III. Cataclysm
Consume and feed, degenerate
We damage just to liberate
Deflect, deny, what flows inside
The poison springs internalize
Elio Basanti. 15.
District Ten Male.
Just fifteen hours ago, he was sitting under the biggest tree on his farm's yard. He'd scrubbed Luna's ginger coat with soap then hosed her down, laughing as bubbles began to form against her fur.
Just fifteen hours ago, Elio Basanti was the happiest boy in District Ten, a smile painted on his face and not a care in the world running through his head. He'd wordlessly hummed to himself, the cadence of his voice matching the whistles of the wind as he dried his favorite cow-cow's fur with a plush towel.
If only he knew that was the last he'd ever see of his Luna-Moona.
When he got home from school, he paraded through the barn as per usual, greeting all the cow-cows and running his fingers through their hair, offering a blade of glass to any who seemed interested. "Good afternoon, Estella! Fancy seeing you today, Brisa! You're looking mighty-fine, Reva!"
Elio saluted nine of the Basanti family cows before realizing… Where in the world did Luna go?
Infuriated and confused, he'd stormed into the house and asked his father Mateo just that. Unamused and clearly disinterested, the man replied, "She was getting pretty old, Elio. I had to put her down if I wanted any chance at making a profit off of her."
It's been four hours since his father said that, and Elio still doesn't understand what he meant.
Luna's been on their farm since he was four years old; Elio's practically grown up with her. Luna's been there for all of Elio's ups and downs, all the times he came home from school with tears in his eyes 'cause all the other kids just didn't understand him. Darn, Luna-Moona's always been more of a comfort to Elio than Mateo or any of the other inconsequential folks 'round Ten, her back the safest, softest place for him to rest his head in sorrow. But it seems as though none of that mattered.
When Elio told his father just how displeased he was 'bout Luna being a goner, all the man did was roll his eyes, shrug, and say "She's just a cow. You'll get over it."
Ironic, 'cause Elio doesn't think he ever will. To most of the world, Luna-Moona and all the other cow-cows at the farm may be future steak dinners and moneybags, but to Elio, they'll always be his best friends, his family. In a world where nobody has any business being an outlier, the cow-cows don't judge him. They don't condescend when Elio spends a bit too long tying his shoe-laces or when he catches his reflection in the mirror and decides to count his freckles one by one. No, the cow-cows understand Elio, for better or for worse. The cow-cows understand that all Elio wants is peace and harmony, and nobody should be cast aside for saying such a thing.
And yet, the cow-cows always receive the short end of the stick in life. They're the ones who get slaughtered and compounded despite not doing a thing wrong. Even though they're the most undeserving creatures in the world, the cow-cows are always the victims, and to Elio, that's the most disgusting thing about the world in which he lives.
Tonight, everything changes.
Elio stares down at his map of District Ten, or at least, the area surrounding his house. There's several large red circles inked in the parchment, indicating the region's largest farms. Elio's targets.
His eyes dart up to the sign above him, "Hutchinson Family Farms," and then back at the map. Elio licks his lips and hums. This should be the spot...
As much as he's thought about this —not much, only a few hours— Elio doesn't have anything resembling a plan. Does he just… walk around keeping his ears open for moo'ing till he discovers where the cow-cows are? That doesn't exactly seem practical, but then again, since when has Elio Basanti been a practical man?
(Since when has he been a man? Men don't trip over their shoelaces if they're not tied. Men don't cry in the mirror 'cause all the kids at school were eating burgers for lunch. Men don't constantly wonder whether or not their father is actually proud to call them a son.
Elio's just a boy, and not a practical one.)
He walks through the metal archway with a grin on his face. He puts one hand up to his mouth and begins to holler, "Hey cow-cows! I've come to save—"
Wait! I have to be quiet, 'cause I'm not supposed to be here.
Elio blows a bubble of air in his mouth to cut himself off. It'd be a shame if he walked all this way only to get caught. How the freak-frack would he explain himself to his father?
