The Bloodbath

Mother used to read us stories.

Every night before bed, she would pick up a book and read us to sleep. They were all different, but somehow all the same. Each one had a princess, a hero, and a villain. And each one ended the same way. I used to always think that I was the hero, I was never one who needed saving.

But now I am becoming the villain.

And part of me thinks I was a monster all along.

I killed a boy. I've killed a lot of boys, but for some reason this one was different. He was practically a child, just like me, who was unlucky enough to be thrown into a ring with twenty-three other kids, where only one is lucky enough to survive.

Or maybe they'll truly be the unlucky one.

My head continues to spin as I step into the middle of the arena, fights and conversations surround me on every side. I know Father is watching me. I wonder if he's proud? Proud to have trained a little girl how to kill with skill and precision. Proud to have raised a murderer.

The longer I stand there the more I realize I do not want to know.

And what about Kol? How does he feel about this now? Relieved to have gotten rid of me? Amused? He doesn't matter anymore, I remind myself.

He never really did in the first place.

For a minute, I let my body rest. My shoulders sag and my fingers feel numb. I am covered in blood from head to toe, and my weapon is stained by other's. A part of me wants to lay there, to not give into their trivial nonsense, but another part of me knows I must survive. Even if I wanted the choice, that is stolen away from me too, just like my life.

Another boy approaches me, filled with nonsense and false bravery. Before I even have a chance to respond his sword comes crashing down, but I roll out of the way just in time. I bring myself back to my feet, dusting off the loose sand from my jumpsuit.

"I have bite too."

A small laugh escapes my lips as I focus my gaze on him. "Over the years I've learned that most of the time someone's bark, doesn't match their bite."

And without a beat of hesitation I swing. If I did it once I can do it again.

Right?

My eyes meet with another boy who stares on, weapon at his side. He's a short thing, skinny too, as if he was never properly fed, but he seems trained. He seems quick. He seems like he could be useful.

"Hey there, tall boy. Why don't you come give a pretty girl a hand?"

It could all be futile, my efforts might mean nothing and he will continue to watch from a safe distance.

But I am a monster.

And I spare no prisoners.

andy.

He was scared. He couldn't bring himself to say it, perhaps he didn't even realize it, but he was terrified. Not of the violence; war was war was war. A vicious cycle that ended with those who died and those who did not.

But he was still the same god damn person he'd always been. He was still the boy who couldn't chance dying. He was still the same boy who chose prison. He was still that boy he had once fought so hard to distance himself from.

"I'm brave," he said aloud, eyes narrowing, chest heaving, "I'm brave, I'm brave, I'm-"

He wouldn't let himself make the same mistakes. Not again. He couldn't handle hating himself any more than he already did, and since he didn't care about anyone around him, he could hate them instead. He could blame them instead.

"Hey there, tall boy."

It was the girl he had noticed before, with the blue eyes. The one the boy had swung at and missed. She was far away, but he thought, maybe, that he could've been taller than him. Either way, she seemed pretty tall. He held his chin a bit higher in the air. Tall boy?

God damn right, he was.

"Why don't you come give a pretty girl a hand?"

I am brave. I am brave. I am-

He watched as she swung, took the boy's ear in one fell swoop. He cringed. I am brave. I am brave. He'd seen worse. He took in a deep breath.

"Fuck it."

Kill him now, maybe kill her next, then find the boy from 3 and kill him. Maybe walk out of this thing alive. It was an easy enough plan, one that made sense within his frantic mind in that moment.

I am brave.

It had worked when he went for the legs last time, so he decided he would try it again.

With a battle cry, he swung.

helena crane

When she was younger, Helena would watch the world through a stained glass pane. Vibrant colors could change the grey streets of District Eight into a paradise of imagination. Spiralling pillars of white steam from the washing factories became great golden billowing clouds. She would envisioned what it would be like to dance within a world of golden rain drops. Her Mother told her that she could go to a place with fountains of life and soft songs of sweetness. A place she called heaven, where the souls could stay for an eternity in peace.

Factory boys would spit at the young girl when she walked by with her book of scriptures. Sneer at the idea of placing her heart in something other than the material, something bigger than what can be seen. Some days she'd sulk all the way home. Others, she'd stop and stare at them. They'd glare at her with these betrayed spheres of sadness in the place of their eyes, and she would try to reach them.

"How do you know you love someone?"

They would roll their eyes and laugh at the absurdity of her question. Her lips would quiver, but her faith never.

"You can't see it. Yes you can see a kiss, or a gift, or even a hand holding your's. But anyone can do that to you, and it isn't always love."

That would normally stir a little bit of silence around them, sometimes a few would leave. But for those that stayed, Helena held nothing back from them. Forever her faith has been the one subject she's spoken freely through.

"You feel it and trust in it. It's the same with belief, with faith. Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's fake."

She's not entirely sure why her mind melts back to those memories as the boy falls, but it happens like the final flash of a bomb. Helena can't even hear the girl's words as she stands beside the boy now gone, she is too busy falling into the sand itself. Her hair coats her eyes as her fingers grip the fine sand. It must still be warm out, the sand heats her body like a slow burning fire. Maybe she should just lay here a while, close her eyes and lean into the warmth.

Her eyes do lull for a moment, but that's all it is. Her natural impulses inspire her to shakily stand back up from the ground. Sand meshes with blood in her hair and Helena is certain she looks more like beast than human. There's something inside her that she finally accepts, a growing realization that soon she will be sitting by the fountains surrounded by the golden raindrops of her dreams. She's freed so many souls and now it seems she's nearing her own merciful gift of glory.

A voice carries over the chaos, over the corpses, and the crowd. It speaks of extinction and eradication, the failure of humanity. If Helena isn't entirely certain it is the boy in the center of the Coliseum, she would believe they are her own thoughts. However, they really are emerging from his lips with the same energy that drove her dagger into the chests of rebels and patriots alike. She moves through the storm of swinging swords.

Before she can even register it, her fingers are wrapped around the collar of this boy's shirt. Behind her, laying uselessly in the sand, is her sword abandoned. A rough cough, burning with pain and agony, rips free from Helena's lips and spews scarlet across the boy's chest. She doesn't look up yet, her breaths are still too ragged. Let them hear you, let him hear you. Helena's eyes, dulled by dawning death, rise to stare the stranger in the eyes.

"There will always be suffering, humanity knows not how to stop it, but only how to stoke it."

The young girl's fingers finally release his collar as her hands fall limply to her sides.

"Violence, it is the eternal sin of humanity. How to cause pain, the eternal pursuit."

Helena's legs give way and she crumples, but doesn't hit the ground. Her eyes give a confused glance to the arm that has caught her and shoulder which balances her, the boy's. She looks him deeper in the eyes, searching for the soul within him who's voice had called her.

"The only mercy is given to us by Ripred when he gifts our souls freedom from our prisons of flesh despite our sins. I heard your soul over all the normal chaos. I wanted to meet you."