until we press {r e s t a r t} [Day One - FH]

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rook
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last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

until we press {r e s t a r t} [Day One - FH] Feb 21, 2014 11:04:21 GMT -5

Quote

Post by rook on Feb 21, 2014 11:04:21 GMT -5

willis keeni

for everyday robots getting old
when our lips are cold
lookin’ like standing stones
out there on our own

I feel so vulnerable. Ever since I stepped off of that pedestal I have regretted it. From vomiting on the ground, to slicing off Luke Davis' leg, to the stand-off with Colgate and Savannah. I would rather have stayed on that pedestal and not have entered the Games. I would rather have been killed there, than play the Capitol's mad, twisted game. My humanity is burning. It is because of me that Luke is dead - He would have gotten away if I hadn't struck his leg, like I did. I am responsible for the death of another human being, and I'm going to die with that burden. Even now, when I'm jogging away from the bloodbath, half-carrying Eye Saw, I feel vulnerable. We are exposed, and I hate it. My mind frenzies, ever expecting some sharp blade to come out of nowhere and pierce through my skin, spewing my blood into the dirt. My death could come at any second, and repentance for all that has happened is constantly in my head. I should have died on that pedestal, that would have been better than enduring any of this.

I didn't take much from the Cornucopia. The rucksack is probably the most valuable thing I grabbed, simply because I wouldn't have been able to carry as much stuff without it. I nabbed some pliers, although I don't see much use for them, except maybe as a blunt weapon, and a blanket, which is something of a comfort. The terracotta jug I stuffed in my bag could prove useful for storing food, or water maybe. I just wish I had picked up something more beneficial - There was such a range of armor, medical supplies and weaponry. I did grab a sword, but I would have given anything to get throwing knives, or even some sort of medicine to help Eye with his leg. He's clearly in a lot of discomfort, and there's nothing we can do.

Leave him behind. I want to slap myself for having the thought. Eye is one of us, one of the group. I bite my lip as I drag the limping Career towards the massive body of water. He was our best shot at surviving. His years of Career training and natural talent for staying alive would have put us in good stead, but he had to go and break his leg. Our secret weapon is broken, and now he's more of a burden than a blessing. If we don't pick up the pace, the group that swarmed us in the Bloodbath with catch up, and this time there will be killings. I can't put Laila and Claire at risk, just for the sake of Eye. Can I do that? A better question would be: Will I do that? We could all die because I wanted to keep Eye alive, for his experience and his knowledge. My shaking hands grip Eye's clothing tighter, and I hoist him up more, taking more weight off his leg. I ain't leaving you behind, Eye Saw.

My body is starting to tire. Eye is bigger and heavier than me, and I'm not the fittest of teenagers. Carrying his weight is taking its toll on me, mentally and physically both. I'm sweating more than him, and he's got a fractured leg. How much longer can I do this? If I collapse from exhaustion, there's no way that tiny Laila will be able to carry us to safety, and I doubt that Claire would be able to do any more, either. So, again, they're all depending on me. I never thought that a drunken, feeble, anxiety-struck person such as myself would be a figure of stability and dependence to others. That responsibility gives me meaning, and it keeps me going. When you've got no family that cares, and you've got nothing to fight for, you have to look in the darkest places to find a reason to keep going. These kids are just as desperate as me, it seems. If we've all got that in common, then we can all survive together, right?

We reach the ocean. I assume it's an ocean because it's so vast. The horizon is nothing but a thin white line, shimmering as the sky and the sea crash together so brilliantly. I have never seen so much water in all my life. Back home, they talk about District Four's great ocean, and how people make a living on reaping the ocean's fruits. Eye would know all about that - He has salt-water running through his veins. The 56th and 61st Games are the only times I have had a decent look at the sea before, I remember watching as a kid, struggling to imagine the sheer vastness of it. I spot some islands about half a mile away, could be further - It's hard to tell. If we make it there, we should be safe for the night. It looks a good vantage point, and it's pretty isolated.

Without a word of protest from Eye, I drag him into the water with me, until we are waist deep. The sting of salt on my body is surprisingly comforting, it takes me back to when I was just a kid. We'd run down to the pond and chase away the ducks, diving head-first into water that was dirtier than the mud-banks around it. Eight of us, ranging from three years old to nine years old, together as a family. Family. It seems a lifetime ago.

