cerulean castaways | {second star; day two}

"The silence is so loud
The lights spark and flicker
With monsters much bigger
Than I can control now"

Morning comes
—— and we go.

I know the sun by name, not by story; and when she rises, I don’t look at her. Golden light kept me company all through the night, enough of it to keep me calm. ( Calm enough. ) Enough that I can’t complain when the shadows spirit us away. My limbs ache, I sleep without dreams, but my cuts are scabbing over and my bones are mending. I’m still alive. And my lungs sting, stretched to their limit, but our destination is just up ahead. Trees give way to sand and then the sea swallows us whole. But we don’t drown, we wade through the water and we find a new home. An impostor. A false place for all our false hope. I see a ghost of myself in the waves, smiling. She’s not me.

“Weather’s nice, huh Little Mouse?”

Maybe she is. I grin, turning away with a shy blush and a weak laugh. “Yeah, it is.” I stare at the sky, feeling the ocean beneath by fingertips, and it’s not real. None of it. But it doesn’t hurt to pretend, to splash Mackenzie and to look over my shoulder at our allies. “What do you guys think? Ike?” I glance at Wynter, too — a gentle smirk and a soft hesitance — but hearing her tell me to ‘Shut up!’ does nothing for me, so I don’t say her name. I don’t speak in her direction. It’s better that way. It’ll make it easier when she pretends to help Mackenzie bury me, or when my glaive slices her throat. Youth is not innocence and innocence is not ignorance. I wish we could be friends.

But I will not beg a monster to leave my closet. “It’s so strange. All of this.” I spin halfway, watching as a rippling effect flows from my body and blurs with a melted sunrise. It’s beautiful — but this isn’t my sky. I’ve never had one of my own. “Six is so… dry. All dark clouds and rain. What about Seven and Two?” We march on through endless blue, over rocky outcrops and floating debris. We find solace in hollow places. A ship greets us, wooden jaws spread wide and just waiting for us to walk inside. To be consumed. It’s a remnant of a fairy-tale that I never read. And I don’t belong in this fable. I’m not royal like Mackenzie, not even a dragon like Wynter. I’m a drawing of a peasant on the first chapter. At the back of the crowd.

The book closes, reality washing over me — and soon I’m standing within the wreckage. “They went all out, yeah?” The vessel seems to lurch forward, the floorboards creaking as I explore. “But what do I know? I’m not a pirate. I’ve never seen the real deal.” Once-glorious, but actually never. It was made shattered and ruined and stranded. It came into this world destroyed. Maybe this is where I belong; maybe I should cut the melodrama. Phantoms lurk here, fingers trailing across petrified wood, but we are not alone. Mackenzie notices them before I do, drawing attention to a dragging sound, and I look just in time to see three gigantic beasts emerging from below us. Hungry and terrifying and just playing their roles.

Hands grab me and I’m shoved behind a towering figure, and I can’t stop myself from clutching to Mackenzie’s shirt and gasping in shock. They have endless teeth and armored flesh. And they didn’t ask to be made that way, to be programmed with their thirst for blood, but I didn’t ask to be reaped. None of us asked to fight for our survival. “Should we— do we—” I try to say, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to do. Mackenzie charges into battle, keeping his cool and being the protector. Having a purpose. He targets the one at the front of the pack, his spear cutting across a patch of its unshielded skin. I ready my glaive, arms shaking, but I don’t want to be a damsel. I just want to be Faline. And she wants… something. Something I'm still trying to find.

Something more than this.

---

song: panic room - au/ra
table: dars

what if i'm made of stone?
feeling is not a system
nervous i'm caught in a hold
hoping I'm over thinking
i should be feeling more

They want to make small talk, but I just want to survive.

I wanted to wait this out by myself, selfish in my lust for isolation. I'm selfish but I'm not an idiot - you don't win the Hunger Games by going solo. Nobody does. You make a pact, have each-others backs, watch as tributes get picked off one by one until alliances break apart and you end up fighting each-other -- I wish I could jump straight to that part.

I stood at crossroads, watching them go by. The other careers strode out in front of my hiding place and my head told me to go with them, but I blocked out those whispers. I don't want to die by the blade of another smarter, stronger, faster than me. Foolish, I am not.

Cowardly, I may be. Because I fell asleep beside the bodies of two kids from Seven and a little girl from Six after I snatched the smallest one and held a knife to her throat, threatening her death if they didn't help me. I know you've got to do what you can to survive in this place but there felt something so wrong about grabbing her so suddenly -- 

I'm falling back into memories I don't want to think about. I vomited when the anthem played above our heads and bid my demons goodbye for the night. Now all I can think about is the blank spaces in my memories and the way the ship creaks, like it's tormenting me on purpose. I throw my knife into the wood, target practice, and tell the littlest one to shut up for the third time that morning.

They want to talk about home -- I want to cut their tongues out. 

