sam hadn’t been able to gather much information about this hunt . most of the reports consisted of residents of hollow rock claiming a big , ugly monster was killing people . well , big and ugly , in sam’s experience , encompassed quite a few monsters , and so in terms of being prepared , well... sam winchester wasn’t . but he did have a trunk filled with weapons , and an extensive knowledge on which to use on what , so if that counted as a start , than at least sam could begin somewhere .
the road stretches on for miles , but according to his gps , the town is only another half hour away . one arm hangs out of the driver’s window , hair blowing backwards with the speed of the car . once he got into town , he’d search out the bodies , question some of the locals once he checked into his motel - the usual protocol for a case like this . one glance out his rearview mirror , and sam thinks he sees something in the surrounding trees . something tall , something lumbering , and he almost stops . but the trees , themselves , qualify as tall and lumbering , so he continues like he hadn’t see it at all .
the motel is just as run down as he would expect . sam purchases a room and waltzes down until he reaches 17 . tote is slung onto the bed as he closes the curtains for some privacy . it’s early afternoon . he’s glad he’s arrived when he did - the more daylight the better . the hunter changes quickly into a terribly tight suit , stuffing the fake fbi badge into his pocket before heading back out , jumping in the stolen car and driving into town .
inside , he spends all day questioning . he takes a trip to the morgue , finds no bite marks , but that the three victim’s necks have been broken in quite the same way . what his eyes see that no one else’s does is the strange mark on either side of their ribs . he thanked the coroner and left , heading back to change into his regular clothes , and wait for dark to leave again . he knows the town , itself , isn’t large , but the surrounding wooded areas , are . which is where he was headed with a gun , and a machete , and a flame thrower - just in case .
he found himself in the trees , glancing back at the way he had came , to keep his bearings . he’d search for a few hours ( this is where the locals had said it might be hiding , after all ) before he would go back , and try again tomorrow .
I.
I am half here and half there
on a train to Reykjavík,
my wrists bound
in robin’s egg ribbons,
Atkinson on my lap.
A man seated
at the far end of the car
comes down the aisle
and asks what I am.
“A writer,” I say.
“I’m not from around.”
Glaciers pass, miles away,
and I wonder which
my friend made love on.
II.
I am half here and half there
on the shingled roof
of a Spanish-style home,
jazz spilling
out pane-less windows
as someone sings along.
A woman
scoots out beside me,
traces my shoulder
and points at the moon.
“Look,” she says.
“It smiles for you.”
She kisses me to the music,
her tongue
like a piano riff.
III.
I am half here and half there
on a wild growth of grass,
my hair loose and dark
and full of honey bees.
A few cows lie nearby
with tails swatting back and forth,
their big eyes following me
as I walk toward the tree line.
“I’m still here,” I say.
“There’s nowhere else I’d be.”
IV.
I am half here and half there
on a troubled mountain road,
the wind moaning by
in gusts of translucent white,
curling the hair on my forehead.
A man
stands near a fire somewhere,
lends me his warmth
through childhood stories
murmured into our night.
“Come back to me,” he says.
“The storm you wanted is here.”
We cry out fractured prayers
in a moon-washed bed
while snow hits fast
against the window.
V.
I am half there and half here,
on an unkempt bed
with the sheets trailing off,
my hair tightly braided.
A picture of me watches
from every wall, every table:
head on the shoulder
of a soft-eyed boy;
young, beside a woman
with a nose like mine;
brown in a family
with fair skin and hazel eyes.
“Look,” I think. “I’m still here.
Come back to me a writer.”
Princess Bride, Minlace style.
feat. Princess Minkowski and Dread Pirate Lovelace, the three vigilantes Hilbert, Eiffel, and Hera, miracle persons Jacobi and Maxwell, master spy Kepler, Prince Cutter, and Countess Pryce.
· Renée Minkowski was raised on a small farm in the country of Goddard.
· Isabel Lovelace is a farmhand on the Minkowskis’ farm.
· Minkowski runs errands for her parents, and every time she asks Lovelace to do something, all Lovelace says is “as you wish”.
· “That day Minkowski was amazed to discover that when Lovelace was saying ‘as you wish’, what she meant was, ‘I love you’. And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved her back.”