"I can't swim," I stop and turn to the girl from Five. She has paused at the water's edge, not daring to even get her toes wet. That's fear I see - Fear of the unknown. I've been swimming in the murky rivers with my cousins since I was six years old, but judging by the uncomfortable look on Laila's face, she has never swam before. I grind my teeth together, adjusting my grip on Eye. This is a problem. We can't stay here, because the mob at the Cornucopia will catch us. If I force her out to sea, she could drown. I don't want either on my conscience. This Arena is a pitfall of dilemmas, with each decision bringing more problems. I've set off a chain reaction, and I can't stop it, I can only run with it. Should never have stepped off that pedestal.

"We don't have a choice," I say sternly, my grip on Eye slipping, so I have to hoist him up again.
"Hope you're a fast learner, Sycamore..." I drag Eye deeper into the water, but Laila still hesitates.
"It's Laila. She corrects me, clearly unhappy with being referred to by her last name. I swallow as my foot brushes a stem of seaweed, making my skin crawl. Deeper I tread, the waterline slowly advancing up our waists and closer to our necks.
"Whatever, Five. I dismiss her. Unhappy with my uncooperative behavior, little Laila gets Claire to help her. There is some disagreement initially, which really starts to irk me.
"GET IN THE WATER, NOW!" I command, taking charge of it all. If we don't stop arguing, we're all gonna die. Can't they see that?

Eventually they let it go, working together and allowing the water to take them too. I tread deeper until we start to float. I grab underneath Eye's armpits, from behind, acting like a human raft. I lean backwards so that I am floating on my back, with Eye on top of me. I tread water like this for a few seconds, until I get the hang of it. It's unorthodox, but it's working somewhat. If it looks stupid, but it works, then it ain't stupid. I think that was something Gypsy once told me. There she is again, creeping into my subconscious when I don't want her there. Were my thoughts of abandoning Eye that different from Gypsy's own ideas of betrayal? The more I think about it, the more I realize how uncomfortably alike Gypsy and I really are. That scares me.

My tremors are nowhere near as bad in the water. I guess I never really considered hydrotherapy. There's something relaxing about floating - It's like the ocean is taking the weight of all your worries off your shoulders, leaving you completely weightless and free. Yeah, but if we stay here, we're as good as dead. It's important to keep moving, which is easier said than done. I thought carrying Eye on land was hard - At sea it's even worse. More than once I am forced underwater, the tang of salt-water continuously filling my nostrils until I emerge coughing and spluttering, desperate for air. The thoughts of dropping Eye, and letting the ocean bed claim him, are all too tempting, but I force myself to think other thoughts.

I am not Gypsy Keeni.

[Willis Keeni receives a Bottle of Whiskey, Shin Guards, a Jar of Tar, and Flint in Sponsorship]
[Willis Keeni equips his Shin Guards, and then fills his Empty Jug with water, giving him a Jug of Unpurified Water]

everyday robots just touch thumbs
swimmin’ in lingo they become
stricken in a status sea
one more vacancy

Last Edit: Feb 21, 2014 13:19:20 GMT -5 by rook

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

Python
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until we press {r e s t a r t} [Day One - FH] Feb 21, 2014 11:04:55 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Feb 21, 2014 11:04:55 GMT -5

Now the moment has passed and we can’t rewind

_______________________________________________________

L A I L A S Y C A M O R E
DISTRICT5 | THIRTEEN

_______________________________________________________

Her lungs were going to burst. Her breaths were strong as the wind whipping her dampened cheeks – Wait, when did that happen? She didn’t recall crying anytime during the bloodbath, and why would she? ~~Because you were terrified.~~ She wasn’t supposed to cry, she had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry. Weak, weak, weak, just like a child. The white fabric drenched in sweat and speckled with bloodspots was clinging to her like a second layer of skin as she jogged to catch up with her allies. She felt her cheeks burn with humiliation. What would they think of her if they noticed her reddened eyes? This was a time to shed blood, not tears. Yet you did that too, Laila, didn’t you? She glanced down at the blood on her clothes and swallowed a wave of nausea. Not now, not now.