I'm surrounded by people on this damp, musty ship but all I feel is lonely. Hollow, like the body of this boat, its structure rotten to the core.

Something moves beneath us, I hear the boat aching before anyone else. Bolt upright, I snatch up my knife from where I left it stabbed into the wood and stare, wide-eyed and alert, listening.

"Shhh!" I scold their whispers, a finger in the air. 

Enemies arrive but they're not human - a relief I shouldn't be feeling. 

"Should we-- do we--"

"YES!" I yell, already aiming at the creatures head as I step forward to spill blood. "Kill them, quickly!"

I'm a coward, and I'm rotten, and I'm selfish. But I'm also a survivor.

built out of memory

built out of scenes

structures of whispers

pass through our veins

laid out on screens

song: link

"my regrets are a shade
around my neck, I know
it's torturous how
some burdens are I can't let go"

His head was reeling as the first of the beasts snapped toward Wynter, catching her leg with its strangely turtle-like mouth. It ripped through her pants, leaving a gaping wound in her calf, but she was lucky it didn't rip off the entire limb. She was lucky Mackenzie hadn't ripped off any of her limbs, to be frank.

He studied her when there were quiet moments, watching her like she was some wild animal on the other side of a glass window. The signs all warned of danger, all advised against going inside the enclosure less a person risk their own potential death, but she mostly just looked defeated when she didn't know anyone was looking. Mackenzie got the feeling she was only doing what survivors did best, but her methods were hardly sensible.

Ah, yes, let's give them an ultimatum: let me work with you guys or I'll kill all of you.

Please.

Had he gotten a bow from the bloodbath, he may have shot her eye out the second she pressed that knife to Faline's throat.

Snap back to reality, and Mackenzie still jumped to Wynter's defense. Maybe it would have been smarter to just let it devour her, to run while he had the chance, but he didn't. He stayed, and he was going to make damn sure she remembered it if they both made it out of this alive.

He shoved his spear deep into one of the creature's legs, so deep that the wound made a sickly gurgling sound when he pulled his spear back out.

It seemed to have done the trick, because it wobbled to and fro for a moment, before awkwardly stepping around in a semi-circle and lumbering toward him , no longer interested in the injured snack he could've had, like a child who preferred the whole cookie to the one they'd already taken a bite out of. This one fights back, he must've thought as Mackenzie stepped back, frantic. One of the other creatures nearly swiped him across the face with its tail, but he managed to deflect it with his hand just as it should've made contact with his left cheek.

Still pushing backward, his eyes found Faline, proud little mouse, only seconds before she mimicked his attack, and struck the beast in its leg, only a few inches lower than his own attack had been.

"Damn it!" he called to her, doing his best to get to her, "Don't get yourself hur— " he started, urgency obvious in his tone. Before he could finish, though, the third of the creatures stepped between them, breaking his line of sight.

He cursed under his breath as the creature attempted, and failed, to strike Ike, who parried it easily enough, and stabbed her spear down on one of the creatures' feet. He thought he could hear wood splintering as she pierced its flesh, through-and-through.

"Don't let them get you!" he called, tongue hanging out in concentration. His sister had made fun of him his entire life for that. He bet she was sitting at home right them, rolling her eyes and mentioning to their mother that Mackenzie just had to stick his tongue out on national television.

"Keep going for the feet! They're slow on land!"

Right on cue, Wynter made contact with one of their front legs, and the mutt hissed in anguish; "Yes!"

In a room built for low capacity, the things definitely had trouble moving around. He noticed they kept bumping their tails on walls, breaking holes in the wooden floor under their enormous feet. He readied his spear with plans to take full advantage in any way he could.

"Now, let's kill these fuckers."

royal blue, here I fall
i'm digging up for the gold
spilled on the floor
there's no solid ground

song: royal blue

"The future can't
be real, I
barely know how
long a moment is"

The beast lunged at her, but she swerves to the side and then staggers back. Ike steadies herself, hesitating for a moment as she catches her breath, slightly shaken by the sight of the muttation's jaws snapping at her. She narrows her eyes, almost tuning out the conversations between her allies, if they could be called that.

Ike is not fond of Wynter; she is a callous girl, cold like her father. She can see the ice in her eyes, but then again—what do they see in hers? Emptiness, she presumes. She isn't like Wynter; she is not willing to sacrifice everything vying for the crown, but she doubts that she's much more likeable than her.

If she had the confidence and if she cared enough, she would kill Wynter in her sleep. But Ike isn't here to win; whether Wynter lives or dies is of no concern to her.

Blood roars in her ears as her heart throbs wildly in her chest. She almost as if her bones have hardened into stone as she moves forward, spear raised to attack the monsters again.

"At least we're not facing tributes?" she says almost mockingly. Perhaps it would have sounded optimistic if not for her flat tone.

song: link

"The silence is so loud
The lights spark and flicker
With monsters much bigger
Than I can control now"

I am bone, shattered marrow
——— but I am not broken.