· “This is true love. You think this happens every day?” —Lovelace.
· Lovelace decides to set off to seek her fortune, but her ship is captured by the pirate crew of the Sea Wolf, who never leave survivors. Lovelace vanishes, presumed dead, and Minkowski swears never to love again.
· Prince Marcus Cutter, heir to the throne of Goddard, meets Minkowski and decides she’d make the perfect bride/victim to start a war with the kingdom of Hephaestus, the sworn enemy of Goddard.
· Countess Miranda Pryce agrees. She’s his right hand woman in name, but the palace servants wonder which of them is really pulling the strings. Pryce’s six-fingered hand would be well suited for puppetry.
· Before Prince Cutter and Minkowski can be married, Minkowski is kidnapped by Alexander Hilbert and his two assistants, Doug Eiffel and Hera Sensus.
· “Do you want me to send you back to where you were? Unemployed? In GREEEEEEEENLAND?” —Hilbert.
· They cross the strait to Hephaestus and climb the Cliffs of Insanity, planning to leave the princess’s corpse in Hephaestus in order to start a war with Goddard.
· But all the while, the Woman in Black draws nearer.
· “Inconceivable!” —Hilbert.
· “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” —Hera.
· Hilbert leaves Hera to confront the Woman in Black.
· “People in masks cannot be trusted.” —Eiffel.
· Hera has been searching for years for the six-fingered woman who imprisoned her and destroyed her life when she was eleven years old. She still bears the scars of what the woman did to her, and she seeks revenge. And so she has learned the art of tactics better than any other. She can shift a battlefield to her advantage in seconds. Sometimes that seems literal.
· Hera and the Woman in Black engage in a fight, but eventually the woman in black wins. So Hilbert sends Eiffel to stop her.
· Eiffel was good at it, sure, but he really didn’t want to be a wrestler. But when he started running away from his past, he didn’t have many other places to run to.
· He almost counts himself lucky when the Woman in Black beats him. One less person hurt. (Well, him, but that’s nothing really.)
· (Cutter and Pryce reach the top of the Cliffs of Insanity, where Hera and the Woman in Black fought. Cutter spots the Woman in Black’s trail.)
· (“I always think everything could be a trap. Which is why I’m still alive.” —Cutter.)
· Hilbert is the first of the trio that the Woman in Black actually takes pleasure in defeating.
· “You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well-known is this: never go in against a Russian when death is on the line! Hahahahahahaha—” —Hilbert.
· “I’m no one to be trifled with.” —the Woman in Black.
· Both cups were poisoned, but the Woman in Black is apparently unable to be killed.
· Minkowski has had enough of this madness. She accuses the Woman in Black of being the master of the Sea Wolf, the one who killed her true love.
· The Woman in Black agrees that she is indeed the master of the Sea Wolf.
· And Minkowski pushes her down a hill towards the Fire Swamp.
· “You can die too for all I care!” —Minkowski.
· “As… you… wish…” —the Woman in Black LOVELACE
· It’s Lovelace! Back from the dead! (Or so it seems.)
· “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.” —Lovelace.
· (Cutter and Pryce are drawing nearer.)
· Lovelace and Minkowski set off into the Fire Swamp.
· “We’ll never survive!” —Minkowski.
· “Nonsense. You’re only saying that because no one ever has.” —Lovelace.
· ((I’m trying not to c/p the entire script I swear))
· There are three dangers in the Fire Swamp.
· One: the Flame Spurts. Minkowski trips into one. After that, Lovelace is careful to catch Minkowski's waist and spin her away when they hear the telltale hiss. (It almost feels like one of the dances they never got to have.)
· Two: the Lightning Sands. Lovelace is sucked down, and Minkowski swan-dives into the sand after her without a second thought. Lovelace sinks down and down no matter how she struggles, and just when she thinks she’ll never see the sun again she feels Minkowski’s grip around her wrist. (There, always, just like she said she’d be.)
· Three: “Rodents of Unusual Size? I don’t think they exist.” —Lovelace, right before an R.O.U.S. pounces on her. She drops her sword trying to wrestle it into a Flame Spurt, and when she does, Minkowski grabs the blade and stabs the R.O.U.S. to death.
· Some couples go on dinner dates. Others hike through deadly swamps and kill giant rats together.
