the place behind the sky // mandy [day 6]

The static rings relentlessly and even the rain doesn’t swallow up the sound. Desperation continues to well up inside of me and I try to lift up the walkie-talkie once more but my strength has failed me. Every limb hangs like dead weight and pain throbs throughout my entire body, pulsing, blood continuing to pour from each of my wounds. The rain only makes the blood spread thinner and cover more of my pale skin and I imagine that I look much worse than I really am. But I’m dying, how much worse can I feel? A ragged breath shakes me and I find myself gasping once again, fighting to obtain a proper amount of oxygen. The awful sound of blood gurgling in my chest grows louder each time I suck in air and my lungs burn; I can’t swallow all the blood that’s pooling in my mouth so it ends up rolling down my chin in hot droplets, probably mixing with the rain that streaks down my face.

My eyes can’t focus and it’s getting harder and harder to even hold my head up. Everything surrounding me is blurry, terribly blurry, but I still am painfully aware that I’m still alone. The thought of remaining alone in this arena terrifies me – people have died in this place and soon I’ll be just another number and lifeless body lying side-by-side with Luciana, ready to be shipped off back to Five like nothing ever happened. They’ll fix my wounds and blemishes and make me their image of “perfect” but my family will know the difference (if they care enough, at least). I won’t see any of my siblings again, I won’t work with the horses anymore, I won’t be able to climb up a tree and settle on a branch to read a book I’ve been eager to delve into. All of that – those memories I never thought I would find fond – will soon be nothing. Me, my entire being, everything I’ve ever known, will be wiped out of existence. If passing is as painful as it is right now then I don’t want to die.

There’s a sound that cuts through the rain and I almost don’t hear it. My name? I blink a time or two and spot something orange. Orange? The confusion is only brief as pain quickly works its way back into me. I don’t even have the strength to grit my teeth against the throbbing agony so I stare at the moving orange blur, trying to swallow in order to free up my mouth to croak out a pitiful ”Here.”

I know there’s a person there – my eyes follow the orange figure as it goes back and forth, calling out again and again. It’s just too much for me to reply once more so I remain quiet, hoping that the figure can follow the one sound I was able to give them.

It’s hard for me to understand why this stranger is wearing orange. Our uniforms are solid black so why is this person so different? Perhaps the sponsors gave them something. Oh how much I would give for a sponsor to give me something to ease the pain right now. Some people just have all the luck in this damn place: tributes have received salves, first aid equipment, food, water, pretty much anything you can imagine. They’re the lucky ones. They have the force of wealthy Capitolites behind them and then you have tributes like me, low training score and hardly anything to their name. The only people I’m lucky to have backing me up is my family.

The orange figure must have spotted me because it’s drawing closer and closer and then I recognize the voice. Mik. My heart starts pumping faster and my lungs fight for more air, burning and screaming at me to stop fueling the imaginary fire charring the inside. I want to speak to him, tell him everything that’s happened, ask him if he’s alright, but my breath catches in my throat and I’m left wheezing wretchedly and almost embarrassingly. So instead of trying to speak my head tilts just slightly and I search for him with my eyes, finding a very worried face looking down at me.

Throughout the duration of these games Mik and I have alternated taking care of each other whether we realize it or not. He was the one that caved first, hitting Yaa with a severed hand after the bloodbath and laughing maniacally like he’d gone crazy. I was the one who approached him and attempted to get his head out of the clouds and refocused. Then it was his turn – after the spider fight I was so tired, so completely drained that I just about collapsed and had to wait for Mik to find me. He stitched up my wounds and I relapsed mentally from the strong façade I had used for two days in this hellhole; he comforted me when I wept over my brother, letting loose emotions I had kept bottled up for years and not once did Mik judge me. Both he and Yaa have seen me at my weakest and while Yaa and I had a very different way of coping with our emotions, Mik leaves me feeling more sure about myself. He’s the friend I always wished I had back home in Five. He gave me confidence, he gave me help, he kept my sanity in check and I realize now that I need him.

His words trail off about how he’s going to heal me but I know he knows that I’m going to die. The gaping and bubbling wounds in my chest and belly are evidence enough that I’m not going to live through the night. He’s here, though, and that’s all that matters. I’m not alone anymore. At this close proximity I can finally see what on earth his orange suit is and it looks quite fuzzy, albeit drenched from the rain. It’s not just orange, though, it’s got black stripes running horizontally and the picture confuses me to such a degree that I find myself asking, ”What the hell are you wearing?”

My lungs smart at their usage and I wince more so than usual, backtracking to my original train of thought of how limited amount of time I have left. I don’t wait for an answer before I force my hand to rise and reach out, grabbing onto the fabric of the orange suit with a dismally weak grip, trying – and failing – to pull myself closer to him. There’s no way I’m going to let him out of my sight until the very end and I refuse to lose him again like our alliance just seems to have a knack for. We’re always wandering off, getting lost, and losing each other for days at a time but not this time. I’m not about to let this last opportunity get away.

”Please don’t leave me.”

My hand trembles against that fuzzy suit of his and I do all that I can to keep hanging on. This boy right here, with the fluffy hair and dark skin, he’s my best friend. He’s the first friend I made in the Capitol and I’ve clung to that bond throughout the entirety of the 64th Games. He’s the one that I’m constantly worrying about, the one I was more than willing to give the armored vest to, the one (well, one of the few) I’m more than alright losing to. He’s the one – he’s the one.

If they hadn’t called our names for the reaping we would have never met and that’s almost a scary thought. We’ve only known each other for maybe two weeks and already I can’t imagine living without him. In such a short span of time he’s become so near and dear and precious to me that I’m glad I don’t have to see him die. If I had seen him pass away I already know I would’ve lost control of myself and broken down completely, and with his life would have gone my last shreds of hope and will. No, there’s no way I could have lived for very long if he died.

He’s right here beside me watching me struggle to even breathe and keep a coherent conversation going with him for even a moment or two without having to break off to wince or grimace or try to swallow so I don’t end up choking. Am I selfish for preferring him to see me like this instead of me watching him die? No, no, he’s strong, he’s a fighter, he’s not going to die. Me, on the other hand, I’m not a fighter. Akina’s and Sierra’s deaths were nothing but dumb luck on my part and I know it; I’ve no special skill, no special talent, nothing that sets me apart from either of those two girls other than gender. Mik and I were both kidding ourselves when he convinced me that I had a shot at the crown but the doubt was always lurking in the back of my mind, waiting, just waiting, for the perfect time to strike and break my confidence.

Mik shakes his head and tells me he won’t leave me and I breathe a great sigh of relief. He stumbles over his words but I know what he means: I’m here until you die. It shouldn’t be too long now – my grip on his fuzzy suit gets weaker and weaker and just about slips right off. It’s only a matter of time and how much blood is still left inside my body and if it’s enough to keep me functioning properly. I will myself to hang on just a little longer so that, if anything, I can just savor the presence of my friend.

”No, Mik, don’t be s—“ a wince, ”—sorry. It’s not your fault and it was bound to happen s-sooner or later. I guess… just sooner rather than later.” My chest heaves and fights for the air I need to speak, and the gurgling, sucking noise in my chest intensifies with each time I try to tell him something. Ripred does it hurt. Everything hurts.

My mind flashes back to Xanthus – that dark face and elegant voice of his. He spoke in such a regal fashion, much like the text of some older books, and I never thought anyone would speak like that in real life. The Career didn’t play dirty but he took everything I had: my boots, all my armor, the backpack, and even Anima. He left me with nothing but my shirt and shorts but at this point it doesn’t matter because I won’t need anything come a short while. I didn’t go down without a fight, though, and I took quite a good chunk out of him. Somewhere behind Mik lies a severed hand and leg and I’m fairly certain both are giving Xanthus a hard time right about now. It’s only fair, right? He takes my life and items and I take off two vital limbs of his – but in the end he’s the only one that achieved a goal: he avenged Sierra’s death.

”That-.. that one Career. Dark hair, and… Xanthus, Xanthus.” The words portray my scattered mind as I try piecing together a response. ”I got him good, though. I did.”

The desire for contact is so strong that I find myself struggling to lean forward, very weakly pulling on the fuzzy suit, until I finally am able to rest my head against Mik’s chest. Mik, sweet, strong Mik, always here for me and doing everything in his power to protect Yaa and I. The awkward position takes far too much strength to keep still so I just fall limp onto him, physically unable to even quiver or tremble anymore. I don’t want to leave him quite just yet because I have things I need to tell him but I’m unable to find the words. There’s so much I can say but I’m running out of time and energy; I take a shaky breath, finding it harder and harder to form words. ”Thanks for everything, Mik.”

