depths unseen - rotten! day 1

Their opinions were mixed about stopping to rest in the cemetery with its ancient headstones, knobby old willow and crumbling, faceless statues. Thompson said it was kind of pretty. August understood what he meant, and nodded; there was something beautiful in all of this moss-covered decay, like evidence of some post-human time, with nature recovering its stillness after whatever tragedy happened here. If Panem were to fall one day like this fairytale kingdom, would there be daisies sprouting around all of their graves? Stone angels weeping for their past?

But he thought Tsiuri was onto something when she said, ”Something about this place feels like it would suck out our souls.”

Yeah. It was a feeling. Like someone breathing down his neck. Someone watching, but not in the same way as the cameras. More like a presence in the far corner of a room, something hiding just out of range of his periphery.

He trusted Tsiuri’s instincts. Though they barely knew each other, it was clear she was more intuitive than either he or Thompson. A sixth sense for a rotten situation. He attributed it to her time spent bartending– maybe she had to learn to sniff out the creeps, or catch on when a fight was brewing.

“But maybe it wouldn’t be all too bad to sit and tend to our injuries while we figure something out."

August shook his head. Just when he was starting to agree with her, she suggested they stay there. Maybe she was tired; he didn’t blame her.

”I don’t know. I think you might be right about the sucking out our souls thing. There’s something off about this place. Maybe we should keep moving. Can I carry something for you?” he asked, shifting his stuff onto one shoulder so he could offer a hand.

"I got it, thanks,” she answered. ”Actually, I could carry a little more if you wanna hand something over."

Typical Tsiuri. He laughed, answering her with an affectionate eye roll, then motioned with his head that they should start walking in the other direction. As he marched off, he called back over his shoulder to her, ”C’mon Tsiuri, you can’t carry everything on your shoulders!” He wasn’t in any position to be telling them where to go. But he thought a little encouragement would keep them from getting too comfortable among the headstones. Never a good idea, in principle.

August took the front of the line, while Tsiuri covered their backs. Neither of them mentioned to Thompson that they were trying to protect him by putting him in the middle, but if the training simulation was any indication, he needed it, at least until they found time for more target practice.

Their walk through the forest was so peaceful, it was almost possible to forget why they were all there. It wasn’t like he felt at home, exactly–but being surrounded by trees made him feel… less out of place. The birds were singing, despite everything, and a few chipmunks scurried across their path, diving into piles of fallen leaves. He stopped along the way to squint at some orange fungi growing out of a long.

”Hey Thompson. D’you think this is chicken of the woods? Or… One of those poisonous Jack-O’-Lantern ones?” He knelt down and sniffed it, flicking with one finger. It smelled like fish, and made a rubbery thunk. ”Better not chance it,” he decided finally.

Soon the woods opened up into a clearing dotted with crystal clear ponds. August stopped to take it all in, the light filtering through the trees and striping the lily pads, revealing some of the fish hiding underneath.

”It’s so beautiful. Almost makes you wonder what’s the catch,” he thought aloud. ”Wait… what’s that?”

There was something towards the back of the clearing. A place where all the light was gathering–which didn’t really make sense, but that’s what it felt like. He stepped carefully around the edge of the water to get to it.

A huge wooden face was looking out at them from above a pond, exuding an ancient, mysterious power. For some reason, he felt the urge to make a wish, but he didn’t have any coins on him. Instead, he knelt down and picked up a smooth, flat rock. Running his thumb across the surface, he looked back to Thompson and Tsiuri.

”Make a wish.” Then he added, ”Don’t say what it is, though, obviously.”

He thought for a moment, not wanting to waste it, like the many birthdays where he’d forgotten to think of something before blowing out the candles. It was harder than he imagined. How was it that trivial ideas like this sometimes seemed to hold the most weight? Like he could really make or break things with one thought. But he thought that if magic existed, it would be like that. Superstition, wishes, jinxes. Words in your head that became reality.

I wish for all my arrows to hit exactly where I aim them. It felt right to ask for something specific.

Bringing the rock to his lips, he kissed it, then skipped it into the pond.

_{D A R S}