· But just as they emerge from the fire swamp, Cutter and Pryce catch up with them. And Minkowski, desperate, surrenders, in exchange for Lovelace’s safe return to the Sea Wolf. She’s not going to watch Lovelace die. Not again. Not when she could save her.
· (The look in Lovelace’s eyes is one of utter betrayal. How could you abandon me again?)
· When Minkowski and Cutter are out of sight, Pryce makes a signal with her six-fingered hand, and one of the guards knocks Lovelace out.
· Back at the castle, Minkowski is having nightmares. She hears sounds in the walls when she tries to sleep. She walks the halls all night. Finally she tells Cutter to call Lovelace back. And Cutter agrees. He promises his four fastest ships. He claims he has her best interests at heart.
· In the Pit of Despair: Pryce is beginning her experiments on Lovelace.
· “Miranda, you know how I love watching you work, but I’ve got my country’s 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and Hephaestus to frame for it. I’m swamped!” —Cutter.
· Pryce activates her Machine.
· Lovelace has resisted torture before— distracted herself with thoughts of a slow smile, a first kiss. She cannot resist the Machine, which sucks year after year of life from her body.
· Cutter calls in his master of intelligence, one Warren Kepler, and insists that he clear out the thieves’ forest. There must be no threat to his new wife. So Kepler forms a Brute Squad.
· Eiffel has been looking for work since Hilbert vanished. He’s immediately hired onto the Brute Squad because he’s basically a Brute Squad of his own. And so he’s wandering around trying to find some thieves to remove when he hears about someone causing trouble. Booby traps and all that. Hera, he thinks. And it is!
· When Eiffel tells Hera that Countess Pryce, the six-fingered woman, is nearby in the castle, she faints into her bowl of soup.
· Hera is ready to go kill Pryce. Unfortunately, the castle is guarded by Kepler and a platoon of guards, in preparation for Cutter and Minkowski’s wedding. Even Hera has no idea how they’re going to fight through that. But there is someone who she knows could do it: the one and only Isabel Lovelace, the Woman in Black, who defeated Hera, Eiffel, and Hilbert.
· There’s one little problem with that. Cutter has been driven to rage by Minkowski’s continued devotion to Lovelace.
· “Lovelace and I are joined by the bonds of love. And you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds. And you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords. And when I say you are a coward, that is only because you are the slimiest weakling ever to crawl the earth.” —Minkowski.
· Cutter goes down to the Pit of Despair and turns the Machine all the way up to fifty.
· Hera and Eiffel hear the scream. The sound of ultimate suffering, they surmise. Who else would have cause to make that sound but the Woman in Black, whose true love is marrying another that very night?
· But when they get to the dungeon, Lovelace is already dead. And so Hera and Eiffel go to the miracle man’s house and they ask to buy a miracle.
· Daniel Jacobi was just fired by Prince Cutter. He’s down on his luck and tired of miracle-making. But fine, he’s intrigued by the prospect of healing someone dead. (No way he can make being dead any worse.)
· And sure, Hera and Eiffel claim it’s true love. Even Lovelace says it’s true love when Jacobi yells loud enough.
· “Yeah, true love is the greatest thing in the world, except for a nice MLT— mutton, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, when the mutton is nice and lean, and the tomato is ripe. Mmm.” —Jacobi.
· But he’s still not going to take the job. Not until Alana Maxwell, fellow miracle woman, charges up from the basement, hollering about DO IT FOR TRUE LOVE DANIEL.
· “I’m not a witch, I’m your best friend, but after what you just said, I’m not even sure I want to be that anymore!” —Maxwell.
· Still, it’s not until Hera and Eiffel promise “humiliations galore” for Cutter that Jacobi relents. He and Maxwell prepare the miracle pill and send Hera, Eiffel, and Lovelace off.
· “Have fun storming the castle!” —Jacobi.
· “Think it’ll work?” —Maxwell.
· “It’d take a miracle.” —Jacobi.
· Lovelace, when revived, is not pleased.
· “My brains, your strength, and her steel against sixty men, and you think a little head jiggle is supposed to make me happy?” —Lovelace.
· But they do have a wheelbarrow. And a magic flaming cloak. Oh boy.
· “Hera?” —Eiffel.