Mik comes down to my level, obviously distraught. In all honesty I don’t think he should be worried over my passing but it makes me wonder: why is he reacting this way? What am I not understanding? We’re friends – good friends – but that doesn’t mean he has to cry or feel bad at all. Dying is natural; everything that lives comes from the earth and Mother Nature always reclaims what is hers, either by a natural cause or a manmade one. Bodies return to dust but our spirits live on forever, subordinate to nothing earthly. That’s where Haff and Anima are, somewhere up behind the sky with every other spirit that ever lived. I remember lying out in the pastures some nights in Five and looking up at the stars, wondering which ones were footprints and which were hoof prints, paw prints, bird feet, all little punctures in the fabric of the sky so that light from the other side can shine through when the darkness takes over the land, lighting the way for those left behind.

That’s where I’m going soon, where I’ll be reunited with the other tributes, present and past, and my brother. Why doesn’t Mik see that? Would he rather that I be trapped in this arena and live to just die another day? There is no feasible way I could live with myself if I took the crown of the 64th Games; I know for certain I’d have reoccurring nightmares, some sort of stress or panic related disorder develop, depression, and maybe I’d even pick up a drug or alcohol addiction to forget everything that was haunting me. The death of Deimos and Yaa and Mik – and even Luci – would weigh so heavily upon my shoulders and I would be such a different person that it’d terrify me.

Tears stream down from Mik’s eyes and it hurts me to see him like this. He pulls me close and holds me tight, much to my relief, and I bury my face against his fuzzy suit until he shifts so that he can see my face. Pleas that I can’t fulfill fall from his mouth and all I can do is look helplessly at him, wanting to comfort him as much as he’s comforting me right now. ”I’ll see you again. I promise.” I may be depleted and exhausted but my words are as sincere as can be. ”Maybe not tomorrow, or in a week, or a few years, but we’ll find each other.” I know it isn’t what he wants to hear but it is all I can offer him.

I don’t quite understand what he means about everyone he loves dies until he leans over me and closes the distance between us, putting his lips to mine. It’s certainly not like any of the kisses I shared with Yaa when we had our little “escape” from the brutality of the arena, where pent-up stress and adrenaline fueled our moves and drove me into doing something I would never have pictured myself doing. No, this kiss is so much more than that. I feel his fear, his quivering lip against mine, the scent of blood and steel on his skin, and a ferocious passion that completely subdues me, catching me off guard.

I had always believed that love never existed and that people were only fooling themselves with the satisfaction of knowing that they had at least one person who would still sleep with them every night despite whatever they’ve done. This invisible string drawing people together never seemed realistic to me; Fate is only a destination, not those you meet along the way. Lovers are nothing more than friends with a different label attached to them. But the longer Mik’s lips work against mine I can feel some strange, foreign feeling stirring inside of me, whirling around like a growing desire. I find myself yearning, trying to lean into him, my desperation for physical contact growing by the second until the pain all over my body is too much and forces me to break away from him.

My breathing is ragged and shallow but now a new emotion is battling the pain to overwhelm me. Along with shocks of pulsing agony in my belly there’s also butterflies lightly flying around and easily dodging the shoots of pain, filling up the empty spaces as if it’s natural to be there. It’s terrifying. I’ve never felt such a lust for a single person and it petrifies me to think that everything I thought I knew about love is wrong.

I curl into him, tucking my face into the crook of his neck and trying to recognize his particular scent amidst the stale, coppery blood and muddy stench that surrounds us both. The blood continues to pour from the corner of my mouth but at least it’s not pooling and threatening to choke me since I’m already gasping and wheezing much harder than before, my mind searching all the while for something to say. ”I need the strong Mik,” my voice is awfully quiet and barely above a hoarse whisper as I recite the same words he spoke to me a only few days ago to keep me grounded and holding onto a small shred of sanity. ”I need that Mik that has hope. I need the Mik who thinks he has a chance cause we all have a chance, we all have a chance at going home. You just need to believe.”