Take a Bow [Day 8 Reaction/Riot]

Vasco Izar

Hold on this will

Hurt more than anything has before

What it was, what it was, what it was

I've brought this on us

More than anyone could ignore

What I've done, what I've done, what I've done

At Half-past midnight, when Emma was fast asleep beside me and I was wide awake for the third night in a row, there was a dull thud at the end of the hall the drew me from bed. I’d been slow enough to pull back the sheet, steadying myself with the cane at the edge of the bed. I didn’t bother with the cotton robe hanging from the wall, the heat of the evening heavy, I faced the would-be intruder clad in boxers and barefooted.

A voice murmured, and I could hear the screech of bed springs in Yani’s room. Sofia had said she was spending the evening up with one of the Rose girls. Manu had gone to bed early, tired from a day in the fields, and more tired still from the sadness he’d started wrestling with again.

Sampson stunk of moonshine and smoke. Bleary eyed, he sat at the edge of Yani’s bed, whispering into her ear. She had pulled the rose print sheets over her mouth, quiet and still, eyeing her cousin as though he was a ghost. She nodded at whatever he’d said and turned to look at me without a sound. He simply sat there, boots on the floor, head back against the wall, eyes closed. I cleared my throat and he stirred, tensing like a wolf in a trap.

“Sampson, you could have come to call earlier…” He’d arrived like this once before. A few weeks after Salome had died, just around midnight. But back then he was still a kid, washed ashore from a night when the world had been too heavy to carry. Nekane had brought him around to save him from more trouble at home. We forgave him then. Sampson was the sort of boy to carry his sadness until it burned back down to ash and embers. You just had to let him burn long enough.

‘Had to talk to Yani,’ He smiled, his lips still swollen from his run-in with the peacekeepers days before. I could see the dark black circles underneath each of his eyelids, too. ‘You still telling her bedtime stories?’

“Why don’t we talk in the kitchen… get you some coffee. I don’t think I’m much for sleeping tonight.” I stepped closer across the hardwood, and stood over the bed. Yani twisted in the sheets, and Sampson moved to stand. He’d gotten Bakar’s height, close to six feet, and a good four or five inches on me.

‘Yeah. I wouldn’t sleep much before tomorrow if I was you, either.’ He grabbed my arm to steady himself. I shifted back as he lay his weight onto my body, him all warm and heavy. For a moment I held him like he was a child, all light and needing something steady. But he was too heavy now. Pain crept through my knee to remind me how many years had passed between us. He put a hand on my shoulder to keep me at arm’s length.

“Better then to spend some time with my favorite sobrino.” He laughed and gave my back a pat.

‘You going to give us another speech, tío?’ His voice was soft and serious. He paused for a moment, as though the distance to his next thought was too wide, but pressed ahead anyway. ‘Don’t worry, Izars have always been disappointments, eh? You’re just following in a long tradition.”

He had a habit of saying things to hurt. Especially if it meant he could give himself reason to be hated in the process.

“Sampson, let’s go lie down on the couch. You need some sleep in you…” I pressed a hand behind his back. “We can talk tomorrow…”

‘Fuck tomorrow,’ He said, and threw his shoulder back, pushing me in turn. ‘They kill us like fucking dogs. They kills us like dogs and you stand up there with them and give speeches and talk about love.’

‘Fuck, tío. How long will it take? You give us love and they starve us and beat us…’ In the light I could see his eyes, red and glassy. Humorless, pained. ‘I can’t live this way. I won’t live like this…’

“Hey, hey. We fight the battles we can fight. We help as many as we can as best as we can…”

‘You fucking let them step on you and you refuse to hate them. You fucking coward –’

“Sampson – ” My voice is louder now, and I wonder if Emma will wake (she’s heavier sleeper than I, but not through this).

‘… you fucking let them take Raquel and you did nothing. You just sat there and took it. And you watched her die and now, you fucking let them take us. I thought you were different. That maybe you’d wake people up.’ He sprays his venom and I steady myself for what he has to say. ‘You’re the perfect little puppet to play their bitch.’

“¡Ya basta!” I hissed.

He stared back at Yani.

‘I hope they take her, too.’ He almost didn’t get out the words, his voice a whisper, but they land worse than anything. ‘Watch her get ripped apart and then tell me what kind of love you have left.’