Eye was draped against Willis as if the curly-haired drunk was a crutch. They had broken his leg, those assholes at the Bloodbath. Seething with resurfacing rage (how dare they) she glanced over her shoulder at the golden horn gleaming against a mountainous backdrop. The four figures were still lingering around it, most likely gathering supplies and treasures and celebrating their triumph. Among them was Claude, her district partner, and the teddy bear girl she had chatted with at the first aid station. She never wanted to hurt them, but anger was filling her with unwelcome thoughts. I’ll skin all of you if you dare touch Eye again. She wasn’t sure who had broken his leg but her bets were on that Soap character. The one with the twelve, she remembered. Not even her rage could make her forget how frightening that number was. Just a number, huh? She had earned a ten, but a twelve? Her escort had warned her that the last person who earned a twelve had won the Games. Cricket the bendy girl from district two.

That also happened to be the Games Willis’ cousins had been in. She remembered her escort telling her about that, too (and scolding her for being so “uninformed” like it was her own fault), but she didn’t want to think about past games. She needed to focus on the now, and that included the body of water that was rapidly approaching. She paused at the edge, scanning her own wavering reflection on its surface. She was unbearably thirsty after all of that running, tripping and stress (not to mention she was still panting from the physical exertion and battling the urge to regurgitate her breakfast), but she knew from watching the 65th Quell that one could not trust water unless it was boiled or purified with those little pills. They could at least fill their jugs up, though. She had one stored in her backpack.

They did just that, but it seemed that was not the only plan. Willis was wading into the water with Eye still glued to his side, but instead of following she hesitated. ”I can’t swim,” she called out, startled by the hoarseness of her own voice. It sounded broken, and she hastily cleared her throat to fix the issue before she embarrassed herself. When she caught Willis’ facial expression she stilled. He looked like death – like he needed a thousand years of sleep to compensate for his loss of energy, yet he didn’t have a scratch on him. Corpses would look livelier than he did, and it was worrying. ”We don’t have a choice,” he said. ”Hope you’re a fast learner, Sycamore..” Apparently he wasn’t dead enough to bite his tongue. ”It’s Laila,” she snapped. She was tired of people referring to her by a false last name. Sycamore was a house, not an identity.

”Whatever, Five.” And now she was a number. She glared daggers into his back as he continued to walk into the water. If she followed she was going to drown for sure, and Laila didn’t want to be that idiot. ”Fine, Claire can help me,” she said, making an effort to move toward the mysterious girl in preparation to cling like a leech. She didn’t seem to enjoy the idea. Within moments Claire was tugging on the blonde’s sleeve and muttering things within earshot of her. As if Laila wouldn’t hear it! "I don't think I'm comfortable with Sycamore being.... so close... to my neck..." What? What was that supposed to –

Oh.

She remembered swinging the sword. It was so awkward and stiff in her hands that she thought the blade slicing through somebody’s neck like butter was just her wild imagination. But then the head had dropped and rolled by her feet, and she had gasped in disgust and horror, nearly tripping over herself to back away from it. Even now she could not deny that the corpse was her work. Her own two hands. I did it, I killed him, I killed him. Her hands began to shake.

”GET IN THE WATER, NOW, ALL OF YOU."

And then the memory was gone, shoved into the back of her mind by Willis’ thunderous voice. Thank Ripred for Willis Keeni. Sort of.

”Someone’s cranky.”

_____________________________________________________
template by chelsey

[Laila receives Iodine tablets, flint and a jar of tar from sponsors]
[fills her empty jug with water]

Last Edit: Feb 21, 2014 11:10:37 GMT -5 by Python

gamemaker kelsier
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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

until we press {r e s t a r t} [Day One - FH] Feb 21, 2014 11:07:11 GMT -5

Quote

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Feb 21, 2014 11:07:11 GMT -5

“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
― Anaïs Nin

"COWARDS."

I had screamed their name, cowards, as the world changed all at once. I remember watching as we ran at each other, wondering who would come at me. It didn't matter who I was expecting, they all came together. It hurt. It hurt a lot and it still hurts, it feels like I'm burning up from where their attacks struck me. I know I'm bleeding and I'm sure the back of my gi is stained red with my own blood, complete with fresh knife slit. My vision is still black around the edges, I can feel my heart against my ribcage and I cannot move my left leg for the sharp and shallow bursts of pain that come with each small move.

