gingersnaps, d'arcy, baby v. forest (day 3)

D'Arcy awoke feeling far from well rested. She had dreamed again over the night, she was certain of it; she could still feel the numb grief of its story slow to pull her body from its tendrils. She could still hear the marching, still see the tear as it tumbled down the cheek of - who was it? Not anyone she recognized, neither back in District Six nor in the Capitol. It all seemed so strange - the marching, the scarf, the pub sign swinging. She felt like she had spent a year trapped in the dream, stuck in the same moment, not able to turn her head away from the sadness. It was all so foreign to D'Arcy, and yet somehow it felt like a place she had been before.

Perhaps it was the weight of the dream on her, or the stress of her situation, but she was having a hard time truly waking herself up to full alertness. Her thoughts took more will to push her body through tidying her things, checking in on Prince Froggington, and getting ready to move on to somewhere new. She didn't like these dreams she was having one bit; she was sure they had something to do with her heavy feeling, and somehow they seemed tied to that throne room, to these ruins. She couldn't remember enough to make sense of them, just enough to remember the exhaustion and the pain.

As she checked her heavy shin guards a streak of something on her skin caught her eye. There, just behind the string clasping the armour to her skin: a tiny streak of grey clay smudged above her ankle. Probably some mud she missed after her ventures at those shimmering ponds that first day. It irritated D'Arcy how dirty she was getting out here - she missed having a bath or shower, she missed the feeling of clean clothes on clean skin, her hair freshly washed. Her princess garb was still brilliant, sure - the golden details still shone bright, but the first signs of her life in the wilderness were marking themselves on her clothes now. It was very decidedly un-princesslike of her.

She licked her thumb and began to rub off the smudge, deciding she would do this last thing before moving on - hang on. She scrubbed again just to make sure she hadn't imagined it. The mark felt cold and strange on her skin, hardened in place. No matter how much she tried to clean it off, it was still there, as grey as ever. Something seemed off about it, too. A shiver ran down her spine before she decided to leave it be and hurry up on her journey. The sooner she left these ruins behind, the happier she'll be.

The morning fog was still hanging in the air as she left the rubble and entered the treeline. It left D'Arcy feeling a bit uneasy; who knew what might be hiding out in the misty distance here? What dangers, or mutts, or tributes might be stalking her like prey at this very instant. For a moment she stopped, debated turning back or waiting until the fog lifted. The idea of returning to the rubble left her uneasy though. At least the trees here were not too dense, the sky peeked through constantly to let the daylight shine through.

Plus, D'Arcy loved the sight of the flowers by her feet every step she took. They comforted her with their vibrant colours. Some even seemed to be the same as the ones from her meadow back home; daisies here, some periwinkle there. She kept her eye out for her precious forget-me-nots and the sense of home she'd get at their presence, although so far she could see none. There were a few she didn't recognize too; beautiful, strange flowers that seemed to be facing her more than any sunlight. They seemed as curious of her as she was of them.

As the morning mist began to fade the rain began to fall. D'Arcy could smell the damp of earth that she loved so much; who cares if she felt she was being watched, if she could be here with so many things that felt almost like she was back in District Six, and this Games was itself the only real nightmare she was having. She stopped in a clearing among the trees and turned her face up to the sky, letting some drops of rain drop down on her in a moment of calm.

It was fast - the rustling of the grass, not too far from where she was standing. D'Arcy jolted her attention quickly in the direction of the noise, spotted a pair of tributes, a third nearby too. D'Arcy's heart raced as she saw one swing out at another. At least they were not all one happy group, she rationalized. She was rooted to the spot though; terrified to make a run for it, trying to prepare for the inevitable moment when they saw her, turned their attention in her direction. She could do this, she had her sword, she would be ready. Nobody wins the Games without fighting for it, after all.

The slices across her skin came quick, letting her know too late that she had been worrying about the wrong dangers this whole time.

