ink. } isobel series

Chaos has no beginning and no end. It stretches out forever

and ever

and ever.

Neither does death.
I keep my eyes peeled open with the years, watch every movement of their lips, counting down the moments until death holds them still. I keep my ears open, too- they strain for their words and the silence that follows.

My breath comes in a breaking crescendo- theirs is just the opposite. They are crumbling before they even step off the podium and race headfirst into a war- they are crumbling far before the steel opens their flesh. I watch them with wide eyes and trembling hands tangled into a mess in my lap- white building up at their joints and all. Half of me cannot bear to watch, but the other half cannot bear to look away.

Everyone makes it out alive- no cannons break my ears- but I know it is not over. It is foolish to think so, for the Capitol will have the blood it desires. (It always does.) A second bloodbath almost immediately unfolds after the first- this one far more bloody, far less merciful.

They surround a group of three tributes; they are the lions, the unfortunate three are the prey. They are thieves, and blood is not all that they steal. Each and every one of them steals blood with a flicker of their blade, but it is Noelia, the girl from Ten, who swipes the first soul from the first fallen body. Souls are sewn delicately into the body- her cruel blade releases it into her open palm almost effortlessly.

Her face is one I recall, and her voice, too. The words are engraved into a page of my journal in wispy black ink-

(19.) Leticia Tibideaux - "We're gonna have to wade through it."

Her ghost is draped across every inch of her- all but the blade that strikes out to sever the soul from the body of Andestite Obsidian. Boom, and he crumbles, truly, to the ground. And nearly a split second later, another cannon fires to mark the end of the boy from District Twelve, Lemon Cake. I had giggled every time I heard his name, but it rings out in my memory much more grave now. It was Kite Tide who takes his soul, and with it, the title thief. And then they steal Carrita Nessege, too- I knew of her fate long before. I knew of her fate the moment I saw the venom swell in President Snow's eyes when he crowned the third consecutive District Eleven victor- we all knew of her fate.

(It does not make it any less unfair.)

I know this feeling- this horrible burn in my lungs, this lump in my throat. I cannot breathe, cannot think, and yet I do not shut my glassy eyes or cover my ears to block it all out- they must be remembered, every last one of them. I have cursed myself a cavern, holding their memories within me. And when I fade away, my journal will not- I make them immortal with a flick of my pen. (Being forgotten is worse than death.)

They retreat, leaving the fallen behind them in the blood they spilled.

As the light fades from their eyes like a setting sun beneath a darkening horizon, as crimson pools around them like a great flood, they open their mouths to sputter out strings of words. I write them all down with a moment of hesitation. But I do not just write them down,I engrave them into every part of me.

My hand shakes against my pounding heart.

(24.) Andestite Obsidian - "Screw you, Flynn."

(23.) Lemon Cake - "Thank you for everything."

(22.) Carrita Nessege - "Maybe I will see you again one day."

Three tears for three deaths roll down my cheeks in thick, hot rivulets, and drip onto the margins of the paper. The corner of my lips glisten with the remnants of a tear, and they tremble as I say, "I'm sorry." But apologies don't mean anything, because they do not fix anything. To say sorry is to put a bandage over the wreckage of an earthquake.

But I say it anyway, because there is nothing else to say.

I made a promise when I uncovered my eyes and watched the Games for the first time. I promised that they would never be forgotten.

I am not one to break promises.