The Bloodbath

Telling him goodbye was the strangest thing. To put it into words was a tall order, boots shuffling outside the train doors, and metal creaking. She could tell this moment was a parting. The sound of it was like a curtain falling to the floor. Her voice thudded gently against the walls, and she reached to grip Topper's shoulder before she could stop herself.

"Hey, um," and she exhaled a shaky breath, forcing herself to hold his gaze. It would have been easier to look away. "Just keep moving, okay? Don't let it be easy for them." And then they were surrounded, and pulled apart at the seams. She blinked, and missed it. SHe stared down at herself in overalls. Her red hair was braided down her shoulders.

Time was as cruel as it was silent. The void echoed back to her.

And then there was a voice filling her ears, like fingertips against her skin, robbing her of all control. "You in shock, kid?" She shook her head in defiance, and her fists clenched at her sides like an instinct. Like something in her was made to rage — wage war. She considered for a moment if she should try to find her father.

Like it was possible.

Close her eyes, and focus her breathing. And then go. Quick, and easy, and leaving behind no reminders of the loss. A forest fire was raging just over the mountain, and yet false flowers were already blooming out of the ash. Everything was burning, and everything was ruined, and yet the man turned her to face a mirror and pinched her cheek. To make them rosy.

"Okay, look alive." Hands were on her again, moving her around as if no permission was needed. She considered for a moment throwing her head back, slamming it into the nose of the stranger behind her. Why should she have to hurt alone? No matter how many times she asked herself, she couldn't find an answer. "And try to give us a show, could you? Think of Ramsey."

Her breath caught in her throat, like she'd been slapped across the face. "That depressing shit is exhausting to watch." And in her chest, she felt flames, heat rising to her cheeks — aching across her knuckles. In that moment, she held a wildfire in the palm of her hand, and she had the privilege of deciding what to do with it. He made it quite clear.

She was a storyline. Of course the thought of ending terrified her.

Really, what she did next felt like the only option. She turned on her heels, and reached out to grab the closest object on the vanity behind her. A hard bristled comb, the one that had tugged at her hair while they got her ready. She thought of the way her scalp was still stinging, and the way he had offended her, when she brought it down against his head.

One swing wasn't enough. Even as he yelped in pain, and the thundering footsteps closed around her. She weighed the consequences, and she didn't much care. So she hit him again, and then slammed her knee hard against his jaw. Arms wrapped around her, fingers clawing at her braids, strands of scarlet pouring over her shoulders.

"Fuck you," she spat, and then there was a bicep pressed against her throat, closing off the terrible things she wanted to say. Her head throbbed for a moment, and the panic overwhelmed all else, and then it was quiet. However long she had been knocked out, that time should have been treasured. Her last moments of peace, rolling out of her hands like sand.

In her moment of power, Tiggy was powerless.

If she could have, she would have slept forever.

And yet.

Her act of violence shifted into staring up at the sun, reaching out a trembling hand to block the harsh light. She could feel a pulse of pain moving through her nerves, enough to make her gasp as she sat up. Dirt rose up to cloud her vision as she moved, a sheen of sweat sticking to her skin. She closed her eyes, and shook her head, and tried to focus in on the sounds.

Gracelessly, she had been abandoned in the arena, forced to recollect herself as the Games came to a start around her. She rubbed at her face, trying to wake herself up from the haziness that had set in. There was a humming under her feet, a whirring sound that seemed to circle around her. A train, as out of place and threatening as the very first time she had seen one moving through her district.

Still, even the machine seemed more inviting than the figures she could see standing a short distance away from her. She craned her neck trying to spot Topper, but all she could see were the faces of strangers staring back. Just the look of them made her heart begin to race, loud as the screeching of wheels against an iron track. They were heading towards certain destruction. She could hear the shattering under everything.

She couldn't stop herself from blushing furiously when she glanced up at the coliseum surrounding her, noticing the familiar faces staring down at her. Each of them were the rare breed of tribute that had managed to survive the thing that now had her in its grasp. For a long moment, all she could hear was the undoing of her own soul. Even when she focused on the obvious Capitolite standing on the center stage, directly speaking to them with a smile on her pretty face, Tiggy couldn't understand what she was saying.

Knowing wasn't important. They still had their blade aimed at her chest, regardless of her being aware. So, logically, the only option was to run. To try and stay one step ahead of all the dangers. She leaned back on her heels as if preparing to charge, feeling the shift of weight against her waist. Her fingers reached down to meet the hilt of an axe, grateful for the protection, and then horrified that she could now identity the shadows in the hands of her enemies. It was like staring at her own death.

As soon as she saw movement, she charged in the direction of the slowly moving train. All she cared about was removing herself as an immediate target. She could hear the arena vibrating with life, hearing tiny gasps of pain as the static faded into reality. And it made it a little hard to breathe, stopping in her tracks to force an inhale, making the mistake of looking to the side. A blonde girl didn't seem content with swinging her axe only once.

Just the first blow was enough to make Tiggy flinch, tensing at the feel of hot blood splashing against her forearms. But the second strike was the worst, only because the weak sound of whimpering stopped right as the crack of a rib echoed into nothing. There was no easy way to process what she saw. "Oh," she said quietly, making her presence aware to the pale haired killer. "You're, um," she took a moment to consider her words carefully.

Her fear was like a whisper under her breath. Even her smile couldn't mask that.

"You're awfully good at that."

Not that Tiggy cared to learn just how skilled the girl was. As soon as she found her opportunity, the squelch of an axe being pulled out of a chest, she snuck away. The last thing she wanted was to be involved in the frenzy, and if she had any chance at finding her footing before it was too late, she needed to get herself to a private place to collect her thoughts. She could feel the rustle of plastic, and couldn't help the panicked sound that left her mouth when she noticed the item now attached to her overall strap.

With a frustrated gasp, she yanked at it until she heard it snap, throwing it over her shoulder as she ran forward. She assumed it was some sort of camera, or microphone, but she couldn't trust it. She stopped again to steady her breathing, looking away from herself to only see more carnage. She saw a dark haired girl chasing someone smaller up a set of stairs, and in the distance, two boys could be seen finishing off their targets. Like it was that easy.

"Look sharp, Tigs." She tried to ignore how unconvincing she sounded as she murmured to herself, jogging beside the railcars and looking for the opportunity to jump inside. Honestly, she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to stop running. She felt like she could go on forever. And, truly, she wanted to. "Keep going. You're okay."

In the seconds before she leapt towards an opening, time seemed to slow around her.

She could have almost mistaken this moment for running along the shore. She could have been okay, if she ignored the obvious. The hiss of the tracks beside her drowned out the screams, and all the terrible words. But it was enough that she knew they were still there in the background, a melody lingering under the hiss of a train whistle. Over and over, a shrill note on repeat in her mind. It was without end.

And the clock struck zero — and she surrendered herself to the unknown.

With a palm full of stars

I throw them like dice (repeatedly)

On the table (repeat, repeatedly)

I shake them like dice
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