Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 2.0 - When the Tears are Gone (CC)

NOTE: Okay, I am fully aware of the excessive length of this. Heh, earlier, I had decided on using the unlimited word count here. But alas, I decided against it, and used the first half of this. I decided to keep this version though, since I wanted to implement a few things in here later on, and I'm pretty proud of this.

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The world came crashing back to life in a plethora of words, clipped, working their way through Corradhin's muddled brain. Awake, he thought, bed. Bed of grass? No, silky sheets. I never sleep in beds. This is...Capitol. Capitol has beds. He let himself stretch against the linen layers, yawning. He breathed in deeply, and a sickly sweet smell, like sleep gas, gave him an incoming sense of nausea. Groaning, he clutched his stomach, fingers brushing something soft. For a moment, he ran his fingers over the smooth object. Until he realized that what rested on his chest was a flower. As if it realized his conclusion, the thing let out a hiss, like steam. The Games.

He shot to a sit, banging his forehead on some invisible force in the process. His head fell back on the bed as he groped ground zero, groaning. Who the hell put a fucking wall there? His fingers knocked against something wrapped around his head, like a band of sorts. And then, as his eyes settled on the random wall, an uncontrollable tremor overtook him, a tremble. He would recognize that calm rush over the glass encasement any day. I'm confined. Underwater. And it's so fucking dark.

Automatically, he returned to the band on his head. He flicked a switch near the front, but nothing happened. An exasperated sigh escaped him. What use was a headlamp without a bulb? Still, he let it remain. Carefully, he eased himself up, pressing his palms against the glass. It creaked as he pushed, and he ran his hands along it, up, around. He felt a crack where he must've hit his head. Shit. If this breaks....

A shatter came from his left somewhere, muffled, but there nonetheless, and he flinched. Then another, and another. But no cannons went off. Then, the realization dawned on him, and he felt for the crack again. It's supposed to break. He tapped the glass, and heard a tiny crack. The glass spider-webbed in front of him. Beads of water took advantage, collecting in streams and plopping on his forehead. For a moment, he faltered. I don't want to drown. Not this early on. He couldn't bring himself to tap the glass again.

And then, an image of his "best friend" flashed through his mind, dashing away the darkness for just a moment. Beckett's sweet smile, amber eyes. A sense of determination filled Corradhin's chest, and he lay on his back, feet pressed to the glass. He would deny ever smiling, but he knew he did. He pulled one foot back. I can't forget why I did this.

His foot went flying into the glass, and it exploded in shards of glass and monstrous water coming to consume him. Corradhin's body was thrown from the bed, tossed back and forth from a current. He tried flailing his arms and legs, attempts at changing course, but the current was too strong. He was a puppet in this moment. No, no, what if it's taking me further down? What if I do drown? Fuck, no!

His back slammed against a jagged surface, like a wall of rock, and pain erupted on his shoulder blades and spine. Small chunks of glass imbedded themselves in his chest, going no deeper than the tip of his fingernail would. In a moment of sheer stupidity, he opened his mouth as the breath was knocked out of him.

Frantic thrashes for air, gags to keep away water that only laughed at his attempts, filling him. I'm dying, I'm drowning. Fuck fuck fuck. His arms were splayed along the wall, and he dug his nails into the rock. He dragged his body along, straining to get out of the current. If he could just do that much, he could find a way. I will find a way. I will.