Don't Stop Believing [Cyrus & Jana vs the Kraken]

[/color]
Cyrus Malloc huddled with his knees against his chest along the sandy dunes of the beach. The end of the fourth day in the arena had left another set of bodies on the ground, and his heart had stung as he watched Pandora Woodards’ face projection appear in the sky. What had happened to this lost little boy, the aspy that had volunteered to take on the pain and anguish of the unforgiving arena? He’d lost ally after ally, friend after friend, and nearly blown his own legs off. He’d seen the intense malice and unforgiving nature of children pushed to their breaking points. He’d seen death first hand, drained from the eyes of fellow tributes as they lay in the sand. There was blood on his own hands, and after four days, it felt as though the boy was finally ready to give up. For what strength could possibly have been left in him after all of this loss?

His strategy of staying out of the fray and protecting those that he had brought close to himself had all but failed. Only Jana Hale, the mysterious tribute from district seven, was left now. In the hours since Pandora’s death, Cyrus had only spoken to offer her food and drink, and nothing else. They huddled along the dunes like two broken souls, and Cyrus could feel the heaviness beginning to creep onto his chest once again. He’d taken first watch, having thought that perhaps if the tributes that had been chasing them were to attack, he would stand in their way, offering a shield to Jana, unlike the previous day. But night fell upon their little camp, and there was no sound of movement. Only the gentle splash of the waves along the shore, and a few howls from the nearby cove filled the air. And so Cyrus drifted into a comfortable sleep, his eyes heavy as his heart.



Well, what did you think? He was sitting in the crawlspace of his home now, sitting next to the form of the girl that he missed so dearly. She was girl that had driven him to be brave. There she was, staring back at him as he wrapped his arm around her.

To be honest, I thought you were going to get stabbed through the heart in the bloodbath. Tatum let out a little laugh as she rested her head against his shoulder. Her hair tickled his shoulder and he smiled.

But I didn’t. He whispered, as though someone else would hear what he had to say.

No, you didn’t. And now you’re alive… still… She said as she moved a hand to his chin and pulled him towards her. Her eyes locked onto his, and Cyrus felt flushed.

But everyone else… everyone I care about… Cyrus mumbled out these words, and tried to break her stare. He couldn’t look away now, though, she had locked him in and wasn’t letting go.

Why do you care so much about what happens to them? Her voice wasn’t out of pity, nor was it one that knocked the wind out of him for being stupid. She was matter of fact, cutting to the heart of the matter.

Because the reason… because when I started, I promised I wouldn’t kill anyone I didn’t have to. And that I could protect them… He felt foolish saying all of it now. It sounded so silly and stupid.

You don’t think you’ve protected them? She was quizzical now, with an eye brow raised and her voice a little softer than before.

I haven’t done a very good job. Cyrus chewed his lip. The air seemed thin in their little hole.

It’s pretty selfish of you to think that you’d be their champion. She pressed down against his chin and brought his face closer to her.

What? Cyrus was shocked—he was selfish?

I said, it’s pretty selfish of you to think that all of them were fighting for you to be their champion. The words hung in the air, and Cyrus cocked his head to the side.

My whole reason for doing this was selfish… It was true. It was all true, then. That he was selfish, and that he had wanted the glory that came with victory.

Oh? And what was that?

I wanted to be free… I wanted to be like you. I wanted to get out of district six. I wanted to be someone… He rattled off all the reasons, and with each one he felt his voice grow hollowed.

Wait, what? You thought I was free? She almost laughed at him. He could see the smile come across her face, and he blushed. He hated feeling stupid. And yet… he didn’t feel the embarrassment and the flush of his cheeks. He only felt the softness of her skin against hers.

I thought being free meant… getting out and… escaping. He shifted. The walls seemed to press them in closer together.

Is that what it means? You thought being a victor would change that?

No, I thought… I thought that… if I won, if I made it to the end, even with one other person… I could choose… He sighed. Why was she pushing him so hard?

You wanted control. She narrowed her eyes at him and he looked away.

