Bruises and Paper Cuts {CI/PC/SM}

[newclass=.jorggradient1]text-align:justify; background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #4e4828, #5c312a, #302b2f, #7b8086, #444d6c);linear-gradient(top, #4e4828, #5c312a, #302b2f, #7b8086, #444d6c); -webkit-background-clip:text; color:transparent;[/newclass][attr="class","jorggradient1"] Ivar and I decide to not stay the night in the mansion, but rather find refuge somewhere else. We run into Chaos and Lightning in the pool and have a decent, if not awkward conversation with them before we head out. I carry the painting within the folds of my fur coat, and somehow manage to fold the bathrobe into the clutch with the rest of the crayons. With my clothes are back on my body, regaining what little decency they offer, I march on forward with Ivar, hopefully getting far enough away from the travesties of yesterday. We walk out one of the many doors on the ground floor of the mansion and walk out into a luscious rose garden, which would be quite beautiful under different circumstances. With Ivar still at my side I march on, my trident serving as my walking stick, my ribs bandaged, and my sanity slowly chipping away, I march on.

I am unsure of where we are exactly heading, away just seems to be good enough for me. Away from the loss of those lives, away from the shame of being involved, away from the guilt of leaving for this in the first place. I can’t help but think about Phoenix, and how he almost gave me a black eye, or about the way that Charm held onto me before I left. I can’t help but to think about the way Dragon simply asked for another hug, or the way Spear and Spell looked at me in the Justice Building. I never realized how much they meant to me, but also I never realized how much I meant to them. Did I leave because I wanted their attention, even though I had always had their love? Or did I leave for some other sick and twisted reason that I cannot bear myself to admit. I feel my arms weakening and a knot forming in my throat, threatening to choke me in my own sorrow. Am I some sort of monster, who would willingly give up his life just to be remembered?

The area starts to change, the grass beneath us starts to lessen out, the dirt thinning into something else. The ground still feels solid yet, everything looks like we will fall through paper at any moment. I’m not even sure if this is paper, but rather just emptiness. Is this what The Void looks like? I had always assumed that it be black, absorbing everything that is thrown into it, yet it is white, a reflection of everything that people have tried to thrown in. Maybe this is the other side of the Void, where everyone’s regrets come to haunt those of us who are stuck inside. Willing victims of their entertainment while we sit here wallowing in their pain. I guess that is the a sort of appeal for them. They get to live their lives free of burden while we carry it upon our backs, heavier than the world can ever be. We see animals walking by, some appear to be taller than what is normal proportion, did we somehow manage to shrink upon our arrival? Is this another Gamemaker trick, to throw us into not only a physical deathmatch, but a psychological one where the enemy is ourselves?
I would rather not think about it as the night slowly creeps up on the light, slowly inching it’s way into power. Ivar and I decide that it would be best to camp now, not wanting to move through the night an an uncharted territory. We literally have nothing to sleep on, no bed, no pillow, hell we don’t even have sheets to sleep on, just whatever the hell we actually are on. Put none of that matters as the faces of the dead paint the sky. 10 faces, some of them I have never seen before, a few of them I am far too familiar with. Zanita is up there, only fueling the enraging fire within me. I knew that this day would come eventually, but not on the first day, not when there was nothing I could do to protect her.

”How did we lose her, Curse? I never even saw her when the Games began.” He tries to hide the pain behind his mask, but I notice it. The more I am around him, the more I get to know his cracks, and emotions. Lorenzo and Anton are up there as well, the memories of their blood painted upon my boots still shake me to my core. I know that Ivar never meant to kill Lorenzo, but unfortunately things happens, and I know that there may be nothing I can do to save his psyche.

