In Love I've Always Been a Mercenary {Avon//Ink}

Oh yes I understand
That every life must end, uh huh.
As we sit here alone,
I know someday we must go, uh huh.

"Today's the day, Ink."

Forgive me. Forgive me for the crimson staining my hands, dangling in my trembling locks, filling my mouth and shining bright in my eyes. Forgive me for the way I fall, one hand on my heart as if I still have one and the other uncurling stiff fingers to drop my weapon. Forgive me for the way I don't look at her when I stumble back and then begin my final decent to eternal sleep, but rather watch the bracelet as it shines quick and glittering and bright despite the fact that hardly any light manages to escape into this tower. Forgive me for the way I cower away from the sticky creatures of death that approach when my curled spine hits the unforgiving stone, eyes still wide and mouth parted in a silent cry.

Death. It's a funny word, quick on the tongue for all who say it just want to get it over with. Bitter and hot, it seems to consume the mouth, spilling over lips in a way that is most unpleasant. I have never liked the word, and I doubt many do- it's something that people find uncomfortable and unyielding, always there but constantly ignored by all who face it. It is haunting and cold and always existing, impossible to escape or avoid though I'm sure the Capitol scientists have tried. I've heard immortality is nothing to long for, but no one really believes that. We're all so afraid of death that we'll pay any price to avoid it. Cowards. Death is something dark and something light and something burning and something icy to the touch. Death is not my word, though. No, death reminds me of walking down a long path only to find it has ended rather suddenly, and I don't think it's like that.

Death is like a sunset. The sun made it's long, beautiful climb up to the top of the sky where it may spread its wings and fly free but is too weary to do so. It then sinks back to the horizon it ran for, heavy and darkening in color so that it looks like a dying ember. And then, in its final moments, it does open its wings wide, all different hues. Shades of violet and indigo and scarlet smear across the sky, the sun's own pallet because it is about to fade and it can paint the sky if it wants to. It's too late, though. The sun's time is up- it can't fly. And so it falls back past the very thing from which it was born, disappearing completely and leaving the world that much colder. And yet... it's still there, humming quietly just out of sight, presence obvious in the still warm stones and the life of the trees and the scurrying creatures guiding their little ones back into nests to sleep through the moonrise. The sun didn't just vanish- it was too great a being to fall into complete nothingness. And, if one were to wait long enough, they would see it rise again.

Death is like a flower's final day of summer. So beautiful, blooming all that time, with golden petals spread out to worship the world above it. And now, it opens just as far as it can despite curling threads of leaves beneath it, browning grass all around, icy wind whispering through its very being. It won't work, though. The flower will wilt and die, bending down into itself before fading completely into the earth as winter sets throughout the valley it called its home, leaving the world that much darker. But... it's still there. Underneath the sheets of snow and howling winds and midnight, that flower still exists, seeping down into the soil and spreading it's few remains. And, if one were to wait long enough, they would see it bloom again.

Death is like the final raindrop of a beautiful crystal shower. When the angels have no more tears to cry and only one remains, glittering as the sun burns through the clouds that gave birth to it. And it falls for what seems like forever, and in that last moment before it hits pavement or earth or leaf or flesh I swear to you it gives off a rainbow more brilliant than any one that would arc across the sky. That beautiful little drop, filled with liquid colors and swirling happiness, shines before it bursts apart on its final surface or sinks into the ground. But that raindrop is not gone- it spreads out into the air so that it tastes of springtime and fresh promises, adding life to what was once so dry and hopeless. And, if one were to wait long enough, they would see that raindrop fall again.

Oh I'm a lucky man,
To count on both hands the ones I love.
Some folks just have one,
Yeah others, they got none, uh huh.

Death is not permanent. It is not always and forever- nothing is. People run from it as if it is everywhere, as if it can catch them in a trap of woven flames and icy thorns. But death does not catch us- we catch it between our hands, holding it as if it is a treasure. Because honestly, nothing can make us pass those ruins unless we truly want to. I suppose it must be hard to understand, even for this girl who has probably seen so much death. But, when given the option of dealing with all this pain for a long time or simply falling into comfortably nothing, the nothing seems so much better. When the hands of whatever lies beyond close around my heart and still it, I will not be afraid. I will leave with them easily, laughter still sweet on my lips and in my eyes because the pain will have left me so completely. And maybe, someday, I will rise bloom fall live again.

