Fight 2: Flood Reserves
May 5, 2024 23:24:43 GMT -5
Post by d1f october rhapsody fray ❁ on May 5, 2024 23:24:43 GMT -5
o c t o b e r r h a p s o d y f r a yo c t o b e r r h a p s o d y f r a y
the crown is stained but you're the real queen
flesh and blood amongst war machines. . .i think i have made a terrible mistake.
everything was going really well, even despite the lack of clean towels. i told myself: october rhapsody fray, you can do hard things. the discomfort of the cage was worth it for the train ride, the interview, the applause of the crowd. i was killing it, really. they were loving me, mostly.
this winning streak ends abruptly when the floor of the exhibit falls away. with it, i fall - we all fall, me and fish girl and leon and waste-of-space and amber and hesper. we land in a tangle, my limbs intertwined with ambers, a sick thud as bodies hit the ground in unison. at first, i think i have gone permanently blind, for i can see nothing at all, but as i rub my face i realise that the reality is much, much worse. a thick coat of slime cover my face.
reality is suspended in a moment of confusion as i try to make sense of it, but it all clicks into place at once when i manage to open my eyes. what, after all, is below the city, if not the sewers? i shriek, a shrill, terrible sound that bounces off the walls around me, echoing as though a hundred other octobers are screaming with me. it is only with this sharp intake of breath that i have two more terrible realisations.
1) it stinks in here. i gag violently, clamp my hands over my mouth and nose as if it would be possible to stop myself from breathing. when i do, i find that my hands are covered in more of the nauseating goo. i cannot bare to think what it might be made of.
2) the deep breath exposes a sheer pain that permeates through my chest. i think i might have cracked a rib in the fall. this is the least of my worries, though, because i'm sure i look like absolute shit.
i realise, then, that the cameras are still watching. panem is still watching. i am on the wrong show, smeared in human shit and everyone is watching me. this thought gives me the energy to do what any self-respecting person would do - run. i take the closest dingy tunnel as my escape route, wincing at the way my ankles splash in the torrid water. i cannot believe this is happening to me.
as i run, i see my mother's face in my mind. she is clutching hair hair in both hands. i wonder if after all of this, once they hand me my crown, if she will even let me back in the house. there is no amount of scrubbing that could remove the residue of this experience. after a while, i realise that the water is growing deeper. i glance over my shoulder. there is no way in hell i am going back. from the water, i fish a rusty knife that is floating past me. i hold it reluctantly. i did not (still do not!) expect to hurt anyone here. after all, i am panem's sweetheart. people will respect that. i believe it will be enough. they will fight each other, they will fall around me. i will provide award-winning entertainment, once i find somewhere clean and dry to do such a thing, and the cannons will fire and they will hand me my crown. i do not expect to have to use the knife at all, but i feel just a tiny bit safer with it in my hands.
this is not how things were supposed to go.
the deep boom of a cannon firing startles me. i try to reel myself in, pull myself together. maybe, even though inside i am screaming, crying and throwing up, i can manage to look tough on the outside, look like somebody who is handling their shit. my lip wobbles as i attempt this inhuman feat. i am simply not made for this, do not have the constitution for grime.
"okay," i say, and the word echoes back to me - okay, okay, okay, okay - i am about to say: i've made a mistake. i misunderstood. i'd like to withdraw, please. surely, there will be other ways to follow my dreams, other ways to acquire fame. but then i catch myself. if i give this soundbite to the cameras, it will play all over panem, and i will have the legacy i wanted so badly. only, it will be the legacy of the first person to ever volunteer for the games and then give up within ten minutes of it starting. i swallow down my protests. that is not a narrative i can live with. i keep running.
at the end of the tunnel, i realise that i am not alone. somebody else has gotten here first. "december!" the somebody says, and from his voice alone i can tell it is the waste of space. he is in the way again. this time, he is coming at me with a knife, rather than with his bitter words.
"watch out, this one will try to steal your spotlight!" he says to the two dark shadows behind him. "you've heard great things about me. it's a shame the others won't get a chance to hear them."
and then he swings at me. i stumble backward, shocked. the knife flies past my shoulder and misses me completely. never in my life has anybody struck at me. never once. i am aghast. i am not here to be part of the violence, not here to fight. only to perform, only to collect my crown at the end. these heathens can fight each other, i want no part in it.
"trust me, the kind of attention you're garnering is not the sort i'd want to steal. go for your life, fraser birk. i want nothing to do with you."
one of the shadows lurches toward me. i throw my hands up to stop them. i had forgotten that there was a knife in my hand.
"leave me alone!" i cry. all around me, i hear the refrain: alone, alone, alone.
you're the new god we're worshipping
promise to be dazzling
october attacks ekta with knife
k4Kx8i1Jt7knife
stabbed in back - 9.0 damage
knife