building a coffin [your size] :: MAGPIES

new

« Prev
1
Next »

Onyx
Capitol Resident

1,169 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Jan 3, 2023 15:20:14 GMT -5

in between somewhere and nowhere

building a coffin [your size] :: MAGPIES Jan 9, 2013 14:57:32 GMT