Even to move with the help of Willis is slowly killing me. Sweat pours off my forehead, I am going to die if I have to keep moving, it's going to kill me, this pain. It is the big bad wolf, and I am eaten up.

All I can think about is Ewe, wonder about how much it hurt to walk with his leg always so twisted up. I always took for granted how easy running was. I feel like I've been run over, like I'm a goner, it's all I can do not to faint. There is a small part of me that wants to cry out, that wants to throw a tantrum and yell that it isn't fair. I mean sure, I'm a cocky asshole, but do I deserve to die? I don't think so.

Do I?

I curse as there is a root in my way and I have to negotiate it. Everything hurts, I just want to stop moving, I want to lay down and stop because I can and I'm suddenly so tired. I just want to shut my eyes for a bit, have a bit of a snooze. I can tackle this problem when it doesn't hurt so goddamned much.

There's another part of me, a huge part, probably ninety-nine percent, that wants to pull their guts out by sticking my hand into their abdomens and forcing until I hit blood. I want to kill them, but slowly. They have placed themselves first on my target list, there is nobody that I would rather see dead then those four. Even that Savannah Bitch that I spoke to in the training center. I liked her well enough then, albeit grudgingly, but she broke my fucking femur, I think we're through.

I'm not paying much attention to my allies, actually not paying much attention to anything that isn't pain. I do notice however, when it begins to rain parachutes, ones tagged with my name, or so I hope. A lot come down from the sky, they float down around us like snow and I watch as Laila picks them all up. I blink stupidly at her when she shows me the bundle she has collected for me. Something happened back there, I can't remember what just now. Somebody lost their head. They went mad? Nah, it was mad though.

She says something to me, but all I can hear is fog, all I can see is the look of concern on her little face as she stares at me. I forgot that she's so young. She seems to make a decision and nods in determination, then she begins to wrap some bandage around my cut. That cut doesn't even hurt in comparison, or maybe it was just a pain I didn't know I had, it feels a bit better now. I smile weakly at her, but then my head droops lower with the effort. I'm sorry I can't protect her from any of this. I'm glad she doesn't need my protection. I need adrenaline, I need something to perk me back up, I can't do this. It's only the morning.

We reach some water and Willis begins to wade in. Salt hits the cut on my thigh and my hand tightens into a ball, a hiss of pain emerges from my lips. For just a few moments, the world goes entirely white as the sting hits. My head fills with air, I am going to die. I am going to die, it hurts, mom, it hurts.

I'm concentrating on not making any noise but I tighten as we go deeper, my back arching as the salt hits that cut as well. The pain is sharper than before, deeper, like it's digging in all over again but this time staying put. I've been trained to deal with it, but I'm not sure how much more even I can take. I need something to soothe this, or I am going to be useless.

I burn with shame.

I am not useless.

[Eye receives :
Water Jug (Empty)
Flint
Jar of Tar x3
Medical Kit x2
Iodine Tablet [3]]
[Eye uses 5 feet of bandage for -5 damage]
[Eye fills his jug with water]

compendium / avriel
clown car / pietro
2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker

loren
Merchant

193 POSTS
last seen May 16, 2016 19:12:23 GMT -5

until we press {r e s t a r t} [Day One - FH] Feb 21, 2014 11:48:28 GMT -5

Quote

Post by loren on Feb 21, 2014 11:48:28 GMT -5

[ c l a i r e p a r t r i d g e ]

. vit de district VII .
. une la fille seul .
. XIV ans .

"This life it's just a place in my mind
Through the window I find
I can stop time
'Cause dreams are crawling all over my head,
and you have those beautiful eyes
But I am a wicked child"

I saw Willis Keeni sunder a leg.