The beast turns, swinging its tail towards my face before I can even think to lift my weapon in defense — and when I throw myself back, legs kicking at the air, my foot is all that's left to absorb the force of the blow. Snap. I scream, falling against my side with a thud and clutching my ankle. The material of my boot is dented, now causing more pain than protection, but just the thought of removing it makes me wince. I feel vulnerable, pathetic and powerless. A prime target.

Mackenzie isn't going to allow me to die — I realize that when I hear his voice, the sheer rage and fear of it. "Not that one." And I'm grateful, watching with awe as he navigates through the chaos, but part of me wants to tell him to leave me behind. To help Wynter, not me; even if she doesn't deserve it. Even if she's a thorn in my side, putting my life at risk and trying to break me down. 'Good luck with that.' We're similar, but she's not me. And I'm not her. I'm starting to understand why.

( Because I'm not that destructive;
I'm not that insecure. )

A red vial catches my attention, selfish fingers reaching for it — and maybe I'm not without fault, maybe I destroy others and pity myself just as much, but at least I take accountability for my actions. At least I'm loyal and strong and willing to sacrifice myself. Maybe we're all just trying to self-justify. I tuck the strange liquid away, looking up with a smile and with tears streaming down my cheeks. He made it. "Mackenzie—" but I don't know what to say. "I'm okay." And yet I can't promise.

"We're gonna be okay."

He helps me to my feet, hands on my shoulders, and I try not to let him see how much I'm hurting. "Thanks, though. Really." I lean against him as I bend down, grabbing my glaive and matching his gaze. The intensity and the fire. "You can worry about me later. Right after I kill this fucker." I limp away from him, looking over my shoulder and speaking through gritted teeth. "Take your own advice, Wynter. Shut up." I'm tired of the dramatics. Of all this soul-searching.

Mackenzie charges, his spear slicing the creature's tail — and I follow after him. I'm just a girl; just a tribute trying to make it another day. That's enough. I'm ready to stop all the crying, all the self-hatred and all the wondering about who I am. About what I'm worth. Just Faline. And just as much as anyone else in this Hell. Bloodshot eyes, raw skin. Wounded and emotional and so apathetic. But still burning. My flames are on the inside, my ribs are a furnace and my heart is coal. I'm not a machine.

( I'm just trying to survive. )

---

song: panic room - au/ra
table: dars

what if i'm made of stone?
feeling is not a system
nervous i'm caught in a hold
hoping i'm over thinking
i should be feeling more

"Take your own advice Wynter. Shut up."

The boat creaks underneath our battle, tired and aching - my head screams, full of sounds and echoes.

"No you shut up!" I snap back, trapped in a memory, I'm Wynter and she's Summer. We're fifteen and she's asking me too many questions, I start yelling and she yells back - I punch her in the chest and she falls, crying, but at least she's stopped yelling.

Faline looks at me, irritated and angry - but she's not scared of me. I can see that clearly. Even with my knife at her throat, I don't think she lost a drop of courage. I could snap her spine into tiny pieces and she'd still have more backbone that I ever could.

"You should watch yourself, Two," retorts the sad girl from Seven, her words are like knives scraping across a china plate and I wince. "None of us want you here—it's a bit foolish of you to be making threats, don't you think?"

They're going to kill me, I think. Almost relieved.

Maybe when I'm dead, everything will finally be quiet.

"Get a grip, Seven," I spit gruffly, "this is the Hunger Games. Threats are like small-talk here."

I turn my back on the creatures, one dead at the hands of Faline, and point my knife directly at her, the point glistening between her eyes in my line of vision.

"I'm only foolish for thinking you lot would be able to keep me aliv-"

A weight crunches down on my arm and I fall with it, screams erupting from my splintering throat. The knife that once sat poised in my hand clatters to the floor, sound lost in the waves of my pain, and I shove the mutt off of me with all the strength I can muster.

Shallow breaths fall weak as I clutch at the wound in my arm, waiting for the second to strike - but nothing follows. I squirm in my own blood, dragging my body to the side of the ship - away from the mutts, away from the tributes, away from danger.

I should have just stayed by the fucking lake.

"If you want to kill me," I heave, hand sliding across the sticky skin surrounding my wound "then you can kill me."

I kick my knife towards me, wincing, ripping a slice of my uniform off as a bandage. Blood pours from the hole and I make quick work of it, teeth and one hand fashioning a terrible-looking bandage.

"But if you kill me you've got no chance of surviving these fuckers."

I grab the knife again, take aim, and snarl, cursing my cowardice then and there.

"So I suggest you get stabbing. We can talk about threats later."

My words are hollow, just like me.

built out of memory

built out of scenes

structures of whispers

pass through our veins

laid out on screens

song: link