VOLATILE (I) : peter pan ouat

When Bloody Knuckles Happened

Day: 4

I wake up the next morning with a sore back and chest. I look over at the other hammocks. Thomas is sitting in a hammock, while he shares with a snoring Lyle. Marcus is in a hammock a few feet above them, sleeping peaceful for a boy who seems so excited by violence. Max still hasn't come back from the medic tent yet, he's probably sleeping off whatever made him sick last night, and Johnny is gone, probably still conspiring with those dumb boys.

Apparently they have a plan to run away. Some other kid had done it before, so they think they can. That sounds like a load of garbage to me though. The only way off is through Pan Flute. I don't argue with Johnny though, whatever helps him sleep at night.

I leave the tent, the smell of it lingering on me. I need to find Pan Flute, get him to show me where the showers are, because I can't go on like this any longer. It's been four days since I last showered. Four! Which is too much for me.

It lingers on my skin, coating me in a wretched layer of dirt and sweat. I'm beginning to fit in here, at least as far as stench goes. The thought sends a shiver up my spine.

I walk towards the clearing. All of the boys are sitting around a long table. Their smell wafts over to me from far away and I almost gag. I need to take a shower, and these boys have to even more. I honestly believe I could get very sick, very fast.

I take a step backwards and bump into someone behind me.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it to put eyes on the back of your head," the voice chuckles, "but then I realise you'd manage to bump into me anyhow, with that hat you always wear covering them up."

I turn around, looking at Pan Flute. "Maybe if you could look in front of you I wouldn't have to look behind me."

"What's the fun in that?" He asks. "Why should I try to keep you from hurting yourself? That should be your own job."

"Well obviously I'm not good at it." I counter.

"You don't seem to be good at much of anything." Pan Flute laughs.

"I'm good at plenty of things," I mutter. "Much more than anyone can say for you. Unless being stuck-up counts as a skill, which unfortunately it doesn't."

"Well it's your chance to prove yourself today during training." He grins, pushing past me. "And be warned, I'm not easily impressed."

I turn around to ask him what he means by training but he's gone. I sigh and walk over to the table. I spot Harry and sit down next to him.

"Why are you here?" Alex asks me.

"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the hammock," Harry laughs. "Don't worry about him, he's rude as can be when he wakes up."

"Better rude then a plunter." Alex spits.

"Why don't you guys just use actually curse words instead of this random garbage? It would make things a load easier for us News." I ask, wondering why the use of plunter is so rampant.

"Slang is the last thing News worry about. Spend the whole first day craping their pants like the plunters they are." Alex answers straight-faced. "Besides. You do realise slang changes over time, and that it would be weird to change it every few years when a New comes along with a different vocabulary then everyone else."

I stick my tongue out at Alex. I hate it when he has a point.

"You're just mad because your plunter brain can't think outside of you." Alex counters.

"Better a plunter then you." I insult, once again hoping I used the word right.

Alex doesn't argue, just smirks to himself like he's won. I've decided to make it my mission to learn all the slang here, just to spite Alex..