Mystic Syn

Syn jolted awake from her restless slumber, her heartbeat reaching to her throat. Her head pounded. Her eyes ached. She took in painful breath after painful breath, shivering in the cold… was it morning? Syn curled up against the tree trunk, listening to the cannon shots absently. One… Two… Three… Four… Five. Her teeth chattered against each other. This stupid arena suit wasn’t doing her any favors in protecting her from the cold. She knew that if she were to get up and move around, she would feel warmer… but what really was the point of doing that? Maybe it was just better for her to die from the cold right here. No one would care. It would just be another cannon shot. Another fallen nameless Tribute. Need warmth, her body interrupted, shivering again. No. Syn buried her face in her knees. I don’t think you heard me correctly. Her body shivered more violently this time. Need. Warmth. She looked up, resting her head on her knees. Well… guess it couldn’t hurt to get up and look, right? Nobody would care to bother her just looking. If they did come across her, they could just kill her and be done with it. Maybe it can have her body shut up for once about the stupid things. Syn exhaled, then picked herself up. Her body shook, then complaining about food, but Syn ignored it. She wrapped her arms around herself, letting her gaze fall to the ground as she scanned the forest floor for kindling. If she learned anything besides taking care of animals back home, it was knowing what she could do about making herself warm. Who knows what she would come across? What she knew is that it was better to just keep moving right now, even if all she wanted in the whole world right now was to curl up and let death overtake her.

Yeahhhh, agreed. Whenever I get pizza at Dominos or whatever, I always get white sauce with a garlicky crust and only pineapple. Honestly, the ham they put on there tastes like plastic.

Maybe pineapple isn't that bad on pizza, cos..

I know that this is a war zone and y'all probably know my opinion on this, but can we come together and face our true enemy?

A singular person resided, not appearing to have noticed Grace as she continued her cooking, humming quietly to herself. “Last I recall,” Ji said, “sleeping bags are not exactly ‘beds.’ More of glorified blankets.” . . . The Angel of Death sat on top of the building adjacent to the one the Mystic group had walked into, her legs swinging off the edge. Something deep within her knew that whatever she was doing was not worth it and that it would just be better if she were to fall, let herself be taken away. But alas, she had work to do. She couldn’t just give out now. Who knows what’ll happen if she ducked out? She leaned back, her brow twitching together as a scent wafted in her nose; usually a scent she would just tune out, but it was strong this time around. The sickly sweetness made her nose wrinkle unconsciously. “I see you’re still watching them, hmm?” The Angel turned back to the man causing the Deathscent. “Decided to bring you in, hmm?” The man gave a half-hearted chuckle, then reached up to tie his long dark hair back. “Not exactly,” Khaos said, finishing up, then resting a hand on the hilt of his blade. “Here to follow what you say.” “Oh?” The Angel raised her eyebrow. “You think they took it?” “I know that at least he took it. Whether or not the whole group will follow is another topic, Angel.” “Mmm,” she muttered, pulling her knees in so she could rest her chin on them. “So, we waiting on them?” “Depends.” The Angel glanced back at Khaos, seeing a lopsided twisted grin. “Give them some time to rest,” she found herself saying, turning back to the apartment. Well, lights. She couldn’t just say that without him thinking about the implications. “Make them think they’re safe,” she added. “Gives us the element of surprise.” Another chuckle sounded from Khaos. “My pleasure, dear Angel of Death.”

