Seeing a young man climb a tree of needles only to fall to his death hurt.  Seeing a young woman put herself out of her misery after discovering what happened to her brother hurt too.  Seeing another young man taste freedom before getting impaled also hurt.  But seeing a literal child two years younger than the next youngest in the class get a fate worse than death... 

Everyone is speechless.  Even Iris, whose twisted sense of balance should have given him satisfaction from seeing such a thing.  He looks... appalled.  I myself feel like I'm about to throw up, but then again, even if I wanted to, I haven't eaten anything in twenty-four hours.  I don't know if I'll ever be able to eat again after seeing Flauros suffer like that.  And the way his expression never changed even though he was clearly in pain... I don't know what that kid's gone through, but his strength is beyond admirable.  He looked death in the eye and didn't even flinch.

"What a pathetic waste of carbon!" Monokumace snickers as they return to the courtroom, removing their cultist robes. "I'm glad that weirdo's out of the way."

"YOU SICK SON OF A B*TCH!" Will shouts angrily, his eyes glittering with angry tears. "YOU CAN'T SAY THAT!"

"But he was guilty, and as we all know, those that cause imbalance need to be dealt with.  Right, Iris?" the headmaster turns towards the flautist.

Iris is starting blankly into space, his face pale and his eyes wide. "I..."

Will has a hand over his eyes, but that just makes it even more obvious he's crying.  Evangeline is sniffling and wiping her nose on her skirt.  Dana's hands are shaking.  Caim's hands cover his mouth as he sobs loudly.  And Zeben... he looks like he wants to say something but can't.

Monokumace is laughing. "My goodness, the despair on your faces!  It's almost too much to bear!  Chill out, it was just a worthless kid who you'll forget about in due time.  Now go have fun around the island and get yourselves something to eat, you've earned it!"

Will is silent for a long moment, then suddenly throws his bag down and lunges towards Monokumace's throne.  Quickly, Zeben moves and grabs his arms, struggling to keep the angry videographer from lashing out at the headmaster.

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" the brunette is screaming at Monokumace, the furious tears dripping down his face like broken raindrops.

"You can't do that, Will, they'll kill you.  Please, calm down," Zeben is begging him at the same time.

I don't know what to do.  A part of me wants to hurt Monokumace too- a very small part of me, but it's still there.  But even more so, I just want to curl up in a ball somewhere and stay like that for a long, long time.  I drag myself back over to the elevator, Will and Zeben's voices blocked out as the doors shut behind me.  Everything is wrong.  For the first time, I start to really understand what Iris feels like when something is so clearly not the way it should be.  Maybe his views really aren't all that far off from the norm after all.

I slowly trudge back to my cottage, where I just collapse on the floor from exhaustion.  I blink, and it's dark outside.  Huh.  My legs tremble with exhaustion as I slowly get to my feet, then stand there as I try to figure out what I should do.  I turn on the lamp at my desk and look at the wall, where I've stuck a collection of poems I've been working on.  None of them are that good, but in my tired eyes they look much better.  I squint as I try to reread some of them.

Th' gamble and th' all in

In th' roulette game o' life

Eyes may watch for a cheater

But fail to see th' knife

O' doctor, so glad thou came

To see in blood thy very own name

Dangling by a thread

Or grasping the needles that drain

The simple will to continue

All that pushes through the pain

And yet a king will always fall

If he was ever even king at all

That one... needs work.  I may be exhausted, but my brains are working well enough to know when to cringe at poor writing.  

Granite white in thy smile

Dazzling amber in thy eyes

Ruby red in thy blood

As death choked thou with his lies

Silver metal of owl's wings

The blue jay, dead, again shan't sing

I let out a deep yawn, my eyelids drooping.  I think if I read anymore, I'm just gonna pass out on the spot.  So I stumble over to my bed and flop onto it.  I have no energy to shower or anything, and I probably would've drowned if I tried, seeing as my eyes fall shut the second my head hits the pillow.

I don't dream a lot.  When I do, it's almost always weird as hell and trying to even guess the meanings is like reliving pre-calculus.  Now that was a nightmare.  But I dream tonight.  I dream about a field with rolling green grass, beneath ocean blue skies.  This isn't Jabberwock.  I walk around for a minute, taking in the fresh air until I find a large, twisting tree jutting out of the clearing.  A yew tree, if I'm not mistaken.  As I get closer, a nagging feeling nips at my stomach.  Like there's something just off enough that it can bother me, but not off enough that I know exactly what it is.  But as I plant myself by the trunk, I begin to understand why.

Eight large stones sit next to the tree.  Three of them are cracked and broken, attacked by nature.  Five of them are stained with mud.  And at the very far right of the line, there's a shallow mark in the ground where a ninth rock must have sat, but there's no evidence to prove it ever existed.  The nagging feeling increases tenfold as I realize what I'm looking at.  The peaceful clearing doesn't feel so peaceful anymore.  I turn and run towards the edge of the clearing, but as I'm about to arrive at the tree line, I stop dead in my tracks.  Eight trees, different than the rest of the ones in the forest.  Five with crimson red leaves, three stumps that were once towering trees, and a hole in the ground where a ninth once embedded its roots.  A chill runs down my spine as I turn to run in the opposite direction and stop.