"Oh daddy-o, you know how it is. I was going to free the cow-cows at this here Hutchinson Family Farms, but I couldn't even do that, 'cause I was being so loud, I got caught."
That's embarrassing.
Elio exhales, his eyes darting all 'round the farm in hot pursuit of the biggest, baddest, most cow-cow lookin' barn house he can find.
He searches far and wide 'till— Bingo! Elio jumps for joy 'cause he's finally found the sacred temple of the cow-cows. And how does he know that?
Well, the white painting of a cow-cow on the barn's side is a pretty clear indicator.
He trails 'round the building in search of a way to get in the barn. His ear's pressed up against the wooden paneling, and he can hear the cow-cows mooing at him from the inside.
Elio wants to call out to them, "There's no need to worry, little ladies, I'm here now," but he knows they won't be able to hear him because he can't be too loud and there's a wall between him.
(That, and cow-cows don't exactly understand human-speak, but Elio likes to pretend he doesn't know that.)
Luckily, the side door's ever-so-slightly askew. It's almost as if the cow-cows knew Elio would be coming to save them, so they gave him an easy entrance. How kind of them!
Elio cringes at the squeaking noise the door makes as he pulls it open. A wee-little bit of dirt brushes into the air. It takes all of Elio's strength not to sneeze, even though his nostrils sure do tickle. Finally, he's able to wedge his body into the barn, familiar noises immediately making him feel at home. Noises, not sights, 'cause it's so dark in here, Elio can't see the cow-cows. But, based on their symphony of moos, there sure are a hecking lot of them!
He runs his hand against the wall, hoping he'll accidentally brush against a light switch. Sure enough, he does, and with a click, the room's as bright as the sun he was named after.
Okay, maybe not that bright, but bright enough that he can see dozens upon dozens of cow-cows standing all dainty and proud in their little stalls.
If only he knew earlier that the Hutchinsons had so many dang cow-cows! Maybe then, he'd have been nicer to their little son Newt when he saw him eating a cheese steak sandwich, in hopes he'd be invited to hang out at this here barn. Well, not hang out, 'cause "hanging out" means sitting around doing nothing, and Elio would be running wild with the cow-cows and planting little daisies in their fur. He'd be playing, so the proper word would be "playdate."
Wow! It's been a while since he's thought that word…
(Probably 'cause Elio doesn't really have people to go on playdates with.)
Elio struts over to the center of the room and takes a seat on a pile of hay. One of the cow-cows next to him gives him a real nasty stink eye, but Elio isn't offended. In fact, he's the one who's being offensive. He never introduced himself to the cow-cows! Why would they trust him to save them if they don't even know his name?
"Hello, hello!" Elio stands on top of the hay bale and bows, like he's a performer and this whole barn's his stage. "My name is Elio Basanti and I come in peace. In fact, I come here on a mission!"
One of the cow-cows moos loudly. Elio's no expert in cow-cow-speak, but he's pretty sure the cow-cow is asking him what his mission's all about. Luckily, he's about to tell them…
"For so many years, you poor cow-cows have been stuck in Hutchinson Family Farm," he preaches, a grin stretching long across his face. "I am sure you are all worried sick, never knowing what'll happen next. You have become beaten down by the constrictions of society. You have become slaves to routine… What if I told you that everything was about to change?"
This time, two— wait, no, three cow-cows moo!
Elio continues, "Yes, that is right, my fair cow-cows. I, Elio Basanti, have come to free you from your oppression."
He jumps off the hay bale and puts his hands up in the air real high. As he spins in a circle, 'round and round like the records his father sometimes plays, the cow-cows moo out a melody for him.
It's nice to be appreciated, especially when so few people appreciate him. Actually… make that no people. It's only cow-cows who see any worth in Elio, which is why he only gives cow-cows the time of day. Growing up's awfully hard, but at least he's got the cow-cows to keep him company. Elio reckons he and the cow-cows will be the best of friends until the end of time.