I really didn't want to. But I did. I picked up a pair of little... gardening knives? Wheat harvesting... thingers? I picked up a pair of those, with light shafts and Cheshire cat wicked grins of remorseless blades that shone through the grasses of the cornucopia like twin beacons of mutilation. I took those into my hands, a backpack unto my shoulders, and an empty water jug into that like I was shopping for housekeeping items whilst children all around me paid the crimson price for thinking they were untouchable from the Capitol. They spilled their blessed currency unto the grass while others retracted their knives from their hearts like unholy tax collectors. I guess none of us really have any choice in the things we see, the things that happen to us, the things we do. I can't ever believe Willis would want to hack off that boy's leg. I won't. I never really believed in spirits ~~except for maybe the ones eroding Keeni's liver~~, but there's definitely something there. Something in us all that brings us to breathless sobs in the wake of destruction that isn't our own, something that kindles an inferno within your bones you want to watch engulf the bastards who dared to attack your ally. And maybe you hardly knew where your ally liked to spend the hottest days of the summer or the name of their mother or what color their eyes were if they weren't looking directly at you, but if someone attacks the person you've pledged your allegiance to, you take a knife and carve out a new constitution into their saintly skulls. I'm going to spend my every last breath dedicated to making you cry. I'm not going to hell alone, that's my national anthem, bitch. And I'll sing it over your grave.

Eye had gotten an 11. That made him, at least in the gamemakers' eyes, the second most dangerous man in the arena. Not a double ended ax, but still sharp enough to wound the sky, maim it into dawn and let it bleed the colors of an autumn twenty-three of us will never live to see. And he was broken. Our Trojan horse had a colic, and was all but clinging to Willis just to move. It was disheartening, a single stone thrown at our palace of glass. And the crystal dust that erupted from our castle walls dispersed and, in the very least, blinded me, because I had no idea what our next plan of attack was. I had blood drenched all along the left arm of my gi, staining it a royal scarlet with my own vitality as I pressed the cloth firmly beneath my jaw. Someone shot me in the neck with a dart as I ran away from the bloodbath. And as much as the broken nerves in my neck choked and squealed in a soprano of terror, I used up all my self-sympathy for a Claire Partridge who thought the world's end came with the shattering of porcelain dolls. I was alive, and the scattered remains of those spread out like torn pages of a vintage book across the Cornucopia were not. Blood was dribbling out of my neck but at least the pain reminded me I could heal. I am alive.

We approached a sea.

And not the sloshing mess of an aesthetic popsicle blue that filled quite a portion of the television screen back in the Partridge home, but a real ocean. Liquid glass both still and unsettled at once. Taking a cue from Willis, I follow suit in filling my water jug and wading into the waters. Back in District 7 there's a pond not too far from the Partridge home that groveled about the ankles while this sea would ebb in the lap of luxury. The pond water was thick as chowder with pollen and debris, but was my little lagoon of solace when the sun scorched and I still had control over what would leave me breathless. I cupped my hands together and let the salted cordial disinfect my neck wound as I opened new ones in my bottom lip, biting into the soft flesh to keep me from crying out.

”I can’t swim.”

Willis shot a look at the little girl from District 5 that made me have a sudden concern for the future of her legs. The water erected goosebumps along my skin and kept my breaths short and quick as I waded farther and farther in, both to get adjusted to the chills and keep all my bits and limbs.

"We don't have a choice."

I felt really bad for Willis. He seemed able bodied enough to, say, not fall asleep in a puddle of his own vodka-vomit, but carry two bodies across... what? Half a mile? A mile tops of a stretch of ocean?

"Hope you're a fast learner, Sycamore..."

I didn't even have confidence Mr. 11 Training Score could pull off a feat like that.

"It's Laila."

Got to hand it to Willis, though. He's got some big ambitions.

"Whatever, Five."

Great leader, too. And if we both survive long enough, and he finds a way to get drunk enough, I might just tell him how much admiration I have for his leadership. Where there's a Willis, there's a way--

”Fine, Claire can help me,” Laila all but volunteered me for raftmanship, creeping dangerously close to me.

And on any other occasion, I'd be glad to help in our survival efforts. If Laila was Laila Partridge as opposed to Laila Sycamore, I'd even show her how to float in my soupy pond in the woods. She was generally my age, we could steal a jar of lemonade and run off to the pond. I could show her how to paddle with her head above the water, how to carve your body through the layers of silk like a needle making a seam.

Unfortunately Laila was already an expert at carving. Heads, in fact. And as some douche bag shot me in the neck with a dart, I just sort of assumed the job would be far too easy for her this time around.

So I ran for Willis. Tugging on his sleeve, I tried to stammer out my concern as discreetly as possible as the District Five gremlin edged closer, "I don't think I'm comfortable with Sycamore being.... so close... to my neck..."

And okay yes, perhaps with a crucially injured man on his back like some sort of crooked Atlas, Willis was under a lot of stress.

