witness [magi, day 6]

m a g i

We've paid in pain, now we'll keep the change
The blame is for the birds (blame is for the birds)
I'll break it up into pieces and feed it to them by the river

His head swam.

As he stumbled away from where he’d just participated in Xaa’s execution, Magi wavered back and forth between curved branches. He did his best not to press his hands too close against the gnarled bark of the wood, lest he leave a trail that would make him easy to follow.

Another cannon sounded and he stumbled, head over feet, until he crashed down against the dirt and grime.

Magi turned on his back to look up at the sky. A second cannon echoed, and he leaned on his elbow to count out the number of times he’d heard the sound. Five. Did that mean? Was he one of the few to survive until eight – seven – remained? He unfurled his fingers and twisted his hand into a fist.

What did it matter now?

Blood wept from every part of his body then, dripping from his forehead, smearing over his arms, across his legs, and from a space between his shoulder blades, too. He could scarcely hold a needle and thread long enough to begin stitching the skin along his forearm, let alone attempt to patch all the pieces of him that seemed to be coming apart.

Tomorrow would be the same as today had been, only worse, seeing how close he was to the end.

Larissa and all the rest had an unsinkable determination to wear a crown that Magi cared little for; he was far more interested in whatever key would take down the forcefield that locked them into this inhuman arena. He let out a cough that brought an ache to his chest. Fluid crackled between his ribs and he spat out another loogie mixed with mucus and blood.

“I told you I wasn’t done yet.” His voice crept through the branches. “I know I haven’t been much to follow,” Magi admitted, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t still want to be here.”

His steady approached had yielded the same result as the other six. He and Lara had kept to the margins, had transferred to the shadows, and fought like hell not to perish.

For a boy that had always relied on blending into a crowd, he’d become aware how exposed he was now. Forced to step into his own limelight or disappear, Magi had not yielded.

“I’m a little bit messed up right now.” Magi shifted to wrap a set of bandages across his forehead. He clutched the amulet around his neck and felt a pierce of cold slip across his flesh. Down his spin and spiraling outward, the chill licked at his wounds.

“I’m sorry,” Magi apologized. He couldn’t stop himself. He’d been raised to be polite, to excuse himself for what he lacked, and to make himself small. “I’m sorry if you’re worried. Or if you think I’m not gonna make it.”

His voice cracked as he struggled to find his words.

“I don’t know if I am, either,” He admitted, “But I’m still gonna try. That’s what you taught me, and it’s all I can do. No matter what.”

[Magi performs actions in maintenance]