One by one, Elio unlatches the cow-cows from their enclosures. Clearly pleased with their newfound freedom, they begin walking around the barn, licking Elio's cheek as they pass him by. Whenever the cow-cows back at home lick Elio's father, the older man slaps them in the side and tells them off, but Elio doesn't. The cow-cows are just trying to give him little kissy-kissies, and there's nothing wrong with that.
Once all the cow-cows have been let loose from their pens (and he's checked five times to ensure it), Elio saunters over to two big doors at the front of the barn and fiddles with the lock 'till he hears a pop. He pushes the doors open, then turns around and rushes towards the biggest, most moo-tiful cow-cow in the whole barn.
Elio bows and puts one hand up to the cow-cow's face. "Oh mighty, glorious, cow-cow, would you mind giving me a ride?"
The cow-cow hunches forwards; Elio decides it's saying, "Yes, Elio! You may ride me as we venture free from this farm!"
Pressing one hand steady on the cow-cow's spine, Elio swings himself over the cow-cow's side and onto its back. "Hallelujah!" he declares, looping his fingers through the cow-cow's collar so he doesn't lose his balance and fall.
(Luna-Moona used to carry him the exact same way, and they'd have all sorts of fun together. Just yesterday, they went on a mighty fine ride together. Elio would've stayed out longer if he knew it'd be their last time. There's so much he would've done if he knew that he'd never see his Luna-Moona ever again.)
The cow-cow barrels through the barn, carrying Elio outside and onto the field. The full moon hangs heavy and high all up in the sky, shining down on all three dozen of the Hutchinsons' cow-cows as they finally roam free.
Elio hops off the cow-cow and runs towards the farm's entry gate. He turns his head behind him and smiles at his posse of new friends who follow him as if he's the moo-siah.
(He doesn't see the light turn on in the Hutchinsons' doesn't see the woman looking out at him with binoculars. He doesn't see her pull out her camera and take a picture of his face.)
"Run cow-cows run!" Elio spins his arms in a loop as the cow-cows leave the farm and enter their beautiful new life. "Be free my friends! Be free!"
Once they've all run away, Elio looks down at his map once again in order to figure out what farm he'll visit next. After all, he doesn't have time to waste.
(Elio Basanti doesn't have time at all.)
Melchior Kolmogorov. 18.
District Five Tribute.
A wise man once told them, "Nothing says 'goodbye' like flammable chemicals and a lightning rod."
Actually, that's a lie. Melchior told themself that. But it's okay, it's okay! Melchior gives great advice. Well, at the very least, they give great advice to themself, which is kind of what matters most. Maybe they'd give good advice to other people too, but that would require talking to other people. They're not necessarily opposed to talking to other people, but other people sure are opposed to talking to them.
Honestly, good for them. If Melchior saw themself walking 'round the hallways at school with a shit-eating grin, blabbering on and on about how cool it was when they set a stuffed bunny on fire in the dead of night, he wouldn't want to be friends with themself either.
His sole companion is seriously fucked in the head for looking at all of Melchior's batshittery with wide eyes. Granted, any orphan in Five's bound to have a few loose screws up there, but treating Melchior Kolmogorov of all people like a god? The fuck's wrong with Kelvin?
They can't deny the fact that they love the attention, though. While Melchior never once dreamed they'd have a slightly feral thirteen-year-old following them around like a minion, having two extra hands has never once hurt. The only problem with Kelvin, really, is that he doesn't understand that sometimes Melchior'd really prefer to be left alone.
Like right now. Assembling a lightning rod would be a hell of a lot easier if they didn't have that pipsqueak blabbering in their ear nonstop.
"Melchior! Melchior!" the young boy coos. "What's taking you so long?"
They sigh. "Did you know that assembling a lighting rod is actually pretty difficult? Revolutionary, I know."
"But Melchior," Kelvin enthusiastically drawls. "It's already starting to drizzle. You're beginning to run out of time!"
"No shit," they scoff, fidgeting with the copper cables in their hands. "Maybe I'd be able to work quicker if you weren't bugging me every thirty seconds. Just saying."
"Well, then what am I supposed to do?" he asks, a mischievous glisten in his eyes.