Syn trudged through the forest, hugging herself with apple in hand. Even going through that ordeal, she still didn’t eat that stupid apple. She had brought it up to her mouth to eat on more than one occasion, but it only up inches away from her lips before she’d lower it. Rinse and repeat throughout the whole day. Her mind and stomach told her to eat that stupid apple, but her body refused. There’s something wrong with me, Syn thought, hugging herself tighter. Always has been something wrong with me. She then squinted. Was it… was it becoming harder to see? Syn looked up, seeing the “sky” darkening as that beautiful lie of a sun fell behind the line of trees, the rays painting the “sky” all sorts of colors, but Syn looked back at the forest floor. She didn’t deserve to look at that beauty, even if it was a lie. Did she deserve to be here? Yeah. It was better that she died instead of any one of the other youth in the District. There wasn’t really any chance of her District winning anyways; the Careers deserved it better than her. They actually trained instead of watching over the animals in the barn. What she would give to be back in her family’s barn, lying in the haystacks with the dogs and cats, perhaps the sheep too. They never judged her… well, not vocally. Not that they really could anyways. They accepted her for the person she was, loving her more than anyone had ever done so. They made her feel like she wasn’t alone, even when she was having those anxiety attacks and didn’t want to be around anyone or thing. Her vision watered, becoming blurry. Syn quickly wiped away those forming tears. The cameras were watching; she may be stupid, but she wasn’t that dumb about those kinds of things. The Capital will eat that thing up… but she knew deep down that they didn’t care about that. They were watching the Careers. They were more important. She was not. She was never that important. Why would she think otherwise? Syn finally looked up, seeing a large tree in front of her. That… that would be a good place to rest under. She walked over to it, sitting down at the trunk, letting out a relieved sigh. The apple glistened in her hand, beckoning to her. She studied it, sighing again as she forced herself to take a bite. Juices flooded her mouth, the sweetness following not far behind. Her stomach sang praises as she swallowed, thanking her with every bite. It was right. Surviving this long was good, in terms of the Games. Syn could just hide and perhaps survive; if she died… well, there would be no one to care. No one would cry over her. She was just a piece in their game. A body. Bait for the Careers. Not a winner. Her eating slowed as her mind brought her back to the interviews… reminding her… . . . “Miss Syn,” the interviewer said, catching her attention. “I asked you a question?” She looked back at the man, her pulse refusing to slow down, even just for a second. “I’m sorry?” The audience erupted with laughter, the man even cracking a smile. He placed a hand on her arm. “Looks like someone has a little bit of stage fright,” he chuckled, the audience laughing along. Her face grew warm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. The interviewer laughed again. “No need to apologize,” he said, patting her arm. “I only asked if you were to win the Games if there would be someone to come back to. A special guy or girl? I can’t tell from your expression at the Reaping.” The audience oohed, inching closer. “No. No, there’s not,” Syn whispered, feeling her arms begin to wrap around herself. “No one would want to go out with me anyways.” The man scoffed. “C’mooon! With someone as stunning as you?” He looked at the audience, gesturing to her. “Am I right?” The audience cheered, whooping and hollering. There were a few shouts of agreement, others yelling compliments. “I’m sorry. I don’t see what you see,” she whispered, quieter this time. Protests arose, but the interviewer made downward gestures with his hand, the audience quieting. “That’s alright,” he said, gentler this time. “So, is there family for you to come home to, then?” Syn shook her head, hugging herself tighter, staring at the ground. “No one to come back to? Not even friends?” “If you watched the Reaping,” Syn said, her throat beginning to close as her vision blurred, “you would’ve saw that no one knows who I am. No one has ever cared.” For once, the interviewer said nothing, not even a whisper. The audience didn’t yell out compliments like before; they were, in fact, dead silent. “No one… no one will…” . . . No one will ever care, she found herself thinking again, tears streaming down her cheeks. Syn tried wiping them away, but they just kept coming and coming. She tried shooing the thoughts away, but the tears kept coming. She curled up against the trunk, shivering as she wept. Syn heard her cries fill that little part of the forest, knowing that no one would be listening in. Sleep crept in as she continued to cry, overtaking her into the same interview, reliving it again and again.

Yeah, uh…

Her nose throbbed, the pain amplifying with each second. At least it was good enough she didn’t have to constantly hold it. If she even survived these blasted Games, her nose wouldn’t be the same. Besides, why would she hold hope about winning? There were people in these Games that were obviously better than she was. What training she tried to do wouldn’t come in handy now. She would be dead within the day. At least it’s someone as forgettable as me and not anyone important, Syn muttered to herself, remembering the whispers of questions of who it was when her name had been drawn. No one will blink an eye when I’m dead. The forest blurred together. Syn paid little attention, wrapping her arms around herself, the scene of Star being cut down by Xino playing over and over again in her mind. What was the point if she was going to die anyways? Might as well just not hunt for food and clean water if there were people like that in these very woods, most likely pinpointing her location to cut off loose ends. She stumbled across a clearing, staying near the edge when she saw two figures, one pointing a sword at the other. Syn crouched, watching them quietly as they branched off to a nearby camp. I can’t risk it, the rational part of her thought as she stood up to walk away. I may be in the Games, but I won’t steal. Foooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood, her stomach protested. No, I’m not–– But she already found herself carefully stepping into the camp after everyone had left. Syn lowered herself to some of the fruits and vegetables, reaching out, mouth watering, then promptly slapping her own hand. Stop it! I’m not stealing. Whoever this is needs it more than I. They’re more important than me. But they won’t notice one apple gone. She paused. Syn hated it when her body had a point. I–I guess not, she said, hand trembling violently as she took a singular apple. Syn rose, feeling sick to the stomach as she backed off from the camp, her mind screaming.

Ji glanced at Elya. “Would we be defined as a resistance cell?” He paused, then shrugged. “Well, to the Pacis, yes. I’m not sure if we actually call ourselves that.”

No thoughts. Only food.