sun bleached flies // U v. LL (day 6)

♛

The sound of fluttering wakes me up. No nightmares again for another night, and I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse. It probably means that I'm going to live them in the day, which is fine, but I'd much prefer it when I'm asleep and nothing can really hurt me. Mental wounds might last longer but they are far easier to ignore.

Golden rays swipe through the branches of the trees, burning down onto my skin. The greenery does not hold the same vibrance that it used to in my eyes - it feels darker and more distasteful. Sometimes I think this arena is swallowing the souls of the people it has killed, collecting them to form something sinister that will seep up through the ground, through my feet and into my body. Maybe that would be a good thing - to be at one with it - because there's no point being fearful of something that you are.

Pixies dance in the wind, floating around until the begin to tug on my hair. I frown at them, trying to bat them away with a fist but their persistence is unrivalled. They want attention, okay, fine, they can have my attention. They push and pull me out of the sunshine and into the shade, my footsteps thundering on the treacherous forest floor with each second that goes by. I stumble upon reaching their desired destination because the weight of their force throws me off balance, and when they let go, I feel a thousand times lighter.

And in a blink, they disappear. They float off into the distance until all that I can make out is tiny, sparkling specks and a faint hum of buzzing wings. Good, I think, and don't come back.

The wood maintains the same ominous feel as the cornucopia; the same threat lingers in the air and the danger feels heightened. Dried blood lies crisp beneath my feet and I swear I can taste metal on my tongue. As the scene steadies itself in my mind, I realise that there is one thing that does not belong. 

A flickering and shimmering figure stands with me. Like glass, it is transparent, and it feels like a bittersweet memory has come to life. I follow the projection with my eyes until my worst fear becomes realised: it's M word. His face is contorted with pain and his body is covered with cuts and bruises. Though fierce and gruelling, M word is not this kind of fighter; he is the kind that would bite with his words and leave you questioning your self-worth for hours on end. Why is he so broken?

It's a haunting sight and it reminds me of him in the most unfortunate way possible. I don't want to think of him as beaten down and aching when he left me feeling like that after the Reaping. Because I'm beaten down and hurting too, I've got the wounds to prove it, but of course, he has to try and one-up me because I broke our promise.

But he looks so helpless. I reach out to touch him, to feel the comfort that he provided and to try and protect him but my fingers go straight through him. Because gone are the days of performing petty crimes together, playing chess with sticks and stones and acting out knock-knock jokes on strangers' doors. His image wavers and shifts, and I find myself wishing that I could bridge the gap between us and offer him some solace.

I can't and I won't, though. I'm not going to give in.

Behind M word's hologram, a second figure appears. Another boy, except this time, it's a real one because he shoots a wave in my direction and I awkwardly do the same back. I can tell that he's real because his skin is not nearly as rotten as M word's, although there's no way to be sure about the state of his mind.

"Let's do this, yeah? Game on, as they say." He says, flicking knives between his fingers before two of them launch through the air like bullets and cut into my skin.

It hurts, but I don't let myself think about it. I don't want to be like that depiction of M word - in fact, once I'm done with Ulysses, I think I'll find a way to get rid of that hologram for good. I don't need to be reminded of everything that I no longer have.

"Game on," I reply back to him, readying my sword in my hands. "You ever played chess? It used to be my favourite game. To win, you have to make a move, but it can't just be any move. It has to be the right one."

♛

"I'm more of a checkers fella myself. Plain and simple. Plus, the edges of the checker pieces at my house are really satisfying. When you get a really tall stack, you can roll them around on your arm and it's like a massage..." He says. Oh? Okay. Sometimes I wonder whether I'm the only one with my head in this game. His eyes wander around, shifting between my body and another in the distance.

I can't help but feel like I'm the way of something. That feeling of being caught in the middle of something that you don't belong in - that's what I feel right now. It's lonely to not feel that same level of want, but maybe it's my fault for not making friends like everyone else. If I was less of a selfish protectionist then perhaps I'd have someone in this arena to fight for and to fight for me. Except, I don't have much at all - it's not a case of narcissism preventing me from branching out, though, because I don't really like myself at all. Trust is a fragile thing and in a hell like this, it is poisoned. Backs are made to be stabbed, and if nobody has mine, then I'm okay.