No clue, sounds like a you problem, Melchior muses. They fasten one of the cables onto their lightning rod and frantically wave it around to ensure it's secure.
Before they can do anything else, they feel Kelvin's index finger maniacally tapping on their shoulder. "I asked, what am I supposed to do?"
They roll their eyes. "I don't fuckin' know! You can like… bring the chemicals up to me, if you want."
"On it! Yes, sir!" Kelvin salutes Melchior with his right hand, then turns around towards the fire escape they both used to get up on top of the orphanage's roof.
Because, yeah… Melchior's currently in the process of preparing to burn the orphanage they grew up in to a crisp.
Maybe that sounds irresponsible, and well… it is, but consider this: the orphanage fucking sucked! It's mainly cause that bitch Mrs. Meizner —actually, she doesn't deserve the respect of being called her proper name— that bitch Gertrude, doesn't give a rat's ass about all the orphans. She runs the home purely for the sake of lining her pockets, which Melchior doesn't really understand, since there are so many easier ways to get rich quick in Five. Even though she's nearing sixty, becoming a stripper is always an option. Surely there's somebody out there with a thing for wrinkles.
Melchior's had to deal with her and the orphanage for as long as they can remember. According to Gertrude, their parents dropped them off on the doorstep when they were only a few days old, which is sorta kinda rude as fuck of them, to be completely honest. Sure, parenting is difficult, but if Melchior has to raise Kelvin 'cause Gertrude sure as hell isn't, their own parents should've at least tried raising them. Though at least Melchior can't say they have shitty parents if they don't have parents at all.
Over the years, Melchior's had some great memories with Gertrude, so it's only right that they give her a goodbye to remember now that they're eighteen and able to leave the orphanage. "Good memories" is a joke, by the way. Literally every experience that Melchior's had with Gertrude has been bloody miserable. When they (rightfully) complained to her about how the orphanage's lack of cleanliness was the reason they now had head lice, all she did was shrug. It got so bad, Melchior was forced to shave their long, luscious hair and rock a buzzcut. Even though he didn't have lice, Kelvin buzzed off his hair too "in solidarity." While Melchior enjoyed their status as a trendsetter in the world of fashion, they much preferred the first time they got rid of all their hair a few years back in chemistry class, when they accidentally started a fire.
A drop of rain falls on their tongue, which they didn't even realize they were sticking out. It's pretty salty, nice!
Melchior's always been fond of the taste of rain. All the radioactive shit in Five's airways makes it extra bitter, just the way they like it. Normal water simply does not compete!
More rain spatter-pitter-patters on the rooftop, which prompts Melchior to quickly realize, I'm running out of time, what the fuck! Trying not to shock themselves, they attach their lighting rod to the base, twisting it around in a circle until they hear a click. They start routing the copper cables all over the rooftop, instead of the ground where they'd usually go, their heart racing as the storm only gets more and more turbulent.
Melchior throws the old lightning rod off the edge, no longer seeing any use for it. Before they can get back to their wire-routing, they hear Kelvin's voice scream, "You almost hit me with that, you know!"
"Oops! I'm sorry," they apologize, and they do mean it. Killing or severely injuring Kelvin has never been a part of Melchior's plans. Again, the kid's useful.
"It's okay, Melchior," Kelvin says, climbing over the fire escape and onto the rooftop with various jars of chemicals arranged on a platter. "I got these for you!"
Melchior saunters over to him and picks up one of the beakers. As Kelvin puts the platter down, Melchior holds it up to their face, resisting all temptation to have a little taste. They smile. "Excellent work, Kelly!"
"I told you not to call me that," he pouts, his cheeks all squished together.
"Would you prefer I tell you to leave?" Melchior teases him. "I'm perfectly capable of doing this on my own, I'll have you know."
"I want to help!" Kelvin pleads. "You can call me Kelly all you want, I promise!"
"I was just joking around," they explain, kneeling to grab another jar. "You really think I'd abandon my favorite assistant."
