'holding on to thin air'~ [shrimp!]

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∂αмєη
Capitol Resident

1,550 POSTS
last seen Feb 25, 2016 23:49:47 GMT -5

'holding on to thin air'~ [shrimp!] Jul 10, 2011 17:50:07 GMT -5

Post by ∂αмєη on Jul 10, 2011 17:50:07 GMT -5

T A N N E R x A L D O U S x R O W G A N

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I suppose that it made it worse that I could remember each and every second of that dreaded day. The morning, when I ate each strip of bacon and my small egg whilst my eyes never left the TV in the square, which I could see from my spot in my home. When my brother, Trace, had left the violent and bloody battle at the Cornucopia to find a safer place with his ally. When she took down the others in their way. And I remembered every single part of his death, from the kiss to his final death. Every last bit of it played back in my mind during each night. Every part of that day could make me cry. That's why I often cried myself to sleep and woke up to not being able to cry anymore. That's why I miss him so much.

My brother Trace had been everything to me. I can't really explain it. He was the only one who cared that I was there. He was the only one who cared about how I felt and what I was up to and what I would be doing that day. My parents cherished my sister like she was the only person on earth. They barely cared for Trace too. It was us two against the world. We were the three amigos, the three musketeers and the three blind mice, except one of us was gone. But all I ever needed and all I ever wanted was Trace. But he was taken away from me. And I took myself away from my parents. I would've ran away if I had somewhere else to go. But no, I was all alone in this world now that he was gone. All because a psycho girl took his life. He trusted her and she backstabbed him. I was glad to see her death moments later. I felt happy when I saw her blood splattered across the ground. It was a feeling that didn't even come close to comparing to my depression.

My parents told me to forget about it. They said that it would be safer for them and for myself if I just forgot about what had happened. It was hard to forget that the Capitol had violently pulled my brother away from me without even caring about it. They couldn't care really. Another twenty three kids would die. If they cared about anybody they'd have to care about everybody. That would be a disaster for the Capitol. It'd be against their wishes. They wouldn't get what they truly want. And that can't happen. Last time they were told they couldn't win, the Games were made. Who knows what they'd come up with if we tried again. I don't want to think about the possibilities. Every time I think about the Games, the thought of Trace becomes that much stronger. And then the depression returns. I can't let that happen.

The scorching sun was causing sweat to drip down my skin. There was no sign of wind so I had no help with fighting off the horrible heat. I knew the way to town fairly well and if I got lost, the obvious dark rock path was helpful. I took this path twice a week though. Those were the days when my classes were at the Town Hall. I'd have to walk to town and then walk back. It took a while since my home was near the edge of the District but I liked the calm walk. Nobody ever bothered me because it was rarely traveled. Only the ones who lived as far as I did had to use it. And nothing stood out on the path. It was fairly bland, especially since they built the large oil rigs. You could only look at giant machinery and the black liquid for so long before you felt disgusted.

But I guess I didn't know the path all too well. I was back in the fields of what used to be a pasture. They had yet to set up the oil rigs here obviously. The grass swayed quietly, just enough that it seemed tranquil and calm. And there was one horse. One horse that was near a cute little home. And I couldn't help but recognize the beautiful creature. Cain. Thoughts of being with Trace as he groomed the magnificent beast or when he taught me how to ride him filled my mind. I couldn't ignore these thoughts. But why was the horse here? I was told that he had been killed after Trace was reaped. The whole family was told that by some frail man who would not let go of a letter. But he gave us stuff, saying that Trace wanted us to have it. Does that mean Cain was given to somebody too?

I carefully step closer to the horse, lifting my hand towards his mouth so he could smell me. And that's when it seemed to click for him that he knew me because he lightly placed his head in my hand. I smiled, remembering the great times that I had had with this horse. The great times Trace had. Why did he have to be taken...none of us deserved that. But in this moment, things actually seemed alright. Things seemed like they could be good. And it felt good to be alone with one of the last things that Trace had left to the world.

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Last Edit: Jul 21, 2011 13:36:39 GMT -5 by ∂αмєη

all I need's a whisper in a world that only shouts

shrimp
Retired Staff

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'holding on to thin air'~ [shrimp!] Jul 22, 2011 13:23:09 GMT -5

Post by shrimp on Jul 22, 2011 13:23:09 GMT -5

If you could only see the beast you've made of me
I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

Trace Rowgan appeared less frequently in her thoughts now - there was no time for reminiscing on ill-fated romances, now that Storm was gone. Money still had to be made, Europa still had to be watched [albeit less frequently now], and schoolwork still had to be impeccably perfect. And she thrived in this sort of situation - putting her thoughts away on a dusty shelf for the sake of others, left there to rot along with all of the other scarring moments and emotions that just loved to boil up inside of her until she burst in a similar fashion to the volcano during Storm's games, the one that had burnt the legs off of victor-to-be Heron Kimberling. Sundra was stronger than she looked, and even though this maneuver was terrible in the long run, all that mattered was the here-and-now. Worrying about the past wouldn't help provide nourishment or wages or get her a job that was slightly better than working as a grunt in the oil refinery plant. In fact, it would probably do the opposite, so Sundra always made it a point to stop worrying about the future, just so she'd be able to carry on in this fractured state.

