#mod penguin

“Hey- Hey, look at me.”

Ája looks at you. Despite your body’s infuriating refusal to move, there’s no sign of anger in her eyes. Somehow, you gather up the strength and look at her, tears flowing from your own.

“It’s okay.” She places her hands on your shoulders and gives you a reassuring squeeze. It’s a nice gesture, but it does little to help. “You’re okay, Nina. You’ll make it through this.” She says, and has the nerve to smile at you. She smiles at you like she’s not on death row; Like either of you will be okay after this. One of you will be dead, and as for the other - you’d rather avoid that outcome.

You wish she accepted your offer yesterday. That she let you take on her stupid ‘sacrificial lamb’ role. She has a better chance of winning this thing than half the people in it. You know she’d hate it, being in the spotlight the rest of her life, but she’d be alive. Isn’t that enough? Shouldn’t she want that?

You let out a pitiful sound, like a child. Distantly in your mind, you’re thankful for your foresight to throw your microphone off the stage before you started crying. You rub your snot and tears away with your sleeve. Your heart’s never beaten this fast.

Then, you feel warmth. Ája has her arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close. Your face is buried in her shirt. You do the same to her, clinging onto her like your life depends on it. Maybe it does. Maybe, when the results are called, they won’t know which of you is which; they’ll see you as one person and kill you both. That thought calms your mind a bit.

It surprises you to hear her heart beating as fast as yours. You were expecting to find it still, with how she’s accepted death already. “Come on, Nina,” She says. Instead of responding, you pathetically sob into her shirt. “You have to. Please.”

You stay like that for a moment. Despite the dire circumstances, you can’t help but wish it’d never end. Even if you had to spend the rest of your life like this, fear cursing through your veins, a gun pointed to the back of your head, you wouldn’t care. You’d be with your best friend. That’d be enough.

But everything has an end. Ája moves her hands to your face, cupping it, and holds it in front of hers. To a stranger, somebody in the audience, she probably looks perfectly calm. Only you know her well enough to notice her distress. Her tensed muscles, the twitch of her lips, her eyebrows being the slightest bit furrowed; only you heard her heartbeat. You continue clinging onto her.

“You have to do this. Please,” she pleads, speaking hurriedly, “Not the whole song. Do a verse. A single word, but please, you have to sing. They’ll kill us both if neither sings,” she says, like it’s a bad thing, “They have to hear you sing.”

You stare at her, in place of a response. You couldn’t sing if you tried. Even if you wanted to, you threw your microphone away. It’s over. You’ll both die, and you’ll be happy.

Ája notices your distress (How could she not? Her shirt is stained with your snot and tears). “Follow my breathing, okay? We still have time until the song ends. Don’t look at the timer, look at me. We’re going to do one of our breathing exercises. Don’t think about anything else, just look at me, and focus on your breathing. Okay?”

“Breathe in. One, two, there, four. Hold. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Breathe out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. You’re doing so good." "

Again. Breathe in. One, two, there, four. Hold. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Breathe out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. One last time, okay?"

“Breathe in. One, two, there, four. Hold. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Breathe out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”

“You did so good, Nina. you feel better now, yeah?”

You nod. You’re not crying as much anymore, and though your breathing’s far from steady, it's steadier, and that’s what matters. To Ája, at least. You can’t help but hate her for calming you down like this. 

Her hands come down from your face. She clasps your hands instead. “I don’t know what’s going to happen after the round ends, but I promise you that you’ll be okay. This will just be a bad memory one day. You’ll be able to think of all the good times we had, eventually, without thinking of this one bad thing. I love you. Please, Nina. I believe in you.”

You don’t want to sing, but Ája, who’s cared for you since you were little, who’s shown you more love than you’ll ever deserve, who’s too good for this world, wants you to. You want to be a little kid again, before she told you she’d die for you – before you started grieving her, even when she was right next to you, breathing.

But she’s speaking so calmly. There’s no hint of worry in her face anymore. She believes in you, trusts you to do this. Why? Why do you have to be the one to kill her? Would you feel better were it somebody else in your place? Would Ája fight then, or would she never sing, no matter her opponent?

She hands you her microphone, and before you can think better of it, you take it. She smiles at you. You know she means it this time.

You muster up all your strength and give it your all. You don’t spend any of it on standing up, you sing on the floor. You sing with all your grief and love and hatred. How dare Ája put you through this? Does she not love you? Do you not love her, to be thinking these vile things?

Your voice is strained by the time you sing the first line, but there’s still another one left. One line would be more than enough. Ája would get it, she’d hug you, and she’d forgive you for singing so little. So you sing the last one.

The last you see of Ája is her smile. Then, she stands up, only to sit down behind you. She wraps her arms around you. As the instrumental plays out, she speaks. You’re of no doubt she’s staining your dress with tears, despite her calm voice. “Thank you,” is all she says. You know she’d like to say more, because you would, too, but you’re all out of words. You can’t even bring yourself to cry. You curl in on yourself, ashamed.