"I'm your only assistant," he deadpans.
"Touché, little guy." They turn away and examine the roof and all their wiring in search of a good spot to begin placing the beakers. "Want to help me place these?"
"Of course I do!" Kelvin cheers. "Just show me where, and I'll place them."
Wind brushes Melchior's jacket back. "I don't know if we have time to be incredibly precise. Just look for the uninsulated parts of the wire and place the beakers so that they're touching them."
According to their calculations, the storm should escalate to thunder and lightning in a matter of minutes. The darker clouds in the sky appear to be approaching the orphanage, and based on the lightning rod's placement, it's most likely to get hit. Once that happens, the lightning will travel down the wires, setting the orphanage on fire and activating the chemicals at the same time. And, as the buildings burning, the little bombs Melchior put in the windowsills will go off, so there's no way in hell the entire thing won't be completely and totally obliterated.
Nobody's going to be mad at him, 'cause everyone hates the orphanage anyway. Sure, everything burning and exploding is dangerous, but there's a fire alarm for a reason. If somebody dies 'cause they didn't get out fast enough, well, sucks to suck.
(Once the other orphans realize it's Melchior who was responsible for destroying their hellhole, they'll probably celebrate him too. That'll be nice, they think. Finally, Melchior won't be that weird kid who's always laughing to themselves in the corner of the room. They won't be known as a freak or a loser. Once the orphanage is gone, Melchior Kolmogorov will be a hero.
But that's not the main reason they're doing this, of course. They're mainly blowing it up 'cause Gertrude deserves to have her source of income annihilated, and also 'cause it's already so much fun and can only get more fun. Being appreciated by the people who once hated them just… might also be nice.)
"I'm almost done!" Kelvin calls out.
Melchior turns around to see him smiling proudly as he stands directly over a jar of chemicals. "Don't stand on top of them, you moron!"
"Right," he says, rushing away. "Sorry about that."
"No need to apologize." They hunch over and place their own final beaker. "Would you look at that? We're both done."
"This is going to be awesome!" Kelvin pumps one of his fists in the air. "I can't believe we're doing this!"
"Believe it, kid," Melchior replies, walking over to Kelvin and pulling him into a hug. "Soon, the entire orphanage is going to be a thing of the past. Won't that be nice?"
"It sure will be." Kelvin squeezes tight, resting his forehead on Melchior's shoulder. "The kids were real mean to me again today. They called me a bunch of names because I'm always hanging out with you. At least they won't matter soon, because it's just going to be you and me."
"That it is." They sigh and let go of Kelvin. Melchior closes their eyes, tilts their head back and lets the rain pour over their skin. For a moment, nothing in the entire world matters. It's just them, sitting high and mighty on a throne of pandemonium and glee, and they've never been happier. They're the ruler of the entire world, and everybody who's ever wronged them is forced to kneel at their feet. Soon, every day of their life is going to feel just like this.
A loud crash of thunder snaps them back into reality.
"Melchior, we've got to go!" Kelvin yells, clear panic on his face. "We've got to climb down, or else we'll be hit!"
"Give me a second," they respond, watching as he climbs over the fire escape.
Melchior raises his hands above his head and laughs maniacally. The wind blows their jacket upwards and off their arms into the sky, but they don't care. For once, Melchior Kolmogorov is free. For once, they're the commander of the world that's tried so hard to rule over them.
A second, louder, bang of thunder jolts them to the side.
"Shit," they mutter.
They stand up once again, only to see that a slate-colored cloud is directly in front of them.
"Shit!"
Melchior inhales and begins their dash towards the fire escape. Their ears ring from the sound of thunder as it gets closer and closer and closer. They're almost at their destination when a white flash of light burns their eyes. The sickly smell of smoke and chemicals fills their nostrils. When their vision returns, it is consumed by shades of scarlet and rust. Sparks fly, releasing more chemicals into the air, more pollution which fills Melchior's lungs.
