Anthem - Day 2 IC

The screens flicker from image to image of sleeping children hudled in the warmest places they can find, some holding each other for warmth. I stare at their small sleeping forms and a large piece of me wishes that I was in there myself, that I was lying in the dark, waiting for death.

Four children are dead already, slain in the Bloodbath. I remember their names and their faces are stained inside my head, morbid paintings on morbid walls. I hear Alejandro's soft voice clearly, his song reverberating through my skull in an endless loop. I place my hand on one of the screens, the flickering and dying fires of tributes barely able to stay awake enough to keep them going splashing colour across my cheeks.

I place my fingers on the dials for the moons that light up the night, raising the brightness the smallest bit. I remember the reporter at the Gala last night who asked me, "Why two moons, Azazel?"

I couldn't answer her.

I just thought they looked nice, that they felt safe. I just don't want them to be afraid when they go.

I pull a flask from my pocket, unscrewing it slowly with my thumb, the sharp scent of whisky hitting my nose just before the taste floods my mouth and I grimace, fire running down my throat to hit an empty stomach. This isn't new, fear not. I've not been sober since Apollo died.

When the time feels right, when the tributes are settled, I flick the switch for the anthem, trumpets flooding the arena. The cameras all rotate to watch the anthem until the only thing I can see on the wall is a giant anthem, and the four that dead flash across my vision again.

I think about their bodies, stitched up and cooling in the basement morgue, being prepared for transport home to their districts too soon.

I think about their fathers, home and already knowing, waiting for the return of their child, about their mothers, too exhausted to stand, eyes red from weeping.

I think about Achilles, staring at me with hatred for the monster that his father has become and I take another drink.