Eight bodies.  Five murdered by human hand.  Three gruesomely ravaged by the consequences of their actions.  And nothing else.  

I wake up in a cold sweat.  I swing my head up, looking around my cottage wildly.  No rocks, no trees, and no bodies.  I take a minute to try steadying my heartbeat, then check the time.  Two-fifty in the morning.  No bribe can get me to go back to sleep, though.  I can't risk going through that again.  

I slide out of bed and go back over to my desk, where I forgot to shut off my lamp before I passed out.  Random crumpled papers are still scattered across the surface, and there's still that smudge on the wood where I'd accidentally gotten ink and tried to rub it out only to make it worse.  I let out a deep sigh, then grab my pen, let the sharp click echo around my cottage as the tip gets ejected, and then grab a blank sheet of paper and begin to write.

Ashes and ashes and dust to dust

Your true grim reaper was Time

You gave until you lost everything

So that I should continue this Rhyme

I hope, dear Finch, you've flown away

And escaped your fate another day

It's not great, but it's enough until I re-discover it in a few hours, burn it out of disgust, and rewrite it five more times.  It sure isn't easy being a poet, much less being the Ultimate Poet.  I constantly find myself wishing I'd tried for a different talent, like writing stories or something.  And yet out of all the things that came most naturally to me, it's the most controversial form of literature.  I mean, who even reads poetry willingly these days?   Besides people who really need to get a better life.  Sorry, but it's true.  

I leave my cottage and try to fight my way through the darkness towards the library on the second island.  It wouldn't hurt to get some air and grab a few books for my cottage.  As I manage to cross the bridge across to the second island without plummeting into the ocean below, much to my relief, I cautiously traverse my way over to the library and turn the lights on.

"Well howdy-ho," Monokumace says, casually sitting in a chair facing the door.

I nearly jump a mile in the air, and they laugh. "I gotcha real good, huh?"

"That's not funny," I mumble.

The headmaster waves a hand dismissively. "Nah, sure it is, kid.  Couldn't sleep?  Well, don't worry, I've got a stack of books already prepared for you since day one.  I mean, I've been adjusting it a bit, but I think you'll appreciate it."

They slide out of their chair and gesture for me to follow them over to a table in the back, where there's already a stack of books waiting.

"You've got a nice variety in there, not just the gore and murder you'd expect from me," they explain.

I take a look at the book on top.  "It's a survival guide for the North American wilderness."

"Yup."

I remove it to look at the one beneath that. "This is Sun Tzu's The Art of War."

"That it is.  Your point?"

I look at the one beneath of that as well. "Alchemy of Goetia?  What kind of book is that?"

"One I think you'll like."

I start to realize what's happening when the next book is an encyclopedia of rocks and minerals.  Monokumace knows that I've picked up on it, because they say, "A great choice of books, isn't it?  I'm sure you'll get a kick out of them all.  Might not be right up your alley, but it gives you a sample of a few other ones."

"You're terrible," I say through gritted teeth as I take a step away from the table.

Monokumace shrugs. "Fine, fine.  Yeesh.  I have another set of backup books for you, anyways.  Watching you all sleep gets boring, so I've made custom book sets for everyone in my spare time to cure my unyielding boredom."

They jump across to another table, where they point at a stack. "There.  You've got the collection of Emily Dickinson, collection of Edgar Allen Poe, Dante's Inferno, Homer's The Odyssey, Macbeth, yada-yada."

At this point, I don't care that I've already read all of those several times.  I mean, the trauma of being forced to play Macbeth in the freshman-year play at my old school- my English teacher wanted me to "show off my love for poetry" or whatever- has ensured that I have nearly every soliloquy from that memorized.  And as for Dante, my name is literally Azrael- of course I'm into afterlife sh*t and stuff.  

"You look like you're reminiscin' on some memories," Monokumace remarks. "Would ya wanna recite me somethin'?"

"No, definitely not to you," I respond immediately. "Never in a million years to you."

"Well, I'll see ya in a million and one, then!" They then disappear in the blink of an eye.

I stare at where they just were for a minute before collecting the stack of books and leaving the library.  As I walk, I look up and realize that there aren't any stars out tonight.  You'd think on a remote island, they'd be pretty visible.  Stupid clouds.  I return to my room, set the stack of books on my nightstand, and open up Homer's The Odyssey.  Because what better to do when stuck in a killing game than read about a dude who's been through some serious sh*t?  I mean, it's not like it makes him special anymore.  Anyone can be Odysseus if they suffer enough.  I let out a deep sigh, my head dropping as I go to read the first line, but my eyes are too blurry and I just...

***

(2024 words, no wayyyyy)

And did I make up four poems on the fly just for this?  yes.  does this prove I learned nothing from the four years of poetry I've taken? yup.