Denali glances over for a single second, but Lex is staring at her hands, investigating a groove in the piece of wood she’s chipping away at. "Smashed into a dam at a narrow point in the river. So I guess you could say my life was saved by beaver." There is at least one point in everyone’s life when they die a little bit, although their heart keeps beating. Maybe it’s in a river, maybe it’s —

but there's going to be a party
when the wolf comes home

— have to kill each other. It’s what they’re here to do. Of course she knew that, but she thought she wouldn’t feel anything when she saw someone die because she already saw it happen before. How could a stranger make her feel something that the footage of Zion hadn’t already? She came to terms with her brother’s death. She’s better now. She has to be. There is no backwards, there is only forwards and so seeing one head get bashed in shouldn’t be any different than —

to tell the neighbors what's been going on
and they will shake their heads

— purpleheart, really exquisite lumber. We're making a puzzle desk," and the present tense of the statement plucks at Denali’s heartstrings because she’s learning how to cook. It takes a moment to recall a statement of context for the desk, but then she remembers Lex saying: My dad and I just started a project together a couple of weeks ago. "You know, one with secret cabinets and compartments that only open if the drawers are opened a certain width." Denali wants to say something about how she keeps burning the pot roast and under-cooking the spaghetti, no matter how many tips and tricks her mom gives her, but her tongue is numb. "...probably just gave my dad an aneurysm divulging personal information on national television. Sorry, dad." Sorry, mom, I’m —