All I really have to fight for is M word, and that's not even for the right reasons anymore. It's not a case of wanting to see him and hug him and tell him that everything will be okay now, because at that point, I will have won. It's not about that at all, because maybe I am a narcissist in some ways because I want to revel in the glory of watching him rage at my success. I want to smile as the glint in his eye disappears when he realises I did this for all the wrong reasons: for the starlight to crash into me and not him. And I'll shout a thousand things at him, none of which are good, and only when I am satisfied with whatever revenge plot I've come up, only then will I think about forgiveness.

Because he left me in that room, hoping for the best and expecting it too. It made everything feel so cold, so hollow that I questioned whether or not our friendship meant anything. Now I realise that it never really did. Seeing his hologram hurt tugs on my heartstrings but it does not change how I feel; I am red hot when I think about him and I won't be cooled for anyone.

I suppose Ulysses is in the way of something too.

"As you can see, I've got a lot riding on this. Chess and checkers... they're played on the same board, anyway." Ulysses continues on, eyes constantly flickering between me and whatever he fights for. 

"So do I," I tell him, moments before a sword slashes at my stomach. Blood trickles out from the wound like a gentle creek, but there's nothing soft about this moment. Reality is harsh and though I can feel the pain in the forefront of my mind, I force it into a corner. That can be dealt with later, just like everything else about myself that this arena has damaged. Time is too precious now. "My friend didn't come to say goodbye after the Reaping, and that hurt me more than any wound in this place. I'm doing this out of spite. I want to win to hurt him back and I don't care how wrong that is, because for me, that's the only thing that feels right."

I sigh and shoot a glance over to M word's failing hologram. Tired eyes, collar bones protruding like you could shake him and he'd rattle, hands cut and calloused by simply wanting to stay alive. But it isn't enough - and I am enough, I think, because I've looked like that hologram and still managed to get back up and fight. Completely selfish in my act, heart burning like the sun because I want the world to see that I belong to them.

"It's complicated. I'm complicated," I say blankly, sword in hand. The lily hilt catches my attention and I really hope that it was made for me. "Just like chess."

It's a game of infinite possibilities, but I only want one.

♛

The board and all of its pieces stand in silence. Swallowed by the thick air and the danger it holds, my body begins to feel wooden; plagued with the understanding that I could potentially end up as just another part in someone else's story. I don't want that to happen, though - in fact, I'd rather kill than let that happen. That is why I'm here: desperate for revenge because it's the only thing I know how to do well. 

All I need is this chance. I'm not going to beg for my own forgiveness despite my selfishness because whatever happens after life does not matter to me. There's too much for me to accomplish here, in the now, at home. There's so many words I've yet to say and so many wounds I've yet to inflict. I am a thousand stars hanging overhead in the night, threatening with each shine to cascade across the sky and land in your heart. On fire, with no sign of burning out - this is how the world wants me to be, it's what they need from me, and so, I'll be it.

"The difference between hurt and spite is that with spite, it doesn't seem like they took the time to try. All we've got going for us is the willpower to push on." Ulysses says, their sword raised into the air to deal another blow to my scarlet body. "You might have to settle for something other than going back home. From personal experience, never saying goodbye hurts nothing else."

Ulysses doesn't understand that there is no second option for me. I had died by my own doing back in Five and lived a second life with M word, carefree and wild, young and in charge for the very first time. I want to feel that again without the emotional ties of family - chosen or otherwise. I want to be truly free for the sake of my own pleasure, because why would I need to apologise for anything when the world would fall at my feet for something as simple as a smile?

Maybe I am just sick, and maybe that's where this problem all began. Maybe I should've taken M word not coming to say goodbye as a sign that everything would be downhill from there. And when that tear rolled down my cheek, I should've been more afraid than ever because that was a thousand times more painful than any death I had died before. But I don't think I am, and I don't think I was wrong to do what I have done - I don't want someone else to tell me that settling for something other than what I've always wanted is okay to do. It's not okay to do, it's not what I set out to achieve. I don't want to be held hostage by someone's mind and be nothing more than a ghost.

