Veridee: A Short Story

When Rosie was younger she used to play in puddles. “Jump, Brock!” Now, she sat in a puddle of sand, surrounded by the water that crafted a false ground. “That's dirty water, Rosie.” She was trapped there, on some sort of island, waiting for Union or Veridee to save her. “Oh.” She needed an escape, a way to truly get away, yet none presented themselves. It was just her. Alone and waiting for night to come and show tell her who died so she'd know who was left. I'm left. Me, me...and five others, right? Five, or six? How many cannons went off- Another shattered her world, shouting upwards before gently fading away into the silence that swamped her. Five or four. Numbers meant little, it was the faces Rosie wanted to know. She needed to see them. To know if Union and Veridee were still alive. Or were they taken too? So long had passed since she last
laid eyes on them. I miss them. From the way the world shifted into a blur of colors, she wondered if her vision had grown worse. Could I see them if they were here? I'd have to...right? I ain't that blind yet. Can't be. It's only been...four days? Five? Six? I can't even count. She wanted to sigh, for the television to turn itself off and be a joke. For Brock and her to shudder at the death's on screen and turn back to their lives without any thought of what the tributes went through. But that couldn't be so. Pain had this way about it that Rosie couldn't discount—it wasn't barbed, or even sharp. No, pain was dull and throbbing, just enough to remind her it existed, just enough to be there. The sharp pain was fast and done, not worth existing, but the dull pain never went away. It stayed inside her, thumping, slipping her into a stance where she couldn't exist. Overwhelming was a word often overused, but it was something that Rosie understood. Brock had told her once what it meant but it wasn't until her mother died that Rosie truly grasped the concept. Water was overwhelming, an all-controlling emotion that manifested itself to bring life and take it away again. Water was pain and water was Rosie, all three the same for a moment, all three existing. Before, Rosie had meant wonder. Her namesake had been that of a yearning to learn, of creativity, but her longing had died and her body had fallen down, lowering itself to the water and becoming the pain of surviving and the will of water. It crushed and it consumed yet the storm would rain onward. Rosie wasn't wonder. “I'm still here.” Rosie spoke as though the arena cared.
She didn't know why it'd matter, just that it did. Me. My life. I matter. Her words fell from her lips and dripped into the world silently. “I'm still here.” The want to scream, to be loud, to shout and fight for her existence had burnt her up inside but Rosie couldn't bring herself to do it. I want to scream. To breathe. The water was still there, surrounding her, offering her the screams without sound. When she was in it, no one could hear her. But when I'm in there I can't breathe. Rosie stood, shaking. Her feet trembled as she drew closer, looking down into the water, seeing a poor reflection of herself in the clear waters. It's as scared as I am. Look...it's shaking. It's upset. Rosie's mind played against her as she watched the water shift and gurgle upwards. It blabbered like a child, bubbles sprouting up, and her reflection only grew stronger until the water burst from over itself and a woman walked out. Woman? No, she's just a girl. The girl wasn't too pretty, nor someone that Rosie had ever seen before. She didn't look tough or hardened by the
arena. The girl looked scared, as though someone were about to hit her. Shoulders slouched, hair slicked down and dripping wet, her eyes wide and staring, mouth open just the slightest bit. Every inch of her skin was broken in some way, none of it all the same color, and her teeth were yellowed and crooked in places. Her fingernails had been bitten down to the bone and bruises covered her fingers. She's been working in a sewing factory. Rosie knew those bruises well. “Who are you?” she asked. Rosie normally would whisper but something about the girl seemed strangely comforting. Have I met her before? “I...” The girl didn't sound right. Broken English marred her speech and every syllable was a different sound, as though she hadn't been speaking long. “My name is Rosie,” she eventually said. Then, adding on, “Who are you?” “I'm Rosie too,” Rosie said. Her mind hurt at the thought of another girl having her name, but Brock had told her before it was possible. People got his name, now they got my name too. She looks like...like I know her, Rosie thought. “Are you a tribute?” I've never seen her before. Have I? She's not a tribute. Is she? I would know her, right? Or was she like Father, come to fight? Did everyone get someone to fight? Rosie didn't have anyone to ask questions to. “I'm a tribute,” the other Rosie whispered, looking down at the ground. Rosie Two, I'll call her that. There's me and there's Rosie Two. “Are you gonna kill me?” Killing. The hardest part of surviving. Yes. “I might have to. I gotta get home.” “Oh...” she looked back up, eyes wider somehow, “I gotta get home too. I don't think I'm going home.” Her quiet voice had gown some. Rosie breathed in deeply, smelling the earthy scent that came from Rosie Two. She's...she kinda is like me. “You got a family?” Rosie Two asked. Rosie nodded, rubbing her palms together and feeling them heat up with friction. Veridee had taught her that big word their first night there. “Friction, Rosie. It's how we start fires and warm ourselves up.” “It warms us up?” Veridee, holding the sticks that had created the fire, nodded. “Yeah,” she said. The sticks dropped to the ground as Veridee brought her hands together and rubbed. “See this? When I do this, I create friction, and it warms up my hands. You try it.” “I have a brother,” Rosie whispered. And a father and mother once, too. Death came to haunt her mind, taunting her with emotions she hadn't ever wanted to know. They lingered, tasting her inhibitions and taunting her. Overwhelmin'. Too...too much. It was like when the water spilled after building up so much—it became something that she couldn't control and it'd fall out, slipping from her eyes. Rosie Two nodded some, her gaze lingering on Rosie's palms as they rubbed. She just barely whispered, “I have one too. A brother and a father.” “You look kinda like me.” “You look kinda like me. 'Cept you got a cut and bruises all over you and I ain't.” Rosie nodded. “Yeah, I had to do some bad things in here. You stay here much longer and you'll get lots like me. Everyone here...everyone gets hurt in the end,” she said. Tears welled up in her eyes at the words. The end. It was so near. Everyone dead or dying. Rosie didn't know if Union and Veridee were still alive—so many cannons had taken lives that it wouldn't surprise her if they were. I don't want them to die. I want us all to live. Living didn't work like that, though. They'd die and she'd live. It'd have to be that way. I gotta. For Brock. For me. For Father and Momma. We're all gonna live on. She reached up and clasped her locket. It didn't stop the tears but it solidified her resolve, keeping her steady against the pull of emotions that threatened to knock her into the ground and leave her there. “You know what's scary?” Rosie asked, sitting down in the sand. The other Rosie sat too. “It's scary knowing I gotta kill you. It's scary knowing I gotta kill anyone. I don't wanna do this. I think I have to. I don't want to. You know?” She nodded. “I don't normally talk this much. I feel like I can trust you.” She nodded again and ran her hands in the sand. Despite the water being a few feet away, this portion of it was entirely dry. It didn't make sense to Rosie, but then again, nothing really made sense. Rosie Two seemed not to mind the confusing water. “I feel like I can trust you too,” she said, her voice low and whimsical. “It's funny,” she said with a frown, “you have the same necklace as me too.” “That is funny. I'm me Rosie, and you're you Rosie, and we both look 'like...and got the same necklace...” Her mind spun wheels that burnt and crashed yet Rosie heard it—the whisper of a thought that came so suddenly and diffused her mind into a million fractured crystals. The heavens aligned and it appeared that something made sense without anyone else. Rosie smiled, bigger and bigger, her teeth showing as she exclaimed, “You're me!”