smokeSCREEN : book6.1

I've made a point of getting to know every person in this Tower, and from what I can tell a good deal of them like me. I just hope Floor One doesn't try to Revenge Phoebe...

Don't ask what it means to 'Revenge' someone.

"You can still back out!" Phoebe calls from her side of the circle.

"So could you," I shrug as I step inside.

"Search her! No weapons but the staff!"

As they search me I take the opportunity to look around. Everyone's talking, jabbering, placing bets, all except Floor Thirteen. They stand together at the north side of the circle, watching me.

It's... concieveable this could go wrong...

As they finish searching me I stalk over to my Floor and kiss Justin – a long, easy kiss – just right for a last kiss, if that should prove the case.

I light a cigarette and walk back to the centre of the circle.

"Ready?" I ask. Phoebe's already-sweaty hand fingers the machete. Christ – it's half as long as I am.

"Pick up your staff," she calls.

"Yield," I tell her. But she moves too quick.

She closes the gap between us in two quick strides as she pulls up the blade, and I have to close my eyes and concentrate.

When I open them – yes – I'm five feet away behind her. As she looks for me I kick the two-foot staff from the ground into my little hand.

"Where have we seen this, Phoebes?" I ask. She spins, and is horrified to see me. The weapons are a blur for three whole seconds – hacking, slashing, parry, dodge and slash again. The inch-thick staff clocks her under the jaw and she stumbles back as I lower my center of gravity, stretching out a leg in front of me and drawing the staff to my side.

Her face is... rage. Hate. I'm ready for her to come for me. To leap at me. Cypress taught me how to jump into a kick from this position. I'm ready for that – but not for her to throw it.

She throws the machete – I'd never thought of that – and so I can think of nothing else to do but jump for my life.

Anze screams, "nooooOOOOO-" carrying into infinity.

The machete snaps through my collarbone deep into my shoulder, and I crumple to the dirt of the courtyard as screams rise around, licking at me like flames. The blood shoots in an arc as I fall backwards, and the ground jarrs the blade inside me.

I watch the blood flow out – the dirt can't seep it up fast enough. It doesn't really hurt. I'm more tired than anything, but Anze's still holding her scream. A whining, high pitch above the world.

Focus, Sophie.

I don't hear anything now – it's getting real quiet.

The blood's more black than anything.

just let go

I will not.

My left hand closes around the greasy machete handle, and I pull. It's stuck – it's killing me.

"Stand back!" somebody calls.

I draw the blade up – it hurts – and pull my shoulder up with it until I'm standing. I hurt less and I feel the blade scrape against my bones as it comes out.

"Hahhhhh..." I moan, and clap a hand and arm over the gaping rip in my torso.

Focus, Sophie.

It's all energy.

They're all energy.

You're energy.

And the shoulder doesn't hurt so bad.

It's not so bad.

It's fine.

My shoulder is fine.

And I'm falling, falling.

Falling back to earth and smacking into the hard dirt ground of the courtyard – my boots hit first, then my knees, a hand and my hair whips against the dust. My eye snaps open, and the crowd draws back with a united gasp.

Phoebe stands at the far end of the circle, jaw swinging in the breeze as I draw myself to my feet.

"I offered you a way out," I say, moving forward. "I warned you."

The swinging jaw can't seem to form words.

"Yield!" I roar.

She just screams. She screams and pulls out a nine-millimeter beretta – her arm arcs through the air to aim the gun, but I'm already a foot from her, drawing back a fist.

Wham – my tiny fist crashes into her chest with a force no one anticipated and she flies across the circle, past the ring of torches and tumbles through the dirt until a brunette-and-leather Phoebe, twice my size smacks into the courtyard wall.

I'm breathing hard – my energies have left me. The blood – all my blood all over the courtyard. I turn – Anze's grinning at me – and I stumble.

As I gain my composure I see her face has changed – she's scared.

"I'm fine," I assure her.

Bang! BaBang!

One of Phoebe's bullets cuts through my calf – another finds Anze's neck and takes a chunk out.

kill'er

Anze falls as my leg buckles, and as I spin to my knees I let out a sound. A bloody roar that rises with the wind and a shockwave that blasts across the courtyard, through the circle of torches and into Phoebe.

She can't scream, but raises her arms against it as the torches go out. Those beside her in the near-darkness later tell people it seemed as if she'd been torn apart in a split-second – ripped at until her peices fell against the courtyard wall.

My cheek smacks into the earth.

I know I'm bleeding, but I'm too tired to fix it myself. Let someone else do it.

I've...

Is that Justin?

...I've been strong enough for one day.

I close my eye.

Anze.

"Anze!" I call.

Feather steps forward and says, "In accordance with Tower rules, Sophie of Floor Thirteen will lead us..." she continues, but it fades as the roar in my ears takes over.

"Aaaaaannnze...." I begin to sob into the dirt.

...I've been way too strong for one day.

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i hate my generation / i offer no apologies / i hate my generation, yeah

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