I want to feel the best whilst doing the worst. Unapologetic like a brute who has a force that cannot be tamed, I want to revel in the power that the spotlight provides. Aflame for the sake of attention, burning until my wooden body becomes stone.

"That just isn't what I came here to do. I told you, I'm complicated, and in my head, I've been trying to map this out for weeks." I think of how the silence used to consume me in a different way, in a way that did invoke a sense of fear because it meant that something terrible was coming. I don't think something terrible ever actually came, I think it was just me. "I might have to settle. Settle." I scoff, looking at the bloody ground. "I'm sorry, Ulysses, but I can't do that. I can't and I won't."

The chess board we play on feels smaller. The walls are closing in and our pieces are tumbling away. Ulysses plays checkers and I play chess. Ulysses likes the way the pieces fit and feel in their hands, but I like the way only one of those games has a queen.

My mission has always been simple: to win, but it has never felt more fleeting than this. Everything depends on making the right move, on taking away the pieces of Ulysses that matter so that I can keep playing. 

"I've got more than willpower. Maybe you're right about never saying goodbye hurting, maybe that'll hurt him without me needing to, but oh my god, to rub salt in the wounds and feel that rush..."

I inhale sharply, closing my eyes. For a second, it feels like I can taste retribution.

"No... no," I think it over in my head and deny myself premature pleasure. "To settle would be to surrender. There's no pride in that."
 

♛

The arena reeks of iron and the forest floors have been painted red. I don’t think there’s any way of knowing what blood belongs to who anymore because it all fades into one hellish masterpiece on the ground. Deep crimson in colour, the pools look endless and inviting, as if they too are their own portal to another world. Perhaps if I was truly demonic, I’d be able to see my reflection in them, but the fact I can’t means that there’s some humanity still in me.

It would always be difficult to rid myself of the fibres that make me human. Because being human is an eternal thing that goes beyond death, unfortunately, even though I wish it wasn’t like that. Sometimes I wonder if the brutes that win these games with ease aren’t really human at all - did they have the same sleepless nights as I did? Did they question every move their allies made because they wondered if curiosity would get the better of them and kill the cat that killed the mouse? I wish I was like them, if so, because God, it would be so much easier.

I lie to myself to keep myself going - I tell myself that it doesn’t hurt, and that it will never hurt if I simply don’t let it - which is false. Because with each slice Ulysses makes against my skin, I start to feel it more and more. And the blood becomes impossible to ignore when it’s dribbling from every part of my body, staining my skin. There’s no purple rain to wash it away, there are no golden rays to cauterise the wounds and there’s no teal ocean pools to relive the sting. Every ocean is tainted by a sick sea foam, and the rain is acid, and the sun isn’t really the sun at all - it’s hell, coming closer and closer.

So be it. I’m not afraid of it.

If this arena is a chess board, then I’ll keep moving dangerously and as I please. Knocking on death’s door might just be the best revenge after all. The world is watching and maybe they will hate him just as much as me, and maybe that will have to be enough if I can’t be.

I look to Ulysses and drag my sword up off of the ground. Dried blood crusts off revealing a wet layer underneath and it trickles down to the end of the blade like a country creek. But there’s no serenity here, there’s not even a fraction of peace. My mind is riddled with violence and I am desperate to see it through.

“I’m not afraid of being crushed. Why should I be?” I ask him plainly. Maybe he thinks we’re similar - I certainly don’t. “I won’t die with that hope, I’ll die in the safety of knowing it was all worth it.” 

But dying has to be done another day, I think, as my feet stagger along the ground. It can’t be today. It can’t be and it won’t be. I play chess and Ulysses plays checkers. 

Maybe I’ll win the long game. 
 

♛

Revenge is the sweetest when served cold. Like a body or a pawn swiped away from the playing table - there’s no animation or emotion left, just a cruel bitterness that seeks to devastate the soul. To have such a long-lasting effect on someone would be a statement that would be unforgettable, because how could someone ever forget the person who damned them for all of eternity? The power that could reside in my hands if the stars aligned and fell like a thousand tiny knives.

