don't look up [echoes + twd + rancor]

Pearl Millison

She could feel it writhing under her skin like a parasite – guilt. It was all-consuming, a flesh eating creature that served to ensure her suffering. It chewed away at her conscience as Blaire Sycamore collapsed at her hand. His chest was still rising and his limbs were still creaking; he was alive, yet so was the guilt. She could bury it in a tomb and seal it off with adrenaline and fear, but it was a second heartbeat in her chest. Each time hers thumped, it thumped louder, and screams could only suppress it for so long. Her charade of bravery and protectiveness was as fragile as her own life, and it was only a matter of time before something terrible happened. There was a beast at their tails, and blades were sweeping left and right like branches in a storm. There were a lot of things to absorb from the hilt of a sword – fear, hesitation, guilt, anger, despair, power. She thought it was impossible to feel all of them at once.

And then she heard Barnabas scream.

It was worse in person. Television was all slow motion and glorifying, the drama enhanced by music and sound effects and commentary. This was raw. It was a split second of horror, of watching Galaxy’s steel bite tissue like butter and watching the leg separate by the femur and listening to Barnabas scream when she would rather hear him talking like he was the other night: ”Me too…but I guess that’s why I have my friends to help me.”

Of course, the next day Asa disappeared. Now Barnabas was actively dying. Despite her silent vow to protect him for everyone’s sake – especially Asa’s – he was dying. He was bleeding out of a severed artery, and without immediate medical attention he would be drained like a raisin.

She didn’t remember screaming, but she knew she had; her throat felt raw, like a scratch she couldn’t itch. She had simply reacted and dashed over to him to offer support. He was heavy; not as heavy as he could’ve been, but she was a feather and he was an anchor. Hot blood splashed her pants, but she didn’t feel nauseous. Perhaps it was locked away by hunger. Hunger was a whole new sensation of discomfort, one even stronger than nausea.

”Fuck I’m sorry.”

How could someone apologize for their own suffering?

Tears obstructed her green vision. Patricia reacted with anger and active threats. Her voice was a terrifying siren in this abyss, a challenge even to the mutt that stomped around sniffing for prey. ”I'M GONNA KILL BOTH OF YOUR FRIENDS,” she screamed. ”AND THEN I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

The arena changes us for the worst, she thought, straining her shoulder to prop Barnabas upright on his intact leg. She couldn’t see what was happening with Patricia or the beast, but perhaps it was better that way. The draft along her backside was unwelcoming, and left her feeling vulnerable. But she would rather not see what was coming. If there was anything – a claw, a sword, a knife, a fist – she would risk the element of surprise, just as long as it wasn’t Barnabas who suffered at its hand.

Maneuvering was difficult. The uneven distribution of weight made her tilt, especially when he lashed out at another tribute with his sword. ”What did I ever do to you, huh?" She could see Blaire bathed in a green glow, but there was nothing she could do without risking a fall. If Barnabas collapsed, it would all be over. Any of them could take advantage of a fallen tribute, and she couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t leap in front of him or shove him out of the way. He was glued to her side even as Blaire opened a new fissure in his skin. She raised her sword with her free arm and stepped forward.

”Back away!” She said.

She couldn’t hide the quiver of panic in her voice.

[attacks Blaire – sword]
kt3SKCCwsword
miss

{ p a t r i c i a v a l f i e r n o}

thank you, i'll say goodbye soon
though it's the end of the world
don't blame yourself

I am a storm. Brewing slowly, like a strong tea. Brown, spreading clouds of liquid and gas, churning and turning, building up into something magnificent and horrifying. Eyes black, soulless and cold. The electricity inside of me twitches at my joints, shaking my bones and making my hairs stand on ends. Then there's the fire at the heart of me, so blistering hot that I think the very core of me has burned out. These caves are chilling at the best of times, but I am breaking out in a very warm sweat.

Building and building, searching for red. I cut the dark haired boy deep, and that slows him down somewhat. I hold my gaze on Galaxy, manic and deranged. She is the reason. She is the excuse I have for unleashing this blind fury. So many unspoken promises, broken in an instance. Was I wrong to assume such things? I expected things to have worked out, but it all went to shit. Now I have nothing. Again.

I should have opened my mouth and called out her name the moment this all kicked off. I could have stopped people from dying then, but I kept quiet, hoping that our own morality would stand above our desperate actions. How wrong I was. Trust is a luxury. There's only one person I can truly trust in here, and that isn't even myself. It's a girl from One. My friend. She is the only purpose left for me. There's something inside of me - It's hard to explain. A maternal instinct. The need to protect and nurture. I've had it since I was left to fend for myself, and now, without my sister here, I feel I need to watch out for Pearl.

Inside the Arena's most twisted mind, somewhere deep in it's institution is a lost little girl crying out for protection. She is alone and exposed, with so much burdened on her. The lives of others, the responsibility of her own. She never asked to face adversity. She is forced to face these trials, and it terrifies her. It makes her so, so angry. Why can't anything in this horrible, disgusting world be safe? She is me, and although I lock that fragile girl away, I am still her. I am so sick of fighting when there is a more simple alternative - Ceasefire.

I guess I'm afraid that no one has an ounce of mercy anymore.

So where does that leave me? Just someone who has to match that level of ruthlessness, else risk being dragged under a freight train? I don't even know who or what I am anymore. Things were so simple when I had my computing systems and hubs to work at. I like knowing, and controlling and changing. I don't like that which I cannot influence or forsee. We are all desperate creatures now. I expect others think the same, but won't speak out, and so we are trapped in this sad cycle of assumption.

Barnabas lies heaped on the floor, twitching and flapping like a fish out of water. He is as good as dead. Even if we drive away the others, he's cut up too badly to take with us. He'd just be a burden with one leg and deep wounds. Feed him to the lions. Pearl, on the other hand, is looking fine. I move to her, watching her back as she takes on my District Partner, Blaire. I am indifferent to attacking him. He seems pretty crippled as things stand, so it's a no-brainer.

I keep my attentions on the black haired boy.
"I want you to beg," I snarl, twirling my blade back and forth in quick fashion. He is a sadist, and I whilst I'm every bit as ruthless and dangerous as him, I don't enjoy it like he does. That's a different mindset alltogether. The sooner I off him, the better.
"Loud enough for that bitch to hear you!"


[Patricia Valfierno attacks Tauankia Ojai, Bone Sword]
Xg|qatMHsword
[Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage]


I want to see the blood drain from you, pint by pint.

and if it's true
i will surround you
and give life to a world
that's our own

word count: 671, graphics: rook
theme: goodbye to a world by porter robinson