· “What?” —Hera.
· “I hope we win.” —Eiffel.
· ((I know I said I wasn’t gonna c/p the whole script but honestly could you blame me))
· They charge. Eiffel gets to wear the flaming cloak and pose as the captain of the Sea Wolf. The actual captain of the Sea Wolf is flopped in the back of the wheelbarrow because she still can’t walk. Miracles aren’t perfect.
· Inside the castle, Cutter and Minkowski stand before the Impressive Clergyman. Shouts and screams come from outside. And Minkowski knows, she knows, that it’s Lovelace coming to save her.
· “Oh, you mean this key!” —Warren Kepler, threatened with dismemberment.
· By the time Lovelace, Hera, and Eiffel get inside, the wedding is already over. Countess Pryce appears at the end of the hallway, six-fingered hand and all.
· “My name is Hera Sensus. You ruined my life. Prepare to die.” —Hera.
· By the time Eiffel gets back from helping Hera kick down a door to get to Pryce, Lovelace has vanished.
· In the honeymoon suite, Minkowski is about to drive a dagger into her heart when Lovelace stops her.
· “There’s a shortage of perfect breasts in the world. It would be a pity to damage yours.” —Lovelace, smooth af
· Meanwhile: “You must be that little girl I taught a lesson to all those years ago. Simply incredible. Have you been chasing me your whole life, only to fail now? I think that's the worst thing I've ever heard. How marvelous.” —Pryce.
· “I want my life back, you son of a bitch.” —Hera.
· Cutter arrives and Lovelace just starts detailing all the horrific and gory things she’s going to do to him. Cutter surrenders.
· “I’ll use small words so that you’ll be sure to understand, you warthog-faced buffoon.” —Lovelace.
· They tie up Cutter. Hera returns from killing Pryce. Eiffel turns up again with four white horses so they can ride into the sunset together. And they do!
· “They rode to freedom. And as dawn arose, Lovelace and Minkowski knew they were safe. A wave of love swept over them. And as they reached for each other… Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure.
The animals didn't care that it was the day of the Reaping. The chickens still had eggs to collect, the cows and horses still needed their hay and their water, and the cats still meowed and wanted to rub their bodies against the coarse denim of Courtney's jeans. In particular, Barny - aptly named by little brother Brooks based on where the cat was discovered - was especially needy. The little tuxedo weaved in and out of Courtney's steps as he trudged across the dying grass towards the stables.
"Get outta here, Barny," he grumbled, but the cat was relentless. He hooked a claw into the hem of Courtney's jeans and flopped over, forcing Courtney into a decision: continue on and drag the cat behind him, or stop and pay him the requisite attention. With a sigh, Court stopped to reach down to the animal. Barny immediately sprung up and, in three quick bounds, climbed Court's arm to settle on his shoulder. Courtney gasped at the claws against his skin, but was quickly muted as Barny smushed his face into the slight prickle of his beard.
Courtney gently kissed the cat's nose, who responded with a contented chirp. "What is up with you?" he mumbled, continuing on his way. "You're never like this." Barny, for his part, pressed his face against the side of Court's head. But hey - as long as he was on a shoulder, he was out of the way.
The horses were lazy in the morning, but Courtney loved them in the early mist. He winced slightly as Barny leapt from his shoulder to greet both of their favorite mare - a thoroughbred called Maisie. With a soft smile on his face, Courtney took a moment to stroke her long nose. Barny nuzzled into her, causing her to blink slowly. After checking the horses, he went to leave the stables. He glanced over his shoulder, slightly unnerved by the image of Barny, sitting on the gate next to Maisie, the two of them watching him go.
The sun was just starting to think about rising when he pushed the door open to enter the home. He was greeted with a mix of smells and emotions. Scrambled eggs with extra cheese, fresh bacon, and the special coffee that Pa had brought back from District Seven, with hints of hazelnut. It was the very specific breakfast that Ma made every Reaping day - twice a year for the past thirteen years. The day made his stomach churn, but the ritualistic good-luck meal always settled it. He passed his mother, Marti, hunched over the stovetop. He pecked her on the cheek and shooed her away, taking over the cooking of the bacon.
"Court, no, I can -"
"Ma, you're pregnant. Sit down."
