Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 7 - See You Again (AR)

Darkness. It was a simple word, with a simple meaning, but no matter how long Aikin mulled over those eight letters, he couldn't just let it mean a lack of light, no, it meant so much more to him than that. Darkness meant loss of control. Darkness meant loss of memory. Darkness meant sitting in a pitch-black room, head nuzzled against calloused hands, returning to everything he wanted to forget. Darkness meant he couldn't return to how he was before the Games, no matter how hard he tried. Darkness meant no indifference. 

And, whether he'd like to admit it or not, there was something compelling about that last definition. He felt euphoria, depression, fury. Never nothing. Not anymore. Something good had come out of those Games. It just turned out the cons outweighed the pros.

Darkness filled a dusty house in the Victor's Village - he would never call it home, this place was not home - where Aikin Ralent sat, breathing in an accumulation of dirt. He resolved to let himself rot away in the corner, until he was a skeleton, skin decaying, flies feasting on his body.

Then again, rotting had never really appealed to him. 

So he rose from his splintered seat, marched over to the fireplace mantle, and struck a match against the stone. First, he lit a series of candles about the room, then flung the match into the stack of logs, filling the room with flickers of yellow light. His eyes caught the glare of flame on two pictures hung on the wall.

He reached out instinctively for a bottle of vodka sitting on the mantle. He stared at it for a long while. Maybe I should just guzzle it straight from the bottle? He knit his brows, beginning to chew the inside of his cheek. It was a habit he'd picked up during the games, probably from Theo or something. His chest tightened at the memory, and he unscrewed the bottle, flipping over a small glass he'd left on the mantle for such occasions. Let's forget.

It'd been exactly ten months since the end of the maze, after all. An anniversary of sorts. Not one he'd ever celebrate, but mourn on. At least now I have an excuse... The smell of alcohol was thick as he poured it into the glass. He never gave himself any more than this; he hated being drunk. He didn't know what he was doing, he felt like he was controlled by something other than his own brain. A slight numbing was enough.

And so, he lifted his glass to two pictures. The first was of a girl, brown waves framing her face beautifully, every feature soft and inquisitive. Cheers, Gwen. The second was of a boy, unruly black hair atop his head, striking blue eyes staring straight. Cheers, Theo.

Aikin tossed the drink to the back of his throat, wincing as he forced it down. He shook his head, coughing. Never getting used to it.

As soon as he'd placed the glass down, pounding filled the house. He jumped, swiping his arm out for a hatchet he'd been keeping on the wall. In the process he'd hit the glass, and it went crashing against a wall, shattering on impact. He ignored it, marching down the corridor that would lead to the front door. Get the hell away before I get there.

When another knock ricocheted through the house, he was marching down the hall, silent rage coursing through him, materializing through his stomps. He was like a bull - no, keep the myths away, let them remain only legend.

He jerked the door open, teeth bared, eyes turned to slits in anguish.

And then, the weapon slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. Aikin couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe just like the last day, the last cannon. This woman that stood here, she haunted the night, her singed wedding dress suffocating him, veils wrapping around his throat. One bullet wasn't enough. And now she's gonna take me back, she's gonna make me the catalyst. Don't let her take me!