But death is not here yet because I'm not ready for it to take me. There are still things that need to be said, gifts to be given. I will not leave the threads of life hanging in my wake- they must be properly severed and woven so that the stitching of my life cannot be unraveled. Should I give these final moments to weep and swim in self pity, then I will find my life behind me fading into nothingness and the memories of me lost so that by the time I am reborn all traces of my previous self will have vanished completely. And besides that, I will leave these empty pockets in the hearts of my loved ones when really they should be overflowing with warmth and with my presence, for that is where I will make my home when every other part of me is gone.

They won't understand. None of them will. They'll think of this all as something to be sad at- just one more thing to hate the Capitol for. I don't want that; there's enough hate in this world already. And yet, I know there is nothing I can do to stop it. I can only attempt to heal the pain that hides beneath that hate and hope that it is enough to keep them content until they join me up where I can drink in starlight and bury myself in the clouds. But what can I say in my dying moments without them thinking that I am delirious? Should I spill the contents of my heart and soul, or try to tell them I'll be just fine and that I love them? Or perhaps I should whisper a unique goodbye to each one, something painful but possible because even though in eternity years are crushed into mere moments any amount of time without them feels painful.

And how will they feel after I have gone and finished? Agony will slowly die down into an ache that eventually fades into a small hurt whenever they think of me, of faded smiles and fuzzy faces and laughter that resonates only faintly in their memories. I know they will hold on to those remembrances for as long as possible, using them to kindle their pained hearts, but like old photographs kept in a dusty drawer, they will fade and disintegrate, pulled out less and less until they are all but forgotten. Minds cannot stay young forever, and I do not fancy myself as important as to stay with them until their final breaths. They will find new ones to love- Imi will find a boyfriend who can recognize her beauty and radiance, my parents will find comfort in each other, and Luke... well, there must be someone out there for him, too, but I suppose only he can decide whether he wants to continue being fickle or finally have a companion in life.

And what of my schoolmates? Oh, they will say sorrowfully. Oh, we were friends with that girl. And people will pity them and congratulate them because I made it so far. But it's all lies- they were never friends with me. I'm sure that each and every one of them hated me with a burning passion. What do they care that I died? I mean, sure, we had that act of a friendship, but there was nothing beneath it. Everything was cold and quietly, firmly fake. Our laughs weren't warm, our smiles never shared, our inside jokes based on pure stupidity and not real experiences. They never loved me. Never even cared for me. No, no one back at school will weep for me save my sister.

Practiced are my sins,
Never gonna let me win, uh huh.
Under everything,
Just another human being, uh huh.

Laying on the ground, shoulders back, head tilted upward, I breathe. Who would have known how sweet air could taste? Soft and filling me with the life I no longer need, every breath is one that is savored. My fingers curl in and then back out delicately, and I focus on every click of every joint and marvel at how perfect it all is. All I have to do is think it and then I am moving. How useless it will all be, though, when everything falls still for eternity. Such a waste. And my body was so new, so ready to be weathered down and broken. I suppose now, it will remain forever ready to continue working. It is drenched in liquid life from head to toe, but I know they'll clean me and dress me up and make me look pretty before hiding me from their sight forever.

Slowly, painfully, I roll my head so that I am facing the girl. The one with the brother. Did he sing her lullabies and point out her dreams high in the heavens and tell her she was a fairy princess? Does she have a sister? One who was always there right by her side through everything and awakened her when the nightmares became particularly bad? “Don't let them forget you. Live life shining like the sun and go down screaming your head off, okay?” A smile tugs up the corners of my lips, my hazel disks melting and becoming open for her to journey right into my core to see the basic things that make up Inkling Marling and what has broken her these past few years. “And... be glad you still have a brother. Mine left me when I was a little girl.”

And that's when it hits me, like a lightning bolt on a sunny day. I stare at her for a moment. Does she deserve my secrets? My life? ...yes. Yes, she deserves it because she's just like me. It probably doesn't matter, though. She's so insane she probably won't hear a word I say. “My name is Inkling Marling, but almost everyone calls me Ink. I'm from District Five. When I was a little girl, life seemed so perfect. I lived on a beautiful farm with these really nice animals and I had my twin sister, Imi, and my older brother, Luke, to keep me company. We were best friends, the three of us. Imi and I slept in the same room because we both have nightmares, and she's the only one that can wake me from them truly. They tried to separate us once. Imi had a nightmare and I ran to her room before they could stop me. They put us back in the same room after that.

