sand in every crevice | slay [day 1]

others "me"

His body has never felt so broken. It was never thought that his body was a temple of athleticism, but he always thought it could take a punch. And then a blade, and then another punch. Theo’s mother never taught him to give in. That ”if you wanna rumble with them-”” the BASE, ”you can’t back down. They aren’t worth your worry.” Her authoritative confidence gave him hope, gave him the edge that said fuck it, because who’s gonna say it for him?

The undaunted nature she gifted from it became his downfall, as most know. Through hands slammed on the table, clapping, and the dared whooping of teenage boys, Theo was lured into a sense of competition. That he wouldn’t come last, and back at home, he was used to a competition that teetered the edge of killing oneself. Edged it but never entirely gave in to the human nature that death becomes. This was no game that he could escape, though. Nothing that he can rely on Woods to square them away or run to his mother’s home in hopes they won’t take the game there. In the arena, Theo can’t tap out.

He’s there until he can’t be, dead or alive, and he’s already close to the dead part.

Theo took a moment to slow down, attention caught by the glimmering reflection of a hilt. The hilt of the blade was short, but the sword was almost as tall as his ally. It had a shine to it, with a red, gemstone like accent to it. The hilt also held an inscription, begging for the founder to inspect it. The Sword of Life Stealing. Captivated by the weapon, he decided to claim it as his own.

If he lived, he wonders if he could take it home. That looks like the kind of elegant sword a medieval knight would hold above the fireplace.

”You look terrible Theo,” his crippled rib rattled from his low laugh. Thanks, as if I needed to know that, he thought to himself. He felt it. The gashes on his thigh and hand left a trail. Not a solid line, more of an assorted treasure map. He did not hold any treasure, though; the boy hardly stayed long enough to be able to. Theo felt his eye wink with pain. ”Maybe we should have got out of there sooner. Looks like the others are catching up though…” as Dorothy speaks, he watches the other two of their group arrive. Svetlana was okay, but Theo noticed that Elm received a bludgeoning too. The girl from eight notices too, speaking up once again. ”You too Elm! I think you and Theo need to sit down. Svetlana please tell me you listened during first aid training as I have no idea how to help them!” Theo found the panic amusing. Sure, he did not hope to die first, but he wouldn’t be so frantic about someone else dying.

What good does a vase of ashes have to him?

Dorothy then throws her bag on the ground, obviously not deeming her contents worth caring for. She asked the group about the worth of our bags’ contents, and Theo wasn’t too confident. In his bag rests a small, wooden, paper mache-dressed doll. He doesn’t remember picking it up himself. It was a retro, yellow-pink-colored doll. It had a small face, holding two blank white eyes and a beard. Theo had a glimmer of wonder from his father’s attention to artistic detail as to what the color meant. What the doll was - because it certainly wasn’t something a child would take to bed for comfort.

The other contents were a knife, something that he was used to, but it also had some chain that allowed it to be waved around. He wasn’t exactly sure what use the waving part would have, though. Seemed too unreliable to build up momentum to get a decent enough hit while trying not to cut himself in the process. There was also a roll of bandages neatly tucked inside. Providing a glimpse of survival, he was glad he grabbed something of use. "I’ve got nothin besides-" His body winces as he put weight onto his scarred leg, quickly shifting it back onto the ofter. "These damn bandages.” Theo scoped out their surroundings. He couldn’t stay on his feet much longer, he needed a moment to sit and let his body rest. "We got any-” His breath catches for a moment, trying to get used to the rib that tickles his lungs. "Anywhere we can sit down? My leg is fuckin’ killin me."