If only, I think - because my head hurts and so does my body. It does not mean I will give up, though. I’ve got more than my willpower to fight for; I have reasons to be doing what I’m doing. I have an insatiable sickness to revel in the spotlight that could be placed on me if I were to succeed at my mission. No time for apologies or emotion, no room for intensity - just desire, as deadly and destructive as it comes. I have realised that the danger is my becoming. So on this fine line between life and death, I feel the pain but dance in it. And they can all watch, because like it or not, I will not go down just because they will it of me.

“I don’t need a backup plan. Peace? I don’t want that. I reject peace. There’s more comfort in the chaos I can create than any peace could provide because the power is in my hands. I like that feeling. Don’t you?” I say, eyes glaring at Ulysses sword which is glazed with my dark blood. There must be the same sentiment shared to some extent because there’s no rejection from Ulysses. The bloodshed is just as comforting to them too.

“But hey, what do I know? Peace might be the last thing you need.”

“Exactly,” I spit. “We’re all complicated. Peace can’t be your priority either, but that’s okay. It’s normal. You want me dead and that’s the proof.”

If I wanted peace, I’d have looked at the hologram of M word and forgiven him in an instant. I’d have felt sorry for him and tried to heal the digital wounds on his body - to no avail, obviously, but I would have tried. There isn’t space in my heart for that anymore. I’ve rejected that. My eyes are red with rage and my tunnel vision is like a bullet, mind locked and loaded and the target is on his real body.

“We’re all evil - some of us just realise it before the rest and embrace it whilst they still can.”

I shake my head and look to the ground. If it swallows me whole right now, it would spit me back out.

“I’ll get my revenge, dead or alive. I get that. My checkmate is secured. But what about you? How’s your game of checkers ever going to end when you like the feel of the pieces too much?” 
 

♛

The blade cuts against his face, spilling more blood onto the board we play on. I threaten my presence: I lean against the handle of my sword as the end pierces the stained glass ground gently, the weight of my limp body almost turning it into a hundred shards of devastation. The rolling green vegetation of this arena seems distant despite being so vivid; it is impossible to replace the newfound darkness with anything even remotely light.

Ulysses says that they need me to die for them to win. To be told that someone else needs you to die feels like a very empty thing to say - in the context of the Hunger Games, I don’t think needing that violence is an appropriate thing to say. Because if it were a real need, I’d have been dispatched a long time ago. Jumped over with the checkers that fit nicely in their hands, I’d become a part of something that I never intended. This is not like that. This is intentional: long and drawn out, deliberately brandishing each other with scars that’ll never really heal. I think every tribute wants this, to an extent, because nobody is a pacifist. It would be so easy to deny the world their entertainment but nobody does it.

It is not the necessity Ulysses says that it is. It is a want, and maybe one day, they will realise that. Or, maybe they won’t and maybe it will be too late before they get the chance. Either way - I stand up for the chaos I believe in and take pride in knowing that it is what I truly want. I want the bodies at my feet if it means a crown can be mine. I want blood on my hands if it means I can afford the luxury of having someone else wash it off. This violence is the most perfect choice a girl like me could ever make because I’m not a pawn.

“You can try to justify it all you want,” because the means to this end is really just a lie. Whatever makes someone else feel better, I guess, but they best be prepared for the day that reality crashes down and chokes them. When the pieces start to fall away and all that is left is real power - that is when they will realise that wanting it is not the damnation they think it is, and it is in fact a blessing.

“I don’t know. Sometimes it’s better to choose to feel nothing at all before the choice is made for you. There’s power in that.” I say because it is exactly how I have lived my life. I have faked my own death to create a new life in the harshest environment home had to offer. I begged, stole and borrowed just so that I could keep my eyes open long enough to see the sunset get draped with the pastel tones of sunrise, and then I’d do it all over again. That power feels so innate now that I cannot imagine myself, this life, without it.

Maybe that’s the real revenge: to know that I never really needed Marcus at all.

“You’ll always feel something? Best throw those pieces out now.” I push my lips together and look around. Everything throbs. If Ulysses kills me, feeling something will become an incurable plague. I’m glad I let that go. “Maybe it’s time to start learning chess.”