“Luke was the best older brother a girl could have. He has this amazing voice and is a great guitar player, and he would play us lullabies and sing for us. He tried to teach me, once. Up on a beautiful hill. Eventually I gave up and just listened to him play. It was nice. We had this meadow, a place where we all could play together. There were roses and daises and Queen Anne's lace, which was my favorite flower. Imi would make me crowns made out of it and Luke would tell me I looked just like a princess. I loved them both so, so much.

“So that's why when he ran away I was so heartbroken. He just left one night. No warning. No goodbye. Just two charm bracelets, as if that could fix everything. As if silver hearts and chains could fill the horrible nothing he left behind in our hearts. I watched for him. I waited. Every day and every night I told myself that he'd be coming home. And then, when he didn't, I cried. I sobbed into my pillow so Imi couldn't hear me. I just wanted my brother back. But he didn't come, and I was alone after that.

“I found him not too long ago. He didn't want to be found, though. He had done some bad things, got involved with the wrong people. Imi hit him. I just... I cried. A lot. I still loved him, you see. I loved him even though he had torn my life apart. A little later, Imi landed herself in the Detention Center for attacking him. I haven't seen her since. And then, the day of the Reaping came. They called my name. He ran up onto the stage and sang to me, trying to comfort me. He couldn't fix things, though. He couldn't take me home and tuck me into bed and sing to me until I fell asleep. That just wasn't how things worked. But he came to say goodbye to me. He promised me he wouldn't forget. He said he loved me. And you know what?” I smile up at the ceiling, as calm as if I'm talking to her just before I'm going to fall asleep rather than just before my death. “That made it all worth it. Every minute of the pain. Because all that time, I had thought he had left because he didn't care. Because he didn't love me anymore. But he did. He does. And that makes it all okay, you know?”

Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see
No one knows this more than me

She doesn't. No one does, except maybe Imi. Has she been released from the Detention Center yet? Or is she sitting in her cell now, watching me die slowly without any comforting family behind her? I shake these thoughts out of my head. No pitying. Not now. Instead, I reach over to my wrist, where the charm bracelet glimmers weakly. My fingers tremble of exhaustion as they unclasp it and the warm metal slips away from me skin, jingling as it hits the cold floor of this place. I carefully bring it up to m face, pressing my lips into the icy silver heart dangling from one of the links. Capturing my love in the single charm. “Mom? Dad? I'm gonna be okay. I promise.”

And yet, the last promise I made my parents was broken. I told her I wouldn't leave and yet I did, cursed the day my name echoed through the square. Could that really just have been a week and a half ago? It feels like eternity. Eternity since I was innocent, since I was free. Again, I press my lips against the heart. “Imi? Burn Melody. Burn my pillow and my blankets and my sheets and my clothes. Don't let them lock up my room. Tell my friends I hate them all. And... and I love you. So, so much. I'm really sorry I left you behind. We'll see each other again soon, though, okay?”

Laughter. Holding hands. Making a pact, best friends forever. And we were. Even on those days when we hardly spoke a word to each other, we were the closest we had. I knew her and she knew me and Luke leaving never changed that.

I drift into consciousness to the sound of my sister's strangled cries. I bolt up in bed, staring at her restless form in the other bed. She has become entangled in the blankets and tears stream down her cheeks. I slip out of my own bed and cross the room, one hand on her shoulder. “Imi. Imi, wake up.” Her eyes snap open and she stares up at me in fear for a moment before she recognizes my face and relaxes. I smile down at her. “Do you want some water?” “No. No, I think I'm okay now.” I nod but when I turn to cross back over, she grabs my hand. “Don't leave. Please?” "Okay." And so I settle down on the edge of her bed instead, stroking her hair absentmindedly. It is not abnormal for us to fear sleep after a horrible nightmare, and this is routine to me by now. What she says next, however, is not. “I miss it, you know. Our friendship.” I remain silent. This is an off limits subject. The thing that should not be spoken of. She knows it as well as I. Her next words are laced with fear. “You do, too. Right?” Off limits. Out of bounds. I press my lips very tightly together, but my shoulders slump in defeat.

“...yeah. Yeah, I do.”