"GET IN THE WATER, NOW! ALL OF YOU!"

But he didn't have to be a dick about it.

In a fraction of a second I flinched from the blare of his voice, fled to hoist Laila unto my back, and dove into the water.

" Now with my head in the clouds
I'll sit here and burn, I will burn
Save me, I'm not crazy,
I just fell through the ground
And now things are upside down "
x

[ Claire fills her empty jug with water ]

[ template by zoe ]

so lonely trying to be yours when you're looking for so much more

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
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who needs another thing to be sad about?

until we press {r e s t a r t} [Day One - FH] Feb 21, 2014 13:12:23 GMT -5

Quote

Post by rook on Feb 21, 2014 13:12:23 GMT -5

willis keeni

for everyday robots getting old
when our lips are cold
lookin’ like standing stones
out there on our own

I changed my mind. The ocean isn't relaxing at all, it is exhausting. Eye is dead-weight, and I can't sustain this effort for much longer. I'm nearly drowning just to keep him afloat. Ripred, damn. My lungs burn for oxygen, as more and more frequently I am forced underwater. In those frightening seconds, I am blinded by heavy grey that burns my eyes. I kick and scream, bubbles violently escaping from my lungs. All the while I am pushing Eye's body upwards so that he isn't taken by the ocean's wrath, so that he may survive at the expense of myself. The strange thing is, I can't even explain why I am doing it. Why is Eye worth me risking my life for? It only ends when I just can't take it any more, and I force my head above water again, howling for air, clinging to every precious breath.

I have no awareness of Claire and Laila. I am so focused on Eye, and the island in front of us, that I dare not glance back. They could be dead, for all I know. Both of the girls are so tiny, so fragile. It makes me sick to think of the ocean grabbing at their heels and dragging them down to the murky depths. Eye has to be my priority at this moment in time, because keeping him alive keeps us alive. Eye is everything. We can't lose him, not this early. Get Eye to the island, then help the girls.

Salty water fills my mouth for the hundredth time, making me want to throw up again. The withdrawal has hit me hard, there's no denying it. The Capitol wanted to prohibit me from drinking, and I have suffered as a result. Sure, I may be able to think a little more clearly now that I am sober, but physically I am a wreck. I am a pale phantom, lost at sea with a broken Career and two little girls. If only they had let me drink. If only I was filled with that magical liquid confidence. Oh, we'd have killed everyone at the Cornucopia. We'd be laughing. Something tells me that once we get to that island, we won't be able to leave it. We're giving all the energy we have just to get there, and I can't see us having the willpower, either. I want to scream to the heavens. I want to reach up to the fake sky above me and tear it down, one tile at a time. None of this is fair. I don't want to die.

My arms and legs strain with an acute pain that is slowly chipping away at my resolve. Every second that passes is unbearable, and when I see that the island is only a few treads away, I put everything into those last few kicks. It takes everything in me to get to that island. Everything. My feet touch sand and relief washes through me. Thank Ripred, we've made it. I turn to haul Eye up to the sandbank and freeze up. He's gone.

Eye Saw has gone.

He can't have just vanished. He was right there - I had my hand under his armpit. I took it away for a second, not even a second. I start to hit the water, trying to feel for Eye, trying to find him. He isn't there. There is nothing there.
"EYE?!" I shout, falling to my knees, the water lapping at my thighs. I want to cry. All of that effort and he's gone. He has disappeared. Impossible. Where is he? Think. Think Keeni, you drunken bastard. He can't have drowned - The water is too shallow here, and he has some energy, at least. Did he get up and limp off? I walk up the sandbank, looking around the island for him.

The island itself is bare, with a few palm-trees decorating the sand. It's about ten metres by ten metres, completely open and exposed. It ain't a half bad vantage point. Eye isn't on the island, and he isn't in the surrounding water. I am totally perplexed and frustrated. My hands are on my head, gripping at my salty blonde hair. I scream and kick the sand, a futile wrath lining my insides, bursting at the seams.

I see Claire and Laila approaching the island, crawling onto the sandbank, both soaking wet and exhausted. With tears in my eyes and my hands on my head, I approach them.
"Eye's gone. H-... He just vanished," I bite my bottom lip. I failed. "I have no idea what happened!"