She swatted his arm in defiance, but took a seat at the long table in the center of the room. "When are you going to change?"
"I think I look fine."
"You look like you live on a ranch."
"I do live on a ranch. And I don't think that's a bad look." He flipped the bacon strip by strip, grinning at the hiss.
"Will you please just wear the shirt we got you? You need to look nice for." She paused.
"Okay." He glanced over his shoulder to give her a tense smile. He caught her staring, eyes welling up already. "Ma..." She got to her feet to put her arms around his waist, hugging into his back as he cooked.
"Your last one, my baby. And Neena's first."
"Don't say it like that, Ma. She's only in there once."
"And you're in there -"
"Don't do the math. None of us took tessarae. And your lucky meal always works." He snatched a piece of bacon off the pan with his fingers, flinching as he handed it over to her. She waved it in the air before crunching into it. She smiled and nodded her approval. There was a sound of shuffle from the back of the home, and Tomas entered the kitchen. He patted Courtney on the shoulder as he went to kiss his wife.
"Last one, Court," he grunted. "It's a good day."
One by one, the rest of the Ganhadors filed in. The second born, Lobo, with his hair wild and frizzy in the dry Ten heat; the twins, Irina and Grant, who couldn't be more different in looks or personality; Neena, already dressed and with nervous tears in her eyes; and then finally, the youngest boy, Brooks, who only knew these days as a morning of great food and then a few minutes of standing protected between his parents.
There was a tension in the mood: veiled and tempered excitement that Courtney was about to finish his eligibility pulling against the empathetic worry for Neena, who was starting hers. For the most part, the Reaping was discussed as a chore, something to go into town to finish up. It was good timing, they said to themselves; they needed a new part for the family truck anyway, and Lobo was due for a new pair of dress slacks for school. After all that was done, they could get back to the ranch with plenty of time for Courtney to teach the twins (particularly Irina) the proper way to coil a rope. Don’t worry, Neena, they all said. The pinprick hurts no more than a chicken taking food from your hand.
As always, breakfast was ended with the family holding hands, thanking Ma (and, at her insistence, Courtney) for the meal. Maybe Courtney imagined it, but it seemed like they all held on slightly longer than usual. Then, like clockwork, each of the children stood and deposited their plates in the kitchen before having a few moments to themselves. Courtney took the time to change into the chestnut brown shirt his parents had picked out for him last time they had gone into Hoostin. He smiled as he ran a thumb over the material.
Courtney had a few moments with each of his siblings, as always, reaffirming the dedication they made to each other. If one of them was Reaped, the others would not Volunteer. The only thing worse than being Reaped would be for a sibling to be sent in their place. And after what happened to the Durums in Nine last Games, there was no guarantee that Volunteering would even save the Reaped Ganhador. It was decided and reaffirmed every six months: you do not Volunteer in place of another Ganhador. Each would face their fate as it was written, and the others would be needed to support those still in Ten.
Of course, for Courtney, it was all a lie. If any Ganhador was Reaped, it would be him going into the Arena.
The short drive into the capital, Hoostin, was a bit chaotic as always. The whole family still technically fit in the truck, with the twins in the pickup in the back and with younger siblings sitting in the laps of Lobo and Courtney, but it was apparent they'd soon outgrow this mode of transport, especially with another kid on the way. Then it was time. Pinpricks all around, small drops of blood offered up. Courtney barely felt his at this point. Twenty eight pinpricks, from age twelve to twenty five. He was turning twenty six in a few months. Neena, finding a bravery they hadn't expected, taking her first pinprick like a champion, biting deep into her lip to brace herself. A brief moment where the siblings had only one chance to take a hand or pat a shoulder before they were ushered off to their age groups.
Courtney joined the rest of the folks in his age group, nodding tense acknowledgement to the ones he recognized. Farragut Tyre, who he served with in the same firefighting brigade. Dmitry Aire, who he had gone to school with. Hilary Jinson, who had a crush on him back in the day but who he hadn't ever noticed. Rebeccander Polacki, whose little sister had been Reaped a few years ago and not returned. All of them, now twenty five and on the brink of freedom.