They run down the fire escape, nearly tripping over themself when—
,/
,ϟ/
,ϟ /
,ϟ /_,
.ϟ_ ,ϟ
/ ,ϟ
/ ,ϟ
/,ϟ
/
Electricity shivers down Melchior's spine, their entire body convulsing as they fall onto a step. A searing sensation runs through their veins. Their heartbeat gets quicker and quicker, their mind repeating the word "fuck" over and over.
Their vision turns a pearly shade of white.
Amidst the brightness, Melchior's own facade emerges. They're dressed like an angel, and they're reaching out at him. Their life flickers before their eyes as their heavenly double flies closer and closer to them.
Once again, Melchior's at peace.
They stretch their arm towards the angel, their fingertips grazing right before everything fades to black.
Well, it's been a nice run, they think, beginning to settle into the darkness.
Melchior can hardly feel a thing, but they can hear, and what they hear is Kelvin's voice, loud and clear.
"It's going to be alright, Melchior! Don't worry, I'm going to save you!"
Thana Achillea. 17.
District Eleven Female.
It's not unusual for her to lose touch with reality. But this time is undeniably different.
Though words flee Thana's lips like embers off a lighter, she doesn't have a clue as to what they are. What she does know is whatever she's saying isn't good and her mother— no, Megaera – is rightfully displeased with her.
Thana doesn't quite hear Megaera either. The only thing she knows is that the woman's expression has been slowly morphing from disappointed to engaged.
Maybe the reason Thana hardly hears a thing is because deep down inside, she knows that no matter what she says to Megaera, no matter what questions she asks, no response is going to satisfy her. Whatever excuses Megaera makes for what she's done and why Thana's like this (unsettling, unsocial, unwanted) will be nothing but nonsensical bullshit.
(It's how Megaera's always treated her: like she's too immature to understand the world around her but at the same time too deep in madness to be properly shaped into a functioning member of society.)
"That's it, I'm done." Megaera storms out of the kitchen and into her bedroom, her door slamming heavily against the frame.
Thana sighs, then mutters to herself, "I knew you didn't care."
At least she's used to it. Her whole life, Thana Achillea has been nothing but leftovers, always discarded in exchange for something better. For seventeen years, she's been viewed as an unimportant outcast, the sort of person you only pay attention to and care for if you have nothing else to do.
Thana walks into her own room and begins thumbing through the drawings she'd tucked away neatly in a folder. She hopes she'll find something, anything amongst her grotesque depictions of wildfires and eldritch abominations that'll explain what Megaera refused to.
Her breath quickens, sweat dripping down her forehead as she reaches the bottom of the pile without any answers. Everything Thana's ever drawn, she's dated in the left hand corner, so she knows that none of these pictures are from her early childhood. None of these pictures explain what's led her to this moment of utter despair and hopefulness.
(Thana's never gotten answers her entire life. As much as she begged her former friends to explain their idiosyncrasies, as much as she begged Megaera to explain her childhood, Thana's never been fulfilled.)
(Maybe some things are better off unknown.)
She digs for the lighter underneath her bed, her clammy hands trembling as she pushes down on the button. She's slightly panicked too, because she knows that if Megaera comes barging through her door as she occasionally does, she's fucked.
As soon as Megaera was made aware of Thana's odd fascination with fire, the burnt pads of her fingers a clear indicator, she threw away all the candles and matches in the house. She claimed it was because she didn't want Thana to "seriously endanger herself," but Thana doesn't believe her now. Megaera's never cared about her. All she's ever cared about is herself and her reputation, and that's why Thana's with her instead of rotting away at some shitty orphanage.
(In hindsight, maybe that'd be better. Not like Thana had a choice. When has she ever had a choice?)
She runs her finger over the lighter, the flame eating away at her skin. So many other people would assume this hurts, but it doesn't hurt Thana. She's the one controlling it, after all.
Fire has always been there for her when nobody else could. Fire's never betrayed her, instead guiding her to the truth as if she were a moth. It's never been the fire itself that's led to her trouble, only the people who caused it. As soon as Thana realized that, she became comfortable around the honey-colored flames that could never do her wrong.
