The Parting of the Ways // Stanley DP

COVER

STANLEY SCHUSTER: CANCELLED

ISSUE #14
MAR '81
Joel
SCHUSTER
Gail
SCHUSTER
Robert
ROSS
THE FINAL ADVENTURE

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As his life ebbed out of his legs, Stanley had to wonder if district three had started training careers. Death and Famine were way, way too skilled with their weapons to be a bunch of electronics nerds. Alternatively, Stanley and company were just hopelessly bad at fighting.

He liked the first thought better.

The plague that was the boy from district six continued to hack away at the most intimidating girl he’d ever met, and Stanley felt sick to his stomach. There was no escape, not this time.

Because the dry lake bed was so fucking flat they’d be easily followed no matter what direction they went in. They had to end things here, he understood that. This was not something they could run from, lest they run into these people again.

Savior was looking about as bad as he felt, and he briefly wondered how much more fight she had in her before looking at their enemies again. Was his inane chattering getting under their skin? He hoped so.

Maybe it’d distract them long enough for one of his friends to land a hit. Maybe it actually helped. Savvy crushed Six’s foot and a moment later Finley cracked the young tribute’s shin.

The sound of bones breaking was music to his ears. They still had a chance didn’t they? A snowballs chance in hell, but a chance nonetheless. At the very least, they’d give them something to remember them by.

Another glancing blow hit him, but he barely felt it. Probably a sign of nerve damage and something to be worried about.  Anyway, he still had a few insults left in him.

“Do you vitamin D deficient ass clowns need some milk for those fractures?” he cackled.

“Don’t call me that.” the girl from three practically hissed with murder in her eyes. Though it was difficult to tell which of the many names he and Savior had hurled she was referring to.

“Don’t call me that,” he repeated mockingly. “Why not, what’re you going to do, kill me?”

The sudden fire in his gut told him that this time, he’d finally bitten off more than he could chew. With a pained grunt, the rawhide whip slipped out of his hands. Stanley coughed blood into Lady Death’s face as the blade withdrew.

In that moment, the neurons frantically firing in his head slapped him with reality. Stanley was not a hero. Or a villain. Nothing special in fact. Just a boy playing pretend for a while. 

Not victor material.

There were a few things that set those giants apart. Stanley wasn’t strong, not like Mace Emberstatt. He couldn’t hold the weight of the games on his shoulders and carry the other tributes with him.

He wasn’t perceptive like Katelyn Persimmon, someone who could see right through a person when she wanted to. Opal Shore had an almost inhuman endurance, taking the crown sans half her limbs, losing her husband at a young age and still standing tall.

While he liked to think that he was funny, he didn’t ooze charisma like Peridot Myler. He didn’t have a silver tongue that could manipulate ally and enemy alike.

Neither was he as intelligent as Patricia Valfierno, Someone who had subverted expectations by hiding her true skills. No, he wasn’t as agile as Cricket Antoinette, who could dodge blades and breathe fire; and he sure as hell wasn’t anywhere near as lucky as Heron Kimberling. 

Victors were extraordinary.

Stanley was just a normal teenager.

And normal kids went home in wooden boxes, not in crowns.

“Ex? I—don’t…I don’t…feel so good…” he groaned, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. Copper danced on his tongue, and he regretted not eating the bread when he had the chance. The grip he’d kept on the blind boy’s shoulder slackened, fingers sliding off entirely as his hands instinctively clutched at his ruined stomach.

Stanley pitched backwards, hitting the ground hard.

The sky filled his vision, bluer than blue, cloudless. Pity. He’d have liked to see the stars one last time. The fight was still raging around him. He could hear raised voices, feet shifting on the dry lake bed.

But it all seemed so far away. He tried to look up, hoping his allies— no his friends, the last ones he’d ever make, had found an opening and could get away without getting stabbed in the back by the pale riders.

But he found that he didn’t even have the strength to lift his head. Something hit the ground with a small thump. Maybe a weapon, or a body part? Someone else hit the dirt near him. Fuck, he thought dimly. Were the others still alive?

Or were they all fated to die at the hands of the four horsemen? He’d been too right in christening them that, and the grim reaper disguised as a pretty girl had prepared a place for him next to the career from one.

There was blood bubbling in his throat, choking him. Stanley spewed some upwards, his body going into convulsions from the damage. Darkness crept in at the edge of his vision, numbing his brain and leaving him feeling weightless.

He could see Ex looming over him, tapping him experimentally with a leg. Empty sockets and swollen nose aside, his eyebrows were knit in concern. It wasn’t a bad sight; as far as last sights went. It was nice to know that someone cared.

“I don’t want to go.” he whimpered pitifully.

And then he was gone.