It was a privilege, being in the oldest group. About half of the twenty five year olds were on their final draw, and the energy, while somber, was electric. This was the group also against the outer side of the assembly, so Courtney was able to easily pick out his parents, each with a hand on Brooks' shoulders. The two locked eyes, and a bright smile flashed onto the young boy's face as he waved. Court gave a tense smile and a small reply wave, but more contact was cut off by the start of the ceremony.
Courtney probably could have recited the entire event by rote. The names of the Tributes and Escort would change, but Greer would still be there - the lonesome Victor from their District. He wondered how she could stand there, stoic and strong, year after year, knowing that her own name was still in that bowl. How shaken she must have been by Sawyer Bell last Games.
The typical rabble was raised as it was every six months - some people would spit on the ground anytime Nerissa Snow was mentioned, some would purposefully and unabashedly stare at the big blue sky the entire time. Courtney, though, joined most people in his own sanctuary - forgetting to breathe and retreating into his own mind.
It was meant to be an easy ceremony. Just one more day, one more release of breath. The overdressed Capitolite escort stepped up to the doomsday bowl, sweating even though it was a mild day in Ten. Their hand dipped in, and plucked out the unlucky name. Courtney tried to force his breath out - it wouldn't be any of his siblings. It wouldn't be -
"Courtney Ganhador!"
The sky wasn't big enough. He felt it grab him, pulling him into the air as if he would never walk again. It ripped the air from his lungs and the warmth from his blood, and in one moment he was crushed by the eyes of everyone around him - and most of all his parents and Brooks.
In that instant he knew no Volunteer would come. As well there shouldn't. Each Ganhador would face their fate as written, and the others would be there to help the ones left in Ten. Without prompting from his conscious mind, his feet began walking. A pathway of disappointed, despondent freemen opened in front of him. One or two put hands out to steady him on his way. The stage seemed as far away as the sky, but that was the trick - he was already soaring through the clouds and so before he could recognize where he was, he was on stage, overwhelmed by the perfume of the Escort. Citrus. Acidic lemon - something he so rarely smelled.
As if highlighted by lightning, he instantly saw all the Ganhadors in the crowd. Lobo, with his hair still frizzy. The twins, with Irina sobbing into Grant's shoulder. And then Neena, paler than the dress she had on, cheeks sparkling with tears that hadn't stopped since the morning.
The nameless Escort's smile was duller up close than Courtney would have expected. Nothing was shiny, after all. He followed the prompts without thought, shaking their hand and standing beside them. But something in the back of his mind was still churning. His shoulders rolled back and his chest puffed out. His jaw squared and his eyebrows furrowed. He would not be viewed as small, defeated, or weak.
"Prairie Fire Quartz!"
Courtney didn't register the name or face of the second Tribute. His eyes were drawn to the group of twenty five year olds, about half of whom were crying, smiling, celebrating. Thirteen years - over half of their lives - this threat had loomed over them. And now they were free of it. Farragut, Dmitry, Hilary, Rebeccander, and so many others had done it. They could start their lives, thanks to Prairie and Courtney. And over their shoulders, Marti and Tomas Ganhador, barely able to support each other, with Brooks burying his face in their legs.
He made sure to keep his steps measured and proud as he was escorted by the elbow into the capital building. The building was opulent in the way District Ten was seen by the Capitol. Black and brown leather, cowhide rugs, and animal skulls - polished to an unnaturally bright white. Was this to be his last memory of Ten: a rich-washed, false version of his home?
No. No. No. He'd be back. He had to.
The silence in the room was broken by the opening of a door and the influx of Ganhadors. In typical chaotic fashion, each of them grabbed him, hugged him, watered his shirt with their tears. Words failed them all, and were mostly made up of Courtney muttering platitudes like, "It's gonna be okay," and "You gotta stay strong for Ma."
It was his father who finally found his voice to speak. He pulled Courtney into a tight hug, then pushed him out to arms length to put his hands on either side of his son's face. "You're gonna come back, you hear me?" he grunted.
Courtney nodded, eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Yeah, I know, I -"
"You listen to me. You know how to do this. The rest of 'em? They are just animals on the ranch, okay?"
"Tomas - " Marti tried to interrupt.
"No, no. Listen to me. They are young bucks who need to be broken. Just like you know how to do. They are lame horses who need to be put down. Hogs that need to be prepped for slaughter. Nothing you haven't done before."