No, fire could do so much right for Thana, if only she could control it. If Thana was the one setting the world ablaze instead of the one hunched over in despair, she'd finally be safe.
She was never safe with Sage and she certainly isn't safe with Megaera.
(She was never loved by Sage, and she certainly isn't loved by Megaera.)
Not quite sure what she's doing, Thana creaks open her bedroom window and slides through the crack. She tucks her lighter in her pocket and turns away from her house, knowing that she wouldn't return until she gets her revenge on the world and the way it'd treated her.
The only worthwhile thing Sage ever said to Thana is that some of the gates surrounding Eleven's largest orchards are unlocked at night. It's been a security problem for years, apparently, but nobody's ever bothered to fix it. Whoever owned the orchard just sort of assumed that nobody would ever sneak into the orchard, because who would ever do that?
His faith in humanity is frightening. If only he knew how deeply the human race could fuck a person over. At least now he'll learn. At least now all of Eleven will learn that society is deeply rotten and there's no way to escape.
As she walks through the forest on the way to the orchard, Thana gathers every last piece of dry wood she can get her hands on. As the wood begins to pile atop her arms, she wonders if she's being too impulsive, if she's making a terrible mistake.
She decides that she's past the point of caring.
So what if this ruins somebody's life? So what if this ruins many people's lives? Thana's life was ruined before it could ever truly begin. If her actions ruin somebody else's happiness, they should be grateful they had joy to lose in the first place. Maybe the pieces are falling into place in her head too quickly, but at the very least, somebody will feel pain akin to hers. Hopefully everybody will be as hurt as Thana's always been.
Is it wrong that Thana can hardly contain her excitement when she arrives at the orchard? Possibly, but if she's going to be amoral, she might as well fully commit to it. It's hard for her to remember a time where she was actually looking forward to something. Has she ever had anything worth looking forward to in all of her seventeen miserable years?
(She hasn't. Thana Achillea was born into anguish, and she's destined to stay in it until the day she finally kicks the bucket. She never had a chance, not when her parents' screams were blocked out of her brain for years upon years. Not when a martyred Peacekeeper claimed to be her mother. She never had a chance at normalcy.)
As it turns out, Sage was right. At the very back of the orchard, the fence remains slightly open. Thana's heart pounds underneath her chest as she wedges herself through the crack, trying not to make any noise or drop her dry wood. Everything that goes down tonight has to be perfect.
(Thana's never been perfect at something before. Perhaps that's because she's never tried destruction.)
She creeps into the center of the orchard, ducking as the lights from the watch towers circle towards her. Once she's arrived, Thana scatters the dry wood in an oval and reaches into her pocket for her lighter.
She wonders just how loud the people will scream when they realize what she's done. She wonders if they'll even know it was her at all. Thana doesn't sympathize with them, though. She doesn't know them, so she can't betray them. And besides, nothing Thana could ever do would fix society's wretched perception of her. Everybody already thinks she's a freak.
(Harming strangers is better than harming people she knows. Sage knew Thana, yet she didn't give a damn that night when they were camping. Thana's already a good enough person for not wanting to physically harm Sage or Megaera. Why should she feel any remorse when she causes the suffering of those anonymous to her?)
Thana presses down on the button, her eyes flickering as brightly as the fire she produces. Again, she rubs her finger against the flame, this time for good luck. As her skin chars, Thana swears it feels like the hugs she never got when she was younger. It feels like she's finally at home, finally in control.
She lets the fire touch one of the smaller planks on the edge of her pile first. It scintillates in shades of ochre as it consumes the wood like it's nothing. Before it can reach her hands, Thana throws the plank into the center, watching with wide eyes as her inferno ravages its surroundings.
Stepping away from the climbing flamess, Thana tilts her head upwards in awe. All the other times she's seen a firestorm so vivifying, so intense, Thana trembled. All the other times, fire meant that she was in danger, but now, she's never felt more safe.
