run boy run >>> P&C + *squad

oh, my mind's getting violent
it only multiplies in the silence
give you a fist full of violets and
watch 'em blossom underneath your eyelids

There's a fire in my fists and it spreads to my lungs, my legs, my brain. I hate the heat, I hate the heat, I hate the heat, I gasp and all I can think about is my scorching muscles and charred bones and my skin melting off of my skeleton.

"Shit!" 

It's a seethe, panic disguised in a breath.

"Shit shit shit shit shit!"

Guess I swear now.

Too many words for one day, I take shelter in the shade and hiss at the sun. Purple and blue radiates from the throbbing in my sternum and I still feel the palms of that boy pushing me away. I wonder if the stranger was trying to save me or save himself, whether he was terrified of my violence or his own.

Doesn't matter now, he's probably dead. Two canons - bang bang - like the sound of my heart. West Alaska, West Alaska, West Alaska, bang bang, dead and gone.

 Just like me.

The waterfall made sense. I followed my ears and my feet flew towards the sound of salvation and here I stay, ever-quiet, ever-silent, ever-alone with my thoughts and my fists. 

And the sound of salvation I had sought after now sings from the skies in parachutes. It doesn't make any sense: a mere 6 in training, no mentor, no Victor from 9, no family, no smiles, no words. There's nothing special about me, no reason to care or to keep me alive - but I suppose nothing makes sense here in this warm, warm world that I do not belong.

In my thanks I reach out and grasp strings between my fingers. Inside the packaged backpack lays an empty canteen. Water - it makes sense, and I thank my stranger saviour for answering the scalding thirst in my throat. 

Underneath lies something stranger. Eggshell blue, I pick up the object and peer through the lens, squinting against the sun and the-

"Oh shit!"

- murder-boy dragging some kid by the arms.

Panic. I should get used to it. Fumbling with my new-found prizes hastily shoved into the bottom of the bag  I hoist it upon my shoulders and grip my knife tightly. It brings calm amongst the chaos, scrambling on my hands and knees, white-hot knuckles on the molten ground.

Safe beneath the bushes and the roaring of the fall, I peer through my lens once more and try to steady the pressure in my lungs. Breathe in, hold my breath, I focus on the boys in the distance and my finger clicks.

Whirring, puzzled blue eyes, out pops a photograph from the top of the camera. Red-handed, my sweaty palms take the evidence delicately between thin fingers and I glance back-and-forth between the captured second and its future playing out before me. 

I wonder if he's dead.

I wonder if I'll be next.

".......shiiiiiit."

Yeah, I'm definitely swearing now.

i've been running from the moon
since i got burnt by the sun
your face is brand new
but your smile is gone