"That's not -"
"Yes it is, Marti. It has to be. Courtney, you listen to me good. All of them are just animals on the farm that you know how to deal with. Some of them are snakes that you can leave alone but will have to kill eventually. Some of them are the runts of kitten litters that can be nice to keep around for a while, but will get picked off by hawks. And when the hawk is feasting? You can snare it and break it's neck. And some of them will look and feel like people you know. And that will be hard. But Courtney - it's you or them. And the people you do know need you back here. So they are all animals on the ranch. Watch out for the angry bulls, but they'll twist their ankles eventually. Watch out for the loud birds who make a big fuss, but they'll draw attention to themselves in bad ways. Watch out for the foxes who look harmless and are stealing your chickens' eggs, but they always get too clever for their own good. Just do your job. Like you always do."
Courtney couldn't control the tears falling from his eyes, and he had no reason to try. He simply nodded, then nodded again, then again. Then he pressed forward to hug his dad tighter than he had in his whole life.
The Peacekeepers in the room were growing more antsy the longer this large crowd of people were there, so there was a final round of hugs from his family before Brooks stepped forward and pressed something into his hand. "Just so you won't forget us," he said, his voice small and mousy.
"I'd never forget you, Brooks," Courtney replied, with a slight smile amidst the tears.
"Well just in case." And then he was gone, shepherded out with the rest of the Ganhadors. Courtney's breath caught in his stomach, and then again in his chest, and yet again in his throat as he tried to force air into his lungs. With a final effort, it connected, and he felt his knees buckle. Luckily there was a bench just behind him as he collapsed, his head rolling back and a guttural, primal roar thundering out of his throat.
When his voice was exhausted, he opened his hand. Inside it was a small piece of wood, crudely chiseled out in the shape of a fox head. There was a clear attempt at ears, at eyes, at a pointed snout and whiskers.
He barely had time to shove it into his pocket before the demonic Escort was back with their less-than-shiny smile. Their head was tilted at a stilted angle, their eyes nearly unseeable under the makeup and false eyelashes. Everything about them seemed wrong, unnatural, not of this Earth. And yet they were here. With a gesture, they ushered Prairie and Courtney out the back door. With an escort of Peacekeepers behind them and only the Escort ahead, Courtney did the only thing he could: he followed them onto the train.
don’t read this if you’re not trans and/or mentally ill?? i’m probably gonna delete it later but i just, need to get it out idk
usdghlksdfhgksjf
i’m tired of stress and sleep deprived nausea im tired of literally gagging at the smell/sight of food and having to literally force myself to eat
i’m tired of the constant cycle of exhaustion and feeling inadequate when this is literally the best i’ve been doing in school for years
i’m tired of fucking mental illness and trying to pretend it’s not as bad as i know it is like holy shit i know i’m only acknowledging the surface and it’s like some fucked up ‘if i can’t see it it doesn’t exist!’
i always think im in the clear and my brain is just like hello naughty jo it’s death time! have fun enjoying things!
and i’m this weird mix of okay and the wildly, incredibly not okay from highschool, the whole ‘i intensely hate myself but it’s fine it’s cool don’t worry about it’
and i just dont understand bc i have friends and i like my classes and so far i’m actually doing really well theoretically and if i had to explain why i’m so fucked i wouldn’t be able to bc there’s no REASON i should be this bad but i haven’t had this many panic attacks in a really long time
then like 90% of the time i have myself convinced i’m faking being mentally ill bc i participate in class and am sometimes okay but i also you know have panic attacks and anxiety episodes and think about killing myself a lot which is ya know, probably not the usual but i have this weird big fear that i’m some big sham
like ha i’m actually cis and straight and neurotypical! i’m just faking it to be cool! your entire identity is made up!! like i’m not Trans enough or Gay enough and i’m probably just faking my Mental Illness for attention
and yeah, part of my brain is like that’s bullshit but the other part just goes Okay but what if it’s not and i feel so Fake
wow if you’ve made it this far you’re a trooper
but idk i tHRIVE on attention and validation but i feel so Shit about it and panicky and it’s probably not even real anyway bc im really just a big fucking sham it’s all a lie and i’m a lie!
ughd;salfhjlskdfhglkjfhg;sdhf end my worthless life
