Helen's Revenge [ Bloodbath: Lower Middle District Tributes

It's with a heavy heart yet a somber understanding that I take a hit by the boy from Nine. Part of me wants to scream out, to screech at him for daring to attack me. We come from the same place. My home is his, his home is mine. If there were anyone on this ship who could team up now, it should be us. We're the last two left. The two girls before us are alone. Vulnerable. Weakened by my and Ilya's constant barrage of piercing blows. If there was any two people who could escape from this deck, it should be us.

But instead he turns on me, a spark of something - I can't quite place it - in his eye. Intrigue. Interest. Mild obsession. He's interested in me. Not in the way that one would assume, but in the way I imagine careers stare longingly at victors. I have a kill under my belt, a soul trapped in my blade, a life I've taken that I'll have to live with forever. And Ilya looks at me like I'm a goddess.

I mean, I am.
But that's besides the point.

Though my most recent wound is from him, I decide he can live to see another day. Or at least another round. He looks rough, gashes along most of his limbs, blood pooling at his feet quicker than he can draw breath. I worry for him despite. For us. My adrenaline is fading and the pain is starting to set in. Since I'd stepped foot on this ship, I'd barely felt anything but my own heartbeat thrumming loudly in my ears, fighting against the loud sound of crashing waves. But now I can feel the blood pouring from my wounds, pooling beneath my feet just like Ilya's.

We're I'm so close, yet so far.

"Hit them," I order, trying to sound as commanding as I can even though fear is swelling in the pit of my stomach. "Not me, you fucking idiot."

I stumble forward, putting myself between him and the two girls left. "As for you two," sword extended out, I point to one, then the other. "Nothing personal." Back and forth.

"Eeny, meeny, miney, mo..."

[ RANDOMIZED ATTACK ]

1 - darby
2 - kaira

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[ teddy attacks darby ]

sword

[ sc on right forearm -- 3.5 dmg ]

[ saunders collection '05 - rave ]

Is this what death is supposed to feel like?

In the quiet moment between slashes against my skin, I wonder. Is it supposed to be this painful? I hadn't really noticed before, with all the adrenaline and anxiety, just how much of my body has been hacked away. My eyes fall to my feet, to the red-stained deck on which I stand. It has bled into the wood, soaked through and probably stained the floor below. I am a part of this ship now. No matter how hard someone scrubbed, a piece of me will always be in the deep grains of the wood. Forever.

The thought brings me some comfort. Feels like a warm embrace from the universe. Like she's telling me I matter, and always will in some way. But still, the question begs -

Is this what death is supposed to feel like?

I remember my father when he died. He took his last breath as the Keeper's put a bullet between his eyes. I blinked and he was gone. As quick as that. But now, as my breathing begins to shallow and I start to feel lightheaded, this feels so fucking slow. Torturous, even. Like what I imagine being stoned to death feels like. One pellet at a time, until hours later when you finally slip into unconsciousness because the pain is too much to bear.

I think of my mother on her death bed. All those tubes and wires coming from the wall and into her. How she slept for twenty hours a day. How near the end she barely recognized me or my brothers, let alone our father. I think of how many times I swore to myself I would never let them keep me alive like that. It was unfair. Cruel. And it tainted every good memory I ever had of her. I don't want that for my children. But then a thought cuts deeper than any blade that has pierced my flesh today...

I'll never have children of my own.

In an instant, it's no longer death I fear. I'm not scared of closing my eyes and never opening them. I'm not scared of what awaits me on the other side. I'm scared that I will be forgotten. That the memory of me will fade away. I'll never pass on my wisdom, however little of it I may have. I'll never see the face of my own baby in my arms, never sing them to sleep just like my mother sang to me, never--

Kaira, a voice says, cutting through the intrusive thoughts I'm having which are starting to cause me to panic. Quietly, I thank them for the interruption. For saving me from myself when I need to focus. I have to ask. What are you fighting for?

It's a stupid question, but I don't dare say it aloud. Everyone has their reasons, however rudimentary. Darby clearly just wants to live, their resilience fueled by a survival instinct. That I can respect. That I understand, better than they probably know. It doesn't matter, though. They are still the enemy. They still have to die in order for me to survive.

"I'm fighting for my sister," the other girl says. Kaira. "She's sick," she coughs, bloodied and strained. "I need to get back to her."

It fills me with dread and I instantly think of my own siblings. The two brothers I left at home, alone and scared. I was all they had. What will come of them once I'm gone? No, no, you can't get distracted, I tell myself, but it's tears that well up in the corners of my eyes now. Emotion slipping through my cracked porcelain exterior.

"I'm sorry," I say as I raise my blade above her head, arm shaking and unsure whether it should even swing. She doesn't deserve this fate. None of us do. I look to Ilya first, a tear escaping and rolling down my cheek. I look to Darby and sigh before my gaze falls back onto Kaira. "I'm so sorry it has to be this way."

And then I strike.

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[ teddy attacks kaira ]

sword

[ sc on left forearm -- 3.5 dmg ]

[ saunders collection '05 - rave ]

It's scarier up close.

Guess everything is. Kinda hard to avoid looking at the girl I shove away from my blade. Like she's nothing. Like I'm not cruel. Teddy finishes her off with kind words, but there's nothing gentle about her strike. Kaira dies just moments after sharing what she had been fighting for. It's that simple. That awful. "I'm fighting for my sister. I need to get back to her."

Rewind, "I have to get out of here."

She hits the soaked wood of the deck. There's a thud that doesn't echo. Just hangs there in our ears, even as the silence stills. And her blood is on my hands, so I have no right to make any sound. Can't gasp, can't cry — I lift my gaze to the remaining tributes. My hand tightens around my sword, a dark strand of hair blowing across my face. It's all that dares to move.

Until the boy takes a faltering step forward. He stares at me, then turns to face the deadliest of us. He looks up at the sky, where I had watched the blonde stranger be carried off by the birds. And it's an odd feeling. When every nerve inside of you is telling you to flinch, but you can't afford to show a damn thing. Every emotion is a liability.

Ilya speaks a word I don't understand. "Three," he later clarifies, and it makes me sad for a passing moment. I'm not foolish; I know there are edges to this world that have been sawed down to a blunt surface. Traces of my history that I can't grasp. My father never got the chance to tell me about our heritage. My identity is a memory I see in flashes.

Maybe that's why I've always felt so unsure.

I'm lost in my thoughts when he finally breaks the stillness, swiping his spear through the space before us. I react just quickly enough to avoid the steel, but even Teddy, left to take the brunt of the force, holds it off with a quick twist of her sword. I stare at her in amazement, taking in every detail of how she is aflame with determination.

Even Ilya, as he backs away and lowers his weapon to the ground with a quiet, amused laugh, still seems as locked in the battle as the rest of us. His fingertips touch a cold plank, drying the wet surface into fine lines and curves. Something I can't read, but I can only imagine it has some deep, sacred meaning. It's as good of something to say as anything else.

Final words to be remembered.

And it's familiar by this point — raising my sword, swallowing down the unease that builds inside of me. Until everything inside of me feels sick, and wrong, but all I can show on the surface is that I want to get out. I'm not a kind person. I'm ruthless, and graceless, and I've proven that my will to survive outweighs the urge to gag at the sight of blood.

I'm feral — as much as an educated person can be. And there's still so much I don't know, but I have learned what it means to draw your blade across the skin of a stranger. To hope that they bleed out until there's nothing left. That it's quick, and they can leave this world without the chance to refuse. Like I've been doing. I dig my nails into this life.

I don't dare let go.

[ saunders collection '05 - rave ]