Another night in the Arena, another twisted dream. Only this time, my memory of the dream isn’t as strong as the one with the night. I remember a woman, holding a light source in her hand. Not a flame, but not something modern like a flashlight either. The light that emanated from her hand was almost magical. And because of this I’m convinced that the Gamemakers have slipped some kind of hallucinogen into the air. If my dreams were my own, they would be of my family. Maybe my dreams could have been about the life I might lead when I get out of the Arena. Or maybe of the life I could have had if it was just myself and Janae, not worrying about the continued antics of Lyndsey and Kat. Although I fear that without the two youngest, the stratagems of my mother would have only worn my father down even more than he already is. That could be happening already though. Janae is too docile to mitigate the energy of the trio that is my mother, Lyds, and Kat. And Moira doesn’t dig deep enough into the understandings of what is around her, only taking things at face value. She often misses the complexity and nuances that make life so intriguing.

If I am going to have a dream to hold onto, it is finally having space between myself and the majority of my family. A space that confines the time I spend around their brazen and impudent natures.

The grogginess still seeps into my bones as I asses the situation. Sounds are closing, all of my items are accounted for, and I’m still breathing. The only thing through is that the back of my hand has turned gray, similar in tone to the knight. I put my hands into the water to rub off whatever it is, but it doesn’t budge. There is no physical delineation mark that shows where it could have crusted onto me either. It’s entirely smooth, as if it was coming from inside of me.

“Well that’s fucked up.” I think to myself as I dry my hands on the mossy floor. The morning mist encompasses me like like a warm blanket, softly circulating around my limbs. It’s a bittersweet comfort, knowing that I will be hidden from the tributes. But what creatures has the Gamemakers engineered to see through such a cover? I know I’m not safe, but I’ve proven myself yesterday. If I can hold my own against an animated stone stature and make it out with barely a scratch, I can handle a few clumsy teenagers.

Cynder and I make our way west, and south, trying to explore something new, hoping to find resources where we may be lacking. As we continue forward the canopy of the trees diminish to allow whaat little sunlight there is. On a cloudless day, this area would be bright, and almost inviting. Yet today the clouds roll in, and the scent of rain hangs in the air, and oracular sign that coulda are about to break. The flowers that coat the floor are muted, and the surfaces they climb start to blend into the surroundings, giving the illusion that the flowers are free standing. Hung in the air by the anticipation that creeps into my neck. The feeling of apprehension exudes freely in this part of the Arena, giving the sense that the forest is almost holdings its breath. But why though? What are the Gamemakers trying to accomplish, besides the inevitable deaths of the other tributes?

The air cracks, allowing the sky to fall down upon as we I try to find cover in sparse canopy that the trees offer. The rain is cool to the tough, more seasonable for autumn than for the summer, but in this tiny ecosystem, we’re at the mercy of puppet masters. What catches my eye though, is the site of Baby running towards me, a maelstrom of petals following fast behind her. Blood is already spewing from the various cuts in her skin.

“Shut, we have to run!” I call out as I turn on my heel. I know that there is no escaping the flurry of petals, but at least I can find a place to hide. Baby reaches out to me and I take her hand, not caring that she isn’t my ally and District partner. My only concern is trying to stay safe another day.

_[DARS]

The first slice from the razor-sharp petals felt no worse than a papercut - a sharp stab of pain, a lingering sting across D'Arcy's left cheek. Then another slice of the rainbow cut neat across her arm, another nicked her ear. Again and again the cuts came and the sting of the papercut grew into the agony of being shredded alive. The flowers D'Arcy loved so much had turned against her.

Adrenaline pushed her legs into action, coaxing her to run away from the barrage that seemed to surround her. Arms raised, screams pushed aside in favour of gasps for air to fuel her sprint. She was running towards the other tributes she had seen now, saw them react to the forest's attack as well. At least it wasn't something personal between her and the woods, their rage seemed geared towards anyone who dared cross into their sacred domain. She ran after the others, counting on the desire to flee from the forest's rage being stronger than any desire to kill D'Arcy themselves.

They seemed faster than she was - curse her little legs! - but she was determined not to let them out of her sights either. They were moving in a direction D'Arcy was unfamiliar with; perhaps they would know a way out, an escape route from this slow torture. She could already see the faint lines of blood on her arms growing thick as it began to seep from her. To slow down would be to die, she felt almost certain of it. D'Arcy had sensed the foreboding when another night had come and still no cannons had fired, still no faces had lit up the sky. Maybe the forest was demanding blood now, something to satisfy the arena, the viewers, the Capitol.

Her foot catches on a root and she tumbles low, momentarily she's below the line of fire and granted a moment to think. She knew she'd need to be back up on her feet quick or she'd risk losing track of the others, or the flurry might find her on the ground and stop her from ever being able to get back up. She rights herself, an idea forming desperate in her mind. Perhaps it will not work, perhaps it will save her from a bit of harm. The reward outweighed the risk, there was nothing to lose.

Her hands grab firm onto the hilt of her new sword, drawing it out into her hands with a quick motion around her, slicing back at as many petals as she can find as she spins in her quick circle. The slices across her body throbbed a reminder of their damage. All D'Arcy wanted was to throw back a cut of her own.

The warmth of Baby’s hand contrasts the cold surface of the immovable clay on my hand as we continue to find cover. The flower storm cuts deep into my skin as the petals swirl around us. Knicks across my arms, leg, and face start seeping blood, staining the the navy tunic into a deep indigo. In any other circumstances, this would have been a beautiful scene, a flurry of multi-colored petals flying around in a technicolor mosaic. Instead here I am, with three other young girls, trying to play protector for them when I should only be focusing on myself. The parallels between my home life and my life in the arena are becoming quite stark to me. How I somehow always felt responsible for my younger sisters, and how I feel responsible for trying to keep these young girls safe. Or at least as one can be in a death game.

The girl from Six, D’arcy I think her name is, started to fight back. Swinging out at the petals, her sword acting as a shield. It’s seems to be effective as the petals seem to just nip her skin.

“I don’t know how much further I can run…” Baby wheezes as her hand still grips mine,

Adrenaline starts pumping through my veins as I look for anywhere to hide against the storm.

“Come on!” I yell at everyone around me. “I think I found a ditch we can use for cover.” I drag Baby along, my hand squeezing hers in silent solidarity

_[DARS]

The blade slices through the air like butter. With the force of D'Arcy's swing she manages to deflect many of the tiny bladed flowers from their trajectory towards her skin - some sliced in two, others caught up in the new air current just long enough to miss flesh. Still, it's not enough to deflect them all, and the fresh round of papercut stings tells D'Arcy her victory was short lived.

The energy of the forest seemed even more intense now in its thirst for her blood. D'Arcy wasn't sure she'd manage to get another chance to try something like that. Crap, panic began to take root in her mind. The petals seemed so immense now, so impossibly everywhere that she started to feel as though she'll end up lost in this torture until the petals had bled her dry and left her to return to the soil. Perhaps that was the goal of this forest; this was just the way they hunted for their food, letting people turn into food for the killer plants to feast upon.

She was scared now, terrified beyond anything she had felt in the Games up to this point. Her mind still felt heavy with fog, her muscles ached from exhaustion, every inch of her skin stung as air hit her tens of tiny cuts. Still, D'Arcy ran forward in the direction the other three had run off towards. She had no choice, she refused to give in and die now. Not once she had finally found a tool that made her feel like a warrior, a proper tribute. Not when she finally felt like she had a chance.

“I don’t know how much further I can run…” one of the other tributes pants out. D'Arcy turns to find the other three had stopped, had noticed her there too, had watched her slice out with her sword. Two of them she didn't know very well - the girls from District 8. The speaker was a familiar face, bringing fresh to her mind the night they had met in the Library. Baby from 9. D'Arcy hoped that she, too, remembered the moment of calm that had come long before they found themselves caught in this storm.

One of the girls from Eight calls out to us all, “I think I found a ditch we can use for cover,” as she grabs Baby's hand and turns to start running once more. D'Arcy hesitates for a moment on whether to follow. Could she trust this group to want to help each other survive this storm? Was it all part of a plan to lure her in to a sense of security, only to kill her themselves? Wasn't it easier to leave everyone to their deaths here in the open, let the death be blameless?

A fresh cut, and another, and D'Arcy decides to take the risk and run with the others. Soon she sees it too - a depression in the ground, deep enough surely for them all to duck inside of, where the petals seem to be leaving be like a blind spot. Her spirits lift, she might actually survive the forest's attack! All it would take is one more leap now, filled with faith, through the cloud of death that's thickening around her.

D'Arcy holds her breath, and jumps for it.