The Bloodbath

My lovely darling girl, what do you see? What do you see within the broken mirror? The broken mirror that you punched through because you didn’t like what you see? Punching it, so hard, that it shattered into a million little pieces, just like you shattered into a million pieces those years ago? Do you see your bleeding knuckles, and feel disgusted by the blood that drips down to the floor, with the sound of rain? Do you see the piece of glass you hold desperately in your hand, trying to find an easier way out? Do you see a girl who might as well be a ghost, or do you see a girl who has a beating heart and a soul? My lovely darling girl, what do you see?

How do you feel, my lovely darling girl? How do you feel as you fall to your knees in front of the broken mirror, realizing that you might die in a few hours? How do you feel as you hear your stylist’s voice asking what you have done, and the sounds your escort sees the piece of glass that sits in your hand? How do you feel when he asks you why you broke the mirror that was in your room? And then, how do you feel when you tell him that you were afraid? Are you confused because you don’t know why you were afraid? It was only your reflection, so what is there to be afraid of? Did you see a monster behind you? Or was it directly where you stood? How do you feel, my lovely darling girl?

What do you hear, my lovely darling girl? Do you hear the sounds of distress from your escort as she walks into the room and sees you with a piece of glass within your bleeding hand? Do you hear the soothing voice of your stylist in your ear as he easily plucks the piece of glass out of your grasp? Do you hear the tearing of pale flesh at the glass cuts your hand open? Do you hear your escort stomp out of the room, threatening to throw up at the site of blood in real life? What do you hear, my lovely darling girl?

My lovely darling girl… who are you? Why are you so shattered like the mirror before you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~She wakes with tears~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Kent slowly rolled a bandage around the hand that had released an impressive mass of blood, she could feel the eyes of sadness looking up at her every so often, casting wary glances towards the white lines that decorated her arms like a thin ribbon tied around them. He knew from the beginning that I wasn’t like any of them. He knew that I was a broken thing since the beginning. A broken thing that could never be fixed. Soon enough, she felt the presense of another human leave the area of her hands, and so she took it from the air and let it dangle miserably at her side, directing her face down to the red carpet beneath her boots, looking at it almost as a lifeline. “Lightning… why did you do that?” Her red hair covered her face like a veil, hiding her motionless, expressionless eyes, that had tears rimming the edge, like a dam that would soon overflow.

“You knew from the beginning. I was a broken thing. The continuous nightmares… my scars. And now I have to act as though they are a badge of strength and honor. And I have to take people’s lives. People who deserve to go to their families more than I deserve to go to mine.” Kent didn’t utter a word for the next minute after she spoke, drinking in the words like a shot of hard whisky that refused to go down. “I can understand the toll self-injury and murder takes on your mind. I understand that you feel guilt, but you say it like you have no right to go home. Every person in these Games has the right to go home, they just gotta fight for it.”

As Lightning shook her head, she looked up, slightly angry, the tears dangerously threatening to roll down her face. “My outlaw eyes have seen their lies. They never cared for me. Even once, when they walked in on me in the bathroom… doing that to myself,” -she quickly held out her arms at this point- “They thought it was hilarious. They made jokes about it, poking fun at me about it. They never got me help. That just showed me how much I have a family.” Kent bowed his head at the same time as she, his rainbow eyes scanning the floor just as Lightning did also. “Lightning… out of all of the tributes I have styled in my life, I think that you were one of the most beautiful of them, inside and out. I don’t want you to go out there and not at least fight for your right to live. I don’t want you to give up because you think you aren’t loved.”

Lightning looked up, multiple wet lines covering her face. “Who is there to love me? These tributes aren’t my friends… hell, one of them will kill me. So, tell me, Kent. Who is there to love me?” Without skipping a beat, he quickly responded. “Me, Lightning. I love you.” The tears that raced out of her eyes came to a halt as she soaked in the words that left his pale pink lips. Even though it was childish, she didn’t care; she leapt into his arms and hugged him as tight as she could ever possibly imagine she could. And at that moment, every mental wound that had plagued her for her entire life, was sewn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Stitch your wounds with me tonight~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Kent had helped her into the arena clothes, he looked at her with pride in his eyes. “If you can’t come back for your parents, can you at least come back for me?” Lightning felt tears well up again. All of her years of being legible for the Hunger Games, she dreamed of going into them to rid her family – and everyone else – of her presence. Nobody liked her; they could barely stand to look at her. But now, she knew that someone was going to wait for her. And I always aim to please. “I don’t want to disappoint you anymore, Kent. I’ll try.” Leaping into his chest for the second time in thirty minutes, she put her head against his chest and heard his heartbeat. Too bad I don’t think mine will be beating for much longer.

Pulling herself away from him, with tears yet again in her eyes, she looked up at him and nodded, whispering that she would try her best. Hearing the voice of the Gamemakers, he directed her onto the platform and smiled at her as the glass closed around her. Thank you. So much. I thought that this country was cruel, but now I see that I was wrong. I just had to find the right person. And with that fleeting thought, she saw Kent one last time waving at her. Just as he was out of her view, she swore that she saw a tear roll down his face. Back down in the little preparation room, Kent really did cry. And she would never see the tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Why am I so alone with people around me?~~~~~~~~~~~

The blood red sand that flowed around the arena, changing its shape with every gust of wind that would pass over it. It didn’t take a lot of guessing to know that walking over it could be pretty difficult. The wind and sand combined as one washed over the tributes like the waves in an ocean, except these wouldn’t knock you down. Even though the sandy wind covered the arena like a fog, she could clearly see through it; the Cornucopia filled with its weapons in front of her, and three massive towers surrounding all of them. For a small moment, she wondered How long did it take for them to build an arena like this? But that was the artistic, creative side of her taking control of her brain. Turning on the intelligent and battle strategizing part of her, she scanned the Cornucopia, finding many different weapons, bags, and other things that would allow her to live.

As her wide blue eyes scanned the sand, she felt fear seer through her, like a cattle brander pressed against her abdomen. This place; this place around her, was where she would soon die. She would die in maybe a few minutes. Maybe hours. Days? Maybe never? Nonetheless, this was her hell. This was the place she would kill to later be killed. This would the place where she would be tortured. Maybe lose an arm, a leg, a hand, a foot, a finger, a toe. Nonetheless, this was going to be her tomb for as long as the stars continued to twinkle in the sky. And I am standing in the place where I will die. I will die here. Even though I told him I would be back. I will die here.

She decided to go for – at the very least – a weapon, a bag, and a water bottle. That was all that was important to her. But if she couldn’t get at least that, then she would just run like a tornado runs across a plain. And that’s all I am. Tangled up and looking for destruction. Seeing as a few of the other tributes began to take running stances, she put her left leg slightly behind her and put her hands on her right knee, preparing to spring at the sound of a gong. That one sound that will send us all to their deaths. And as the gong rang, making her eardrums vibrate uncomfortably, she jumped down into the sand, looking around her. Let’s kill tonight.

Julian sat quietly on the small, overly fluffed couch provided in the Launch Room. Cream, his stylist, had carefully helped him into his Capitol-provided ensemble each tribute would be wearing into the arena. He took in a deep breath through his nose. Just what kind of arena would this be…?

Cream was bobbing around the little tray of food that had been left for Julian to snack on before his upcoming entrance into the Games. His sticky little fingers popped sweet after sweet through his heavily lipsticked lips. Julian furled his lip in disgust; even the thought of food when he was distraught made him ill. He knew his mother would scold him right now, for not at least attempting to get sustenance into his stomach, but he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to keep anything down. He did aggressively take in an entire bottle of water though; he was not about to die of dehydration on the first day.

His eyes drifted to the platform in the far corner of the room, the one he knew he must stand upon in what could be only a few more moments. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. Try as he might to force this feeling into the pit he kept his other emotions locked away in, he couldn’t suppress the legitimate fear building inside of him. He had spent his entire life preparing for this exact moment, and just what would he do if it went all wrong? To die in the bloodbath… he couldn’t imagine a fate more embarrassing than that. All would be for nothing, and there would be no one left to avenge Midas… Midas—had he been afraid upon his own entrance into the arena? Julian swallowed as he tried to remember Midas’s face as he rose into the frozen arena of the Fifty-ninth Hunger Games. Determination. That was the look on his face.

Before he could stop the memory in it’s tracks however, Midas again lay dead in the snow, slain by the boy of District 8 and the girl of District 4… Fury burned in his chest as his focus shifted back to the task at hand. Vengeance was coming swiftly, to be dealt by the hands of Julian Bryze. Why in Panem was he sitting here cowering? He knew nearly every tribute feared him. In fact it was he who was probably on many of their minds this moment as they sat in launch rooms of their own. As they should be, he thought to himself as an evil little grin spread across his face. He recalled his training score eleven, the highest scorer of the tributes this year. There was a reason he was a favorite to win, and he couldn’t let nerves get the best of him now.

He stood quietly as the pleasant voice came from unseen speakers overhead. It was time to prepare for launch. Cream walked over to adjust Julian’s outfit just right as Julian stepped gracefully onto the platform. He turned and faced Cream with a smug grin and said confidently, “I’ll see you in a few days, Cream. I’d go ahead and start prepping my victory tour fashions if I were you.” He gave a little wink as the glass cylinder lowered around him. He stood with his chest out, icy blue eyes sparkling and confidence seeping from every pore of his being. The show he promised Panem was about to begin.

Slowly metal plate began to rise, and for a moment, Julian found himself surrounded in darkness. He said a silent prayer to Midas, wherever he might be. Watch over me, big guy... As the darkness is broken up by light, everything in Julian’s line of vision becomes warm. His eyes take a moment to adjust as he realizes he’s surrounded by sand of blood red. A wicked grin curls his lips upward as the sand registers with him. Sand was certainly not easy to run in, especially for those who aren’t used to it. He was confident he would be one of the first to enter the cornucopia.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixtieth Hunger Games begin!”

Julian readied himself to run; the sixty-second timer had begun. His cold blue stare was in stark contrast to the warmth that surrounded in the colors of this strange arena. He could see large towers rising in the distance, but he wasn’t concerned with them for now. At the moment, all that mattered was the golden horn that lay before him.

He had lost track of the time in his head, but that didn’t matter. Once the gong sounded, he bolted off of his platform into the cloud of sand kicked up by his feet as he charged. His nostrils twitched as he snarled viscously. MINE!

As soon as she had stepped off the plate, another girl, one who she thought was District 7, swung her fist at her, but luckily for her, she missed. Smirking, she thought If you're gonna die, at least try to put up a fight. Don't just play this game as nice as you can. Reeling her arm back, she attacked the girl back, trying to teach her a lesson on survival.

Finally he reached the golden arch of the cornucopia. Julian’s eyes grew wide with hunger as they fell upon the array of weapons and supplies the gamemakers had carefully layed out for the tributes. A look of triumph flashed across his face as he extended an arm out to grab his choice weapon. Unfortunately he felt someone else already upon him, and they were too close for comfort. No time to loose, Julian forgot the weapon for the moment and whipped around to deal a blow to the first tribute foolish enough to cross his path.

[Julian attacks Lightning, unarmed]
[dice=200+5000]
Miss