kimberly splashes water at akilah   &   you watch with a slight grin tugging at the corner of your lips.   your eyes,   however,   tell a different story.   they're round,   big   &   sad:   an ocean of blue that would suck anybody in if they stared long enough...   but if you knew somebody was looking,   you'd shift your gaze immediately,   snapping them back to the bubbly nature that everyone has seemed to expect from you   (   that optimism is fading,   it's hard to stomach   /   you remember that kimberly only joined the soccer team because you wanted to,   so that means she's here because of you   )-

you sit still,   legs curled up into a ball as you stare out to the display of girlhood that dances in front of you.   it would be beautiful if it weren't so tragic.

your instinct is to look down:   vision caught between your own reflection in the gently moving water   &   the khaki colored shorts that sit like on you like clothes would a boy.   your father bought them for you,   you packed them to please him when you made it to nationals-   to let him know that his love does not go unnoticed,   little acts of kindness   (   so sits in your suitcase the raggedy   &   slowly tearing teddy bear your mother bought you when you were a child,   it's of less importance but always survived as a reminder to the gentleness that you were owed   /   the gentleness violently torn from your hands by his own desperation   ).

except it can:   death is something uncommon to you,   even if you play it off as such.   people didn't like you,   your family at least   (   hunting midwestern trash who didn't fit in with the rest of wiskayok   ),   &   if it were just that,   if it were just the deer antlers that hang in your home,   or the hide that decorates your pillows   &   house floor,   that would be fine.   that is fine isn't it?   it's how you grew up in the midwest,   that judgement doesn't bother you much...

but the judgement spills over into the paranoia that seeps from your ears   &   sits behind closed eyes   (   you've covered your tracks,   your dad covered your tracks for you...   you were just a lure,   how bad can that be?   )-   yes,   it can get deader than this:   you could be a girl under the butcher knife that is your fathers love,   or if @warpainte wanted to be realistic,   you could be coach,   or the stewardess,   you could be actually dead.

" god you're fucking stubborn. "   it's said beneath your breath,   mixed in somewhere with a sigh as you hoist the rifle onto your shoulders   (   somewhere inside,   travis is sitting...   sleeping...   moping...   you're not sure   ).   for a moment you stand with your back to @warpainte,   in hopes that maybe she'll leave you alone,   let you wander the woods without any company:   but you know better.   in fact,   you've known better for a while.   you   &   her were far from similar in many regards,   while way too similar in others.   case   &   point,   the stubbornness that got you tasked with being the hunter for the group is the same stubbornness that has her standing behind you   (   you can picture something in your head,   her arms crossed,   her head tilted,   a picture of annoyance   ).

" then why are you saying something now? "   your tone quickly becomes so pointed,   you hardly recognize it.   it's difficult out here not to play the what if game   &   your line of questioning goes so far back to the day you were born   /   what if one single change would've kept you out of this hell,   what if things were different   &   you were still captain?   would you still be looking up at @warpainte with the frustration that you're offering her?