I don’t… I don’t know…
You can’t just do whatever you want Cyrus… that’s not what freedom is…

Then what… what is it? Cyrus growled as he leaned in toward Tatum.

What would make you happy? What would you want above anything else?

I don’t want to be selfish.

I’m serious! Tell me.

I just want to choose to live… I want to make a choice for me, for once, to be me… to understand me.

Well I think you’ve been yourself this whole time.

What?

A confused, gentle, passionate, understanding, foolish, boy. But—before you yell—you need to know. You need to stop and think—what do they want, and what do you want. And you have to figure out how to get it.

But I don’t know… He hung his head down and looked at the musty ground below.

Be a man Cyrus. You’ve got to be a man, and you’ve got to figure it out. And you’ll be happy. You will. I promise. [/i]

She leaned in for a kiss, and Cyrus closed his eyes. Even though all of this was an illusion, even though he knew that this was from the days of exhaustion and the fits of anger and anxiety, that it felt just as real as when they’d kissed before. Her back felt warm against his touch, and her mouth wet against his own. He pressed her against the wall of the crawlspace and sighed. He would be a man.



When Cyrus awoke next to Jana, he felt a wetness in his shorts not present before and blushed. Perhaps his dream had been a little bit realer than he had thought. He blinked and began brushing the sand off of his body. He wasn’t sure what time it was then, as the sky above was full of the gray clouds from the day before. He stood shakily in the sand, only to jump at the sound of a voice. He recognized it as that of the notorious games announcer, Claudius Templesmith. Cyrus furrowed his brow, knowing that any news from the gamemaker would not be positive.

"Congratulations on your longevity! You've made it to the top eleven; only ten more have to die before you make it home! In honor of your continued success, I would like to cordially extend an invitation to each of you to a FEAST held up at our majestic sandcastle!" Cyrus stared up at the sandcastle far off in the distance. He was certain that all of the other tributes would be rushing toward it now that there were helpful items dangling before them. What about him and Jana? Was it worth the risk to grab something like another medkit, if it meant facing nine others in a brutal battle? No. No, he wasn’t about to witness another death. And he certainly wasn’t going to give another tribute the satisfaction of ambushing him while he greedily searched for something useful. “Plenty of goodies will be yours for the taking, so I hope you all decide to stop by! Actually, you don't have much choice, because unlike in the past this feast is mandatory. Of course, I suppose we can't drag you there if you don't want to come... But my little friend the Kraken awaits you if you decide to skip out."

The beast in the waves revealed itself, and Cyrus gasped. The thing was bigger than one of the train cars he’d helped assemble in District Six, and had strange, suction cupped arms that swayed out of the water. It was a beast of destruction, and any tribute that took it on was certain to be seen as foolish or reckless. It would also be a disappointment for anyone that wished to see the tributes fight hand to hand, rather than a genetically modified mutt that purposefully had been made to slice tributes in half. And yet, though it was dangerous, though it was horrifying, though it made Cyrus feel as though he was going to poop his pants, he was not going to the sandcastle.

The boy man stood from his spot on the beach and turned to Jana. “I’m not going up there, Jana…[/b]” He furrowed his brow. “I’m not going up there, I’m not fighting the rest of them, and I’m not going to die that way. I’m going to the ocean.” He paused as he put his backpack on his shoulders and shifted it into place. “And you don’t have to follow. You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want. But I’m not gonna die up there.[/b]”

He stared out at the waves and clenched his fists. It’s not for Fawn. It’s not for Nonnie. It’s not even for Pandora. It’s for me. This is for me. He wasn’t working for anyone else now. No, this was for Cyrus Malloc, District Six Tribute, to finish. Whether this beast ripped off his head or he stabbed it in the eye, he would finish this as a warrior. He would finish it without fear. He would finish it like a man. Cyrus drew his rapier and he began to walk towards the waves. He started to jog, then run, until finally he was at a sprint and splashing up water and foam. He raised his sword into the air before diving into the waves and pushing off the coast and into the sea.

[/color][/left]
[/justify][/size][/blockquote]