Parachutes rain down on us, showering us in gifts. Sponsors? I don't care about that right now. Eye Saw is missing, and it's my fault. My fault.

everyday robots just touch thumbs
swimmin’ in lingo they become
stricken in a status sea
one more vacancy

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

Python
Retired Staff

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Pronouns: She/Her
last seen Oct 27, 2024 23:26:22 GMT -5

until we press {r e s t a r t} [Day One - FH] Feb 21, 2014 19:18:08 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Feb 21, 2014 19:18:08 GMT -5

We don't like to see their eyes cause they will never look the same

_______________________________________________________

L A I L A S Y C A M O R E
DISTRICT5 | THIRTEEN

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When the sand vanished beneath her feet the Bloodbath was long forgotten. A new terror accompanied this exploration of the water; although they were pedaling across the surface it felt like an anchor was bound to their feet, trying to drag them into the depths she could not see. Below their flailing bodies everything was black, and her imagination was running rampant trying to picture what could be lurking in this vast bowl of liquid. To make matters worse, when Claire struggled to heave her up to the surface when she slipped downward (which always followed with Laila murmuring an apology as she tried to figure out how to mimic Claire’s movements and use teamwork to keep them both afloat), the water would spill into her mouth. The first time it happened her face twisted violently with disgust. It was salty. Why the hell was it salty?

Her eyes burned and her tongue was dry. This salty water was shitty, and it would be worthless until they boiled the nastiness out of it. In an effort to speed the process up she started kicking her feet beneath the water, motions awkward and inexperienced. It was helpful, she noticed, because they were swifter, but it was also exhausting. She was gasping for breath within minutes, and the flooding of saltwater into her mouth and nostrils only amplified the torment. She could hear Claire’s ragged breaths as well, and Willis’ sputtering nearby. Laila herself coughed a few times too when the water tried to invade her windpipes. Not today, shitty water, not today.

When one of the distant dots grew into an island Laila wanted to cheer. Her body was pleading for a rest and her heart was sick of the terror that she could not vanquish. The instant Claire was able to stand upright she detached herself and let her toes sink into the sand, body shivering as her gi clung to her skin. She didn’t miss the sweat or the fresh blood, but this sticky water wasn’t welcome either. It was cold and disgusting, the aftertaste still potent on her tongue. She quickly stepped out of the water and collapsed into the sand, indifferent to the grains lodging themselves into her hair. Even in a ponytail this mane would not remained untangled for long. It would be a wild nest by sunset, especially now that it was flecked with salt. She couldn’t find the energy to care.

But then Willis’ panicked voice sent a jolt of electricity through her nerves. ”Eye’s gone,” he croaked. She didn’t believe him. It had to be some sort of cruel, practical joke. Ha ha, very funny. ”H-..He just vanished.” And then she was sitting upright, eyes trained on Willis’ expression. It was ridden with fear, plagued by regret. When she scanned the perimeter Eye was nowhere to be spotted. No, this couldn’t be happening. ”What?” The stupid question was a burst of disbelief more than anything. Eye was lost? How could he possibly be lost? He had been glued to Willis just a few minutes ago! ”I don’t know what happened.”

”You lost him?” Her voice reached a dangerous pitch – any Sycamore would recognize what this volume meant. It was the onset of a tantrum, and she was on her feet within moments. ”You mean he’s out there drowning right now?!” Her eyes burned with a fury, but she couldn’t yet focus on channeling the red hot anger toward Willis. She instead approached the edge of the water and frantically searched the vast blue for any signs of life. ”EYE!” she cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed. Damn the consequences. Her call was answered by raining silver parachutes, but she couldn’t give less of a shit about sponsorship right now. She needed Eye. ”EYE!”

The crash of waves was her second answer. There was no Eye, just shitty water and the ugly seaweed floating in it. She spun on her heels to acknowledge the storm inside of her, and with a tiny fist struck Willis in the arm as hard as she could. ”You idiot! How could you let this happen?” It wasn’t fair. She didn’t trust Willis or Claire as much as she trusted Eye. Could she even trust these two? Sure, they kept her from drowning, but for how long would they continue to let her burden them? What if their plan was to leave her stranded on this island with no food or resources?

What was she going to do without Eye?

”DAMN IT”

She screamed.

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