The light radiates against her skin, casting a dark silhouette on the ground beneath her. For so long, Thana confined herself to similar shadows, but tonight, something inside of her has changed. Tonight, Thana Achillea is as alive as the flames she's reclaimed.
"Thank you," Thana says to the blazes, continuing to creep backwards. "Thank you for always being with me."
(They were there as she lost both her parents in the blink of an eye. They were there when she was abandoned by all her friends in one foul swoop. The flames protected her when she was at her weakest; now they're the armor that makes her strong.)
With a sizzling rasp, the fire seems to call back to Thana as it spreads onto the field around its initial pyre. "ᵢₜ wₐₛ ₒᵤᵣ ₚₗₑₐₛᵤᵣₑ. Wₑ'd dₒ ₐₙyₜₕᵢₙg fₒᵣ yₒᵤ."
(They sound far too familiar. Like the voices that spoke in her ear until she was six years old.)
"Wₑ ₗₒᵥₑ yₒᵤ…"
(If there's ever been a voice that sounded the most unlike Megaera's, this is it.)
"Thank you," Thana repeats herself, unsure what to do in the presence of affection. She wishes she'd grown up in such a way that she knew how to handle it. There's so much that Thana wishes for, so much that she'll never get.
If only she realized sooner that her fate was destruction.
If only she realized sooner just how thrilled she'd be as the people in the houses surrounding the orchard opened their windows, screaming bloody mercy as they tried to escape.
There were so many times where Thana wanted to scream, but she never did. She knew that if she did, she'd be snuffed out anyway. But with people erupting into pandemonium in her peripherals, Thana is free to do whatever she so pleases. She throws her head backwards and lets out a sinister cackle, a roar that's been bottled up inside her for eleven years, ripping at her seams until she finally freed it.
She leans back on the edge of the fence, watching as her masterpiece destroys everything in its path, demolishing the crops the same way Thana's own mind went up in flames.
The hysterical weeping and searing plants create a symphony in Thana's head. She sways back and forth, back and forth, pretending the fire's holding her in its arms in a way that nobody else would ever dare to do. It tells her that she's radiant as it eviscerates the land that's always said otherwise.
As the flames stroke her hair and tell her that she's as golden as their burning heat, Thana finds that she's able to smile for the first time in what feels like forever.
(All she's ever wanted was to be loved. All she's ever wanted was to be a person and not a pile of dust best swept under the rug. Though fire is best known for creating ashes, when it's around Thana, she's resurrected.)
District Eleven is revered for being alive, yet Thana's caused its decay. She's sucked its soul from its body the same way it did to her, and now she licks her lips in sweet vindication.
The world has always been her prison, but tonight, as she observes calamity from afar, Thana's finally broken free. She's unearthed herself from the grave she should've been lowered into eleven years ago, all in the presence of pure, unbridled chaos.
For once, Thana has controlled the world that tried so hard to control her. For once, her sadness is fleeting, joy radiating through her mind like the fire she's cast.
For once, Thana Achillea is unlimited.
(If anybody tries to bring her down from her ashen cloud as her inferno transforms heaven into hell, they'll get caught in the crossfire and reduced to sullen memories. They'll decay like Thana's dreams did night after night, their skin turning as orange as the flames that devoured them whole. Though they'll scream, nobody will be able to hear them as they fry in their own misery. They'll rot the way Thana's parents never should've. They'll be forgotten the way Thana always was.)
(Lord knows she won't give a flying fuck about any of them.)
Catastrophist - Trivium
Well, well, well, look at that! Our first set of intros and it was well… hot and explosive (and cow thievery'd). I hope you enjoyed reading these crazy kiddos, because I sure had a lot of fun writing them, and hopefully Goldie had a lot of fun beta-ing for them, thank you Goldie. I really cannot emphasize how much I adore this cast, like wow y'all popped the fuck off. Thank you to R-B for Elio, Nell for Milky-whore, and Laney for Thana!
I'll see you next week with Pre-Reapings 2, Monster Boogaloo. If you're wondering, "what the fuck does that mean?" Well, you'll find out in a week, won't you?
Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds