Ring of Fire // Day 3

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There was no piece of the word that prepared Cyrus for this moment. There was no memory of his mother to take away the chill that ran down his spine. There wasn’t one moment in his own past about death that he could hold onto so that he could settle his nerves. There wasn’t anything that prepared him for Noreen’s death, or the confusion that followed. Rather, the cannon fired and the children around him began to rush Pandora, forsaking the moment for bloodshed instead. Even Cyrus rushed to push past them, his harpoon angling so that he could better block any blow that might come his way. There was no time to grieve, only survival mode. For as much as he wanted his thoughts to be clouded by poetry of his mother or advice of his father, as much as he wanted to picture Noreen with her children happily in the ever after, as much as he wanted to rip open his shirt, fall to his knees, and wail at the rain, there was no time. This was a battle to the death, and they were doomed. Thunder crashed as Cyrus rushed forward, ducking away from Walker and Pandora.

“Just one more stab in the back, isn’t that right?[/b]” Cyrus hissed as he slid past Elon, the boy from district ten that he had once thought so highly of, now had revealed himself to be much the same as any of the other tributes in the arena. If he could’ve bashed the boy’s head in then, if only he could’ve jabbed his harpoon through his eye, he would’ve done so. But Pandora lay bruised and battered, and he was not leaving any man behind. First though, first he would have to make good on his promise. But she’s not completely gone.[/i] He grit his teeth as he rounded her body, skidding to his knees with a spray of sand as he fell to face Nonnie. There was no life in her eyes, only the glint of the lightning flashing reflected back at him. “It’s not like she ever had a chance, isn’t that right? It’s not like any of you would’ve given her the chance…[/b]”

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One emotion coursed through him as he stared down at Nonnie: anger. Anger for himself: he’d failed to protect her and uphold his promise. Anger at the children around him: they could have taken down Pandora or Cyrus, two grown boys, but instead went after a woman that had just had children. Anger at Panem: they cared little for whether she lived or died. Anger at Him: what sense did any of this make, and what had they done to deserve such endings? Only anger—that bitterness that welled up underneath his skin like a pipe ready to burst— was fueling him now. And he hated himself for being so angry, for letting the games shake and rattle him past the point of breaking. He was supposed to find a way to save them, so that they could make it to the end and make the choice for themselves, but now Cyrus knew that they would never have control.

Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you dear

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But I have never been able to understand anyone. I have never been able to know just what anyone thought—why, why did I think that I could do that now? Was it because I trusted myself to be strong? Was it because I was foolish in thinking that this was just a game, and that I had luck on my side? Because that’s what all of them think, too. We all think that we’re destined to make it out of here… and if we all think that, then none of us really know… none of us really have any idea… about the truth…[/i]

He hadn’t known Nonnie that long. In truth, they’d spent a few nights huddling together out of fear for their lives. He didn’t know what her favorite dinner was. He didn’t know who her best friend was—did she have best friends? He knew only what he’d seen of her before the games, and a few bits and pieces he’d manage to extract from her when they had any time at all. What did she like to do most, lay out in the sun on a hot day, or walk through the streets and stare up at the stars at night? What was the first thing that she would do if she got out of the arena? Did she ever really believe she was going to make it home to her children? Perhaps it was better this way. They weren’t supposed to grow to love one another. But wasn’t it wrong he didn’t even know her middle name? Did she even have a middle name?[/i] He could feel a pang in his chest as he thought of this.

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As the rain washed away the blood and dripped along his face, he thought he’d be better able to hide the tears then rushing down his cheeks. He had not wanted to feel so much for yet another death, but how could he not weep for all those she was leaving behind. Lightning flashed above and Cyrus could only imagine the newborn babies fussing at home, never to know that their mother had just been brutally slaughtered. They would forever have the image preserved as part of the games television, able to see the scared boys and girl that were determined to finish them. And there would be Cyrus in the rain, next to her body, holding tight to his harpoon, his head tilted downward toward Nonnie’s, whispering that I will deliver you from them[/i] and kissing her forehead gently.

Cyrus reached down and clasped at the metal on Nonnie’s ring finger. Her wedding band was still warm when he placed it on his own finger—this way another would have to kill him to get it—and crouched for another moment at her side. Hers was the face of a beautiful girl, blood littering the sand beneath her, one that had never deserved the cruelty of the arena. “They were wrong to do it… they were wrong Nonnie,[/b]” Cyrus whispered to her, knowing that she was gone. He could feel his face grow flushed, but he didn’t want to break down again. Not here, and not now.[/i] There was no time to weep for his fallen comrade, if only that the others were so vicious in trying to kill them as well. He muttered a little prayer for her, his lips shaking as he stood and brought his harpoon across his chest.

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He could imagine himself with her children, couldn’t he? Even as the rain streaked across his face and blurred his vision, was it foolish for him to think of his life after the arena? Was there still a kernel of hope left in him then? He could imagine that he would survive this, and bring them stories of how wonderful Noreen had been. How brave, how sweet, and how deserving she was of life. That they should never be afraid because she was never afraid—even in calling out his name, she had wanted comfort over violence—of this arena. Instead she had been determined, just as they would have to be. And they would sit in his lap as he would stare down at them in wonder. For there should be no victor that slayed a mother, not anyone that would so willingly take the potential of something so great.[/i] Yet he was back to where he’d started in thinking that the world was much less just than he imagined.

Where was this freedom now, Cyrus? Where was this freedom that the boy had so wished for, the elusive and beautiful thing that he’d seen so briefly back in district six? He could still remember when his world had been shattered before, and how he’d had to readjust. He had been shown that he could see and do more than measure-cut-soldier-repeat in the little factory downtown, and that he could see more to the world than just numbers and figures. He had wanted so much, so much that terrified him but made him desperate for more, that he had offered his life for another to get the chance to get out, to escape the safety and confines of his affliction in district six. Was that hint of freedom just an illusion, one that would leave him in the sands like Noreen, stripped of potential and left to rot? He’d pictured a place in the sun for his bravery in the arena, and even a homecoming for his valor. All I’ve done is leave them dead, and bring us right into trouble. I’m no better than any of them that play the game…[/i]

And yet there was still hope. Even in this dark moment as another comrade lay dead, Cyrus could have heart as he looked to Pandora beating back the attacks by these children. The boy had been shaken by Nonnie’s death—he had seen the fall—and Cyrus knew that even the tough as nails Pandora was not immune from feeling. What drove him to work so hard, to stand for what was good rather than turning on Cyrus and making a break for the forest once again? Cyrus lurched forward as the world again moved in slow motion. In spite of all of this, there is still some good. There is still someone that I can trust, and someone that I can protect.[/i] Because that was what Cyrus wanted—needed—to stay strong. One of them would bear the brunt of the emotional toll. Pandora did enough by taking on the demons of the battlefield. Cyrus was built for something different.

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He had always been the boy that pressed his feelings deep down between his toes to a place where they couldn’t hurt him. Sure, from time to time they’d bubble up and spill out in a mess that left him frantic and flapping his arms, but he would carry that burden if it meant lightening the load for Pan. He would do his best to keep the faith and have hope for their future. And he would do the best he could to shield Pandora or anyone that joined up with their ragtag duo from the harshness of the arena. How, he couldn’t rightly say, but he would wrap his arms around Pandora and whisper to him that it hadn’t been his fault. He would tell him that he was a brave boy and that he deserved so much more than to be picked apart while the world watched. And he would brush back his hair and smile—a smile from Cyrus, a rarity indeed—and even though it would hurt, even though he would want to fall to his knees once again, he would show Pandora that Nonnie would live on, that all of them were destined to live on in some form.

His boots splashed through a puddle as he shoved past one of the bigger boys—was it Jae, the hulking behemoth with an anchor that missed—and grabbed onto Pandora’s wrist to wrench him out of the way of the next blow. “You did all you could…[/b]” Cyrus called out to him as the thunder roared once again. He knew they had a few moments before the both of them would be bloody piles in the sand. “We can make it through Pan—we don’t have to die here—I know I can do it… we can do it…[/b]” Cyrus swung his Harpoon upward as he stared out at Elon and Walker. “But I can’t do this without you… we have to run… please…[/b]”

Cyrus stood back to back with Pandora to steady himself in the sand. His legs burned as he turned to run, knowing in his heart Pan would follow. He knew that only one of them could escape from this h—l. He wasn’t stupid. But strategy was the furthest thing from Cyrus Malloc’s mind as he stood with his friend. Yes, as the rain fell and dripped down his face, he could think only of how much he wanted to protect Pandora and to keep him safe. He wanted to know what his middle name was. He wanted to know what his favorite dinner at home was. He wanted to know if he had brothers or sisters, and what did he love most about them. He would know every last detail about Pandora, because Pandora was much more than a number or a human shield. He was his friend, and he would do anything for him. Anything, until the bitter end.

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[Cyrus Malloc Flees]

[Cyrus also decides to:

Let Pandora drink his water
Gives Pandora Edible Plants
Uses First Aid on Pandora for -3
Eats his own Medicinal Plants for -2
Eats his own Edible Plants]

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