The Circle of Life [Cyrus Death Post </3]

From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to be seen than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done

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He could feel the final blow come to him as the Kraken whipped its tentacles. The gnash of flesh against flesh dazed Cyrus, and he could feel the breath begin to leave him as the waves grew too heavy to kick above. And yet when he felt the wound open and his life begin to pour out of him, he was surprised that he did not feel coldness in death at the depths of the ocean, but immense warmth. He sank further beneath the waves, eyes open and yet not burning, with water filling up his lungs as he sank further down. All around him things began to grow dark, and yet he was too weak to lift even his head. He could feel the horrible pain begin to lift, and a smile crept across the boy’s face. It was all too much for him, really, this wonderful euphoria that was sweeping through his brain. Was this just some sort of reaction that his body was having to his vital organs shutting down, or was it something else? He supposed that death was different for everyone, and he could only feel comfort in his own. He was fading from this realm, disappearing into a darkness that began to circle around him and flood out anything else. He could see only a few shapes in briny deep as the blanket of black moved over him.

Cyrus did not struggle or fight this strange shift in perception. He could envision that his family and friends would be screaming for him not to give in, but there was no energy left in him to fight it anymore. All the air was out of his lungs now, and he couldn’t breathe. He should have felt a terrible fear, but the pain was dimming. He was ready to submit to whatever end this was—perhaps just nothingness at all—and then take what would come. But this darkness lifted, and as though in a dream, he was rising away from the arena and the other tributes. There was nothing and everything around him at once. The heaviness that had always been on him, the inability to express the bitter sweetness of happiness and contempt and of all shades of emotion, the way that he could never understand anyone just like anyone else—they were all gone. Instead, for the first time, he could think the way that he wanted:

With this life had come and gone, I suppose it was that I had wanted to feel like my destiny was my own. Oh, I thought the word for it was freedom. It’s so funny now that everything is so, so clear. When I was trapped inside that shell of a body, I had wanted all the world—I had wanted to taste and touch and feel something—but that wasn’t what was meant for me. Truly, that wasn’t what was meant for most of us. When you think that you’re going to get that freedom, that unending salvation, it’s because you can’t see the truth around you. But we can’t have that in life, not this one. It’s foolish, now that I can see beyond what was ever in front of me. Even when I was so reasonable and thought things through in my own little haphazard way, I still had terrible tunnel vision. What is that saying? I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.[/i]

And there would be the grieving as Cyrus’ body sank, smile upon his face and eyes open wide as though staring up at the skies above. He looked as though he had died while being told the happiest news ever—what a strange way to be presented for the people of Panem. In that Cyrus almost never smiled—not because he was unhappy but because he never felt enough to smile—it was out of the ordinary for anyone that knew him to see. But there he lay, floating, motionless, a few tears dripping out of his now soulless eyes. There was simply a shell of the man that had been. The cannon fired, signaling the end of his existence.

But I don’t want anyone to think that we’re all in this world for nothing. That’s the biggest mistake some of us make. We lose sense of our purpose. We don’t really know what moves us, through happiness and tragedy, but we keep going. And when we lose ourselves through violence or because we’ve never had to face such strife, we’re not ever going to find ourselves. We are in this world as we will be in the next. Every day, we must grow better and better. We are a piece of an infinite puzzle, one with twists and turns. One that will lead us over mountains or six feet down and then some. And we may never find our place in this terrifying world; I know that I never was able to find myself—much less understand why everything was so difficult—but now I can see. Now I can see what I couldn’t before.[/i]

How could one ever describe this next world to our own? There is no telling what he could feel, or what he could see. All ends are different. His was as he wanted to see it. It was not an end that brought about fear or dread, nor one that brought confusion and unhappiness. He had lived through terrible straits but he had brought about joy, for himself and for all those that he had touched in some way. Whether or not his neurons fired their last flares and brought about such clarity or he was seeing beyond could only be known by one: Cyrus Malloc.

I can feel nothing but joy and elation. I can feel nothing but the opening of my heart and soul to the greatest pleasure of all, and it is peace and I am fulfilled. I see now that I was wrong and I can weep for what I couldn’t have known. I weep not because I am sorry for what I did in my life, but that I may never tell my family, my friends, my enemies, and everyone what joy I see now. There is a stirring in my soul and it knows no bounds. There is a happiness that is indefatigable. There is no such thing as the capitol, there is no such thing as power or greed, death or fear, nothing to bring about pain. Only a pure, encompassing ending that brings me to them and them to me. And for the first time, for the first time I can feel this hope in my heart. I can feel no dread or fear, no trembling or tumbling through my words to figure out what to say. I can say it clearly and I can say what I want and it is so beautiful.[/i]

It is funny though that one boy so good and so keen on freedom would get exactly what he wanted in death over life. A cruel irony that bears reminding for many of the like in this world: there is nothing in life to that will earn lasting happiness. The freedom that poor Cyrus sought was indeed false. He could never have been free, whether to the capitol or to his mind. He would always leave a small piece of himself out of the puzzle. And so life could never have amounted to more than just fleeting moments of happiness. A pleasantry here, a pleasantry there. It goes round and around until all has faded, and the truth shines through. A pity to come in death, but a necessity.

But I am disappearing now, away from all of them and into my place. I am at His side and in the rays of the sun. I am in the flecks of dust that float in the wind of the capitol. I am the rain that sprays down along the tin roofs of district twelve. I am the waves that crash on the shore of district four. I am the soft light of the lamp in my mother’s room back in district six. I am the blood that pumps through my brother’s veins as he watches me go, grieved and not understanding the pain that must come with sacrifice. I am all of this and everything at once and it is beautiful. It is all I have ever wanted to be, it is all I could never have been, and I am happy. No, it wasn’t just happiness. It was joy. It was jubilation. There is no greater beauty than in the ascension and rise above death, and now I can see. I can finally see what for so long was a mystery to me. It is eternity.[/i]

And this freedom brings about different things for all people. Cyrus could know nothing but what he had wanted to get out of life. He had never wanted too much, only to feel something and to belong. But even Cyrus had wanted and mistaken what he desired over what he needed. And now in death he belonged to everything and everyone. He was a piece of the ground. His breath would travel the world. His life would be on the lips of all those that watched the 61st games. No, in death he was truly doing more than he ever could have done in life. And for that it was not a terrible means to an end, but a new beginning. It was the beginning of a new journey for one so tied to the idea of freedom. What that meant, even the narrator cannot say.

Take heart. Those that I have left behind, you know nothing of what this next world will bring. You are good in your hearts and you will be rewarded for all that you do. Do not weep for me, do not cry for a boy that knew too little and came too late into this world. I was blessed without your vision, and I was sweet and innocent in a way that betrayed me. But my foolishness brought me to my destiny. I am no hero, but I am finally home. I am home and I am at peace, and the entire world will go to bed knowing that this boy has fallen and disappeared. And here I will be, in the wind, in your hearts, in the skies. And I will finally just be.[/i]

That’s enough for Cyrus now. His world as a part of Panem ends with this tragic blow. And some will mourn and others will celebrate his death. But it can never be too sad or too happy, really. For this was a simple boy with a simple wish to be free. He had changed some events—as do all—and brought about his own ending. The finish is not here, and it never would be, whether he lived or died. For that is a story all its own.

It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life

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[Thank you all for the blessing of being able to bring this character to life, and there is much hope that you enjoyed it as much as I did. Special thanks to everyone that has been a part of (as well as those who made) these games. As a first timer, thank you for your patience, your understanding, and the fun that I had making Cyrus stumble his way through it all! Happy Hunger Games!]

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