I wake up to the sun breaking against the horizon and the birds start to chirp. I expect to be able to smell the salt in the air and hear the waves crashing against the sand, yet I don't have that. Instead I have the melody of the Anthem haunting our morning from every direction. I am unable to point where the sounds are coming from, yet it encompasses me, its tendrils scathing across my body and my soul as it tries to force its way in. Ivar asks me if I am seeing this, now that the environment is even more clear in the morning light. It is a very shitty way to wake up in the morning, yet I remember that I chose this. I wanted to have this. Knowing that will break me sooner or later. My stomach grumbles out of hunger, and I realize that Ivar and I have no food or water to speak of. All that was in the Bloodbath was crayons. I stare down at my trident, and hope that if a drawn out weapon can physically manifest, why not water?

I pick up the light blue crayon I have, Periwinkle I think it says on the label, and draw out a water bottle, long and cylindrical. The opening is wide enough to easily have access to water, but small enough to not let anything else in. The cap twists off, allowing for easier maintainability and water control, and what I hope will manifest as water into the bottle. We hear shouts and screaming coming from nearby, and Ivar and I decide to go and investigate. I am willing wishing that we didn’t, as we see four other tributes fighting each other. Blood is spewing across the white landscape as it flows from tribute’s wounds. They apparently have beef already, though granted a lot can happen within 8 days. Ivar and I look at each other, shrug and decide to go in. he swinging his axe and me hoisting my trident we charge in. A girl tries to swing her mace at me, yet there is still air between us. She asks me if I am scared yet all I can do is laugh.

“You forget that I am from Four, we train for this day to come in our lives. If anyone should be scared, it should be you.” I thrust my trident towards her, hoping to make connecting, hopefully making one less person I have to fight to get home.

[newclass=.jorggradient1]text-align:justify; background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #4e4828, #5c312a, #302b2f, #7b8086, #444d6c);linear-gradient(top, #4e4828, #5c312a, #302b2f, #7b8086, #444d6c); -webkit-background-clip:text; color:transparent;[/newclass][attr="class","jorggradient1"] The once white landscape quickly turns to red as blood flows freely from the wounds we inflict upon each other. Once pure now turns perverted, due to the willful horrors we inflict upon each other. I feel a sick twisted sense of relief when I cut that girls face open, watching the blood spew from her cheek. I notice that Ivar has landed a strike against her leg as well, knowing that we are fighting for our survival helps me deal with the guilt, even if it is just a mask over the pain. I notice that the other four tributes seem to be screaming at each other, one of them talking about losing his friend. The pain he has resonates with me. I can’t help but think about how we lost Zanita, and she was nowhere to be found. I can’t help to think that maybe his friend was in a similar situation. That he was nowhere to be found in this Arena, and yet somehow died into the void.

I hear Ivar speak, though, to the long hair boy. While it appears that they have a history together, it seems brief and unimpressed from Ivar’s point at best. For some reason, I become almost jealous of that. While Ivar and I have had plenty of time in the training center to ourselves I can’t help but think about all of the other connections he has made. He is his own person but still, it is frustrating to me that it’s still there. This jealousy thing has me all confused so I try to force it out of my mind. It only makes me feel like I have something to prove to Ivar, even though I know full and well that I do not have to. I get back into the fighting when people start switching their targets, The girls move onto a different guy and the guys move onto the other girl. I look down at Ivar with an even more confused look than before. One of the girls that are in this fight is from Four, she should know how to stick onto on target. It is fundamental in our Career Training. Switching targets in the middle of the fight only create more on your back. Yet Ivar and I somehow manage to keep targets off of ours.

At this point, I feel as if I have no choice. I lash my trident out at one of my District’s own. It wasn’t the first time that I have lashed out against one of my own, but hopefully, this will be the last in the while as I hear another cannon echo throughout the Arena. We already lost ten tributes, Zanita being one of them. We have already lost one from Four, the daughter of River Destin, the last victim from Cricket’s personal hand. We have already lost one of the Army, will it be such a big deal if we lose another? Isn’t that what soldiers in Armies do anyways, die in the line of combat?