I shoved him, harder than I thought I could, with the full wait of both hands against his chest. He grabbed at a brass handle of the dresser and managed to yank out a drawer as he toppled and crashed to the floor. He got up with a shot and went to grab me by my shoulders. Except he stalled. He stared down at me with all the hate I’d never seen before but felt just the same.

He stomped into the hall. At the top of the stairs he turned, words all fire and ash.

‘Give us a good long speech, tío. Make sure Yani and Emma get a view from the back to take it all in.’

***

I woke before sunrise, and spent those first few minutes with my body huddled tight against Emma’s. I prayed for Jacob, that he could come home to his mother. I prayed for Kassandra, that she could come home and get all the love she’d never had. I prayed that today would be better than the last.

I suppose tragedy has a way of drawing out all the memories that never came to be. The moment over breakfast when I should’ve told Yani that we’d spend the afternoon at the watering hole, instead of chiding her for playing with her porridge. Instead of complaining about the taste of the coffee I could’ve kissed Emma on her forehead, and told her how lucky I was she’d gotten up to make any at all.

We don’t talk about Sampson. Or the boy and girl that may lose their lives. We focus on the silence, steeling ourselves against what’s to come.

At the center of the square was a stage set for the dignitaries – peacekeepers, a few stray capitolites to keep order, and of course, a space reserved for the mayor. I hugged Emma tight in my arms, then, forgetting the gathering crowds. Yani was wide eyed, staring past me at the screens, the people. A stark reminder to small child that she’s trapped in something bigger than herself, she watched the face of Kassandra move above her. She flinched at my touch, and tugged at Emma’s hand, already deciding to lead her to the edge of the crowd, away from the excitement.

As the sun rose, citizens marched into the square. They were cordoned off into sections to maximize the space. Barricades line along the edges and through the center to restrict the flow of traffic and to keep the rows orderly. White armored peacekeepers formed a human chain along the shopfronts, guns drawn and faces hidden. The heat glared down and movements slowed. A gentle breeze kicked up, scattering dust from rooftops and offering a small reprieve. Few talk, idle bits of chatter fading away to the sound of boots against the earth and gravel.

No one spoke when Kass fired on Jacob.

For the second year in a row, District Eleven must kill one another. The capitol had foregone a finale that would offer a certainty to our district, instead opting that one (or both) would die. A lesson that none of us could ever be comfortable. We paid a price even in success, and worse still, I wondered if the capitol had taken any of what I’d said to heart. Was this to punish us? To punish Kassandra to be so close to raising her lot in life? To punish Jacob, for Maya’s sins? To hurt Katelyn, and the rest of the victors for thinking there would ever be another child to come home alive from eleven?

I could hear the echoed sounds of the blasters against flesh, the slice and sundering. I turned from the sight, knowing full well what it meant not to watch, and glanced out at the crowd. I focused on the faces of those in the district over the words exchanged between the tributes. I could feel the lump building in my throat that by the time Jacob was pleading for Kass to make it quick, I was ready to reach for my handkerchief.

She fired, ending what was Jacob Fel.

A cannon sounded and I stood, not sure what I was supposed to say – if I could say any words – and moved toward the old wooden podium.

I was halfway to centerstage when a whistling sound pierced through the air. Shooting up from underneath the base of the platform came a firework, treading sparks overhead in its wake. Exploding in a gasp of flame and smoke, the firework filled the sky with the remnants of a five pointed black star.

There was silence as the peacekeepers braced, looking around to the source of the explosive. Men and women in white stormed the stage. They pointed to movement from underneath the platform, and took aim. I turned to catch the figure between the front of the barricades. A lanky, brown haired boy rushed back toward the crowd. He stopped to stare back at me with a grin.

“Samps – “

The stage shuddered and groaned, shrieking out a burst of flames and fire from underneath the wood. I’m tossed like a rag doll out into one of the barricades, smacking hard into the metal and tumbling down into the dirt. Windows burst along the square, glass shattering, more flames leaping out across the way. Hunks of wood and metal scattered along the crowd, with screams to break the silence.

My ears rang as I stared up at the gathering smoke overhead. Dizzied I watched the beautiful blue fade to black and gray, the smoke overtaking my vision.

Whistles sound, calling for order.

*I don't feel it anymore, William Fitzsimmons

[It's a RIOT! 

Feel free to post about your character reacting to the riot (running away, panicking, getting trampled) or participating. Please note that any sort of rebellious acts have consequences! 

Also, don't feel like you have to have an extended post (like my long ass) - this thread is meant more to be blitzy (though feel free to write to your heart's content).]