Cracks would always appear in the foundation however, and Sundra found herself fretting about insignificant trifles late at night, when the sleep wouldn't come and the memories had time to wander back into her mind, to taunt her, tease her and torture her into an emotional wreck. Images of their deaths combined haunted her dreams, Trace's face and Storm's face and the Peacekeeper that Clove Goodshot had murdered in cold blood - all of them revolved around her and wouldn't leave, leaving her stuck in a fitful, shallow sleep for hours and hours, waking up feeling more tired than before, which was a difficult feat. But of course, that was nothing that a cup of coffee couldn't fix, as long as the pot was full and the stock of beans were plentiful. If not, then she'd just have to work even harder than normal, just to stay awake. A day that began with going to school at 7 and leaving work at 9 exhausted her to the point that she could barely keep track of where she was going anymore, forget about taking care of the animals that her parents hadn't had time to care for that day.

They refused to take care of Cain, saying that he was her responsibility, that they didn't have enough materials to take care of another animal, reprimanding her for accepting the horse just because of the will. But Cain was such a good horse - he hadn't deserved to die and shipped to 9 to be made into glue, like so many fates of the horses once the residents of 5 could no longer care for them. So she had no regrets. Besides, it linked her to the boy who had cared about her, even a little bit. Those days were dark in her life, and he helped her get out of it before his eventual reaping and death led her to plummet even further down. Perhaps that was why Storm never approved of him - in his eyes, he was just some punk who had broken his sister's heart. But she did care for him, even if it was only for a short while; those few months were the best that she had ever felt for a while. Clove's actions and aftermath had still lingered in her mind, yet it had slowly faded when he was there. For once, she was able to rely on someone, and she had truly liked that, for she was able to relieve her stress, her worries, all of that. When he was gone, Storm was there, but it wasn't the same. She couldn't tell him everything - what if he went and told their parents? Not everything she needed to talk about was for familial ears.

However, at this point, she had no friends. All of them had migrated to District 10 - she received letters every so often [illegal no doubt - she made a note to figure out how to send one back but hadn't quite figured it out yet], magically appearing on her doorstep. It talked about how successful they had become, and they wished that she could join them. But she wouldn't be able to. The family would never leave the place where their ancestors had once lived, where their only son was buried. And now neither would she. Instead, she'd be trapped in a rancid-smelling district, reminiscing of the past, where the air was clear and the animals were healthy and there were murmurs of happiness rather than depression. There was barely even any place for Cain to graze [the cows as well, but they had been sold off long ago, shipped off to District 10]. She had brought him to one of the more isolated areas of the District, where the appearance of oil rigs was imminent - any day now, they'd be placed here, and the only grass to eat would be on their lawn. But for now, this was her sanctuary. Climbing off of the saddle, she had let Cain roam around, following at a far distance.

She hadn't noticed the boy until he was holding his hand out to Cain. And the resemblance was uncanny - quickly, she walked closer and closer, thinking that it was simply a ghost, something in her head. Her pedantic mind could barely comprehend it. Was Trace back from the dead? Humans couldn't come back to life - it was impossible. But there were differences, ones that could only be noticeable as she neared him. The slight sadness as the horse put his head into his palm, the aura of kindness that was slightly less noticeable with Trace [he was a bit arrogant at times, and once in a while Sundra wondered if he was just acting to make her feel better, or to charm her]. And there was a slight tint of oil on his skin, signifying that he had not risen from underground, rather he had been working at the plant. This was his brother. He had mentioned him before, and he had been in his will, but she had never thought much about him. He looked so much like Trace.

Quietly she grabbed onto the horse's reins. She hadn't wanted to talk to the Rowgan family - quite the opposite actually. She hadn't known what they would think of her, the girl who Trace had given his beloved horse to. With her luck, Cain probably would have been one of the family's beloved pets, and they would have glowered at her with hate for taking him away. Or they would have stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say to the girl who Trace had spent a portion of his last free days with, before he got shipped off to the Detention Center that is. No, she wanted to do anything but talk to the Rowgans, but here was the boy, standing here, recognizing Cain, and she knew that there was no chance of escaping unnoticed. She took a quiet breath.

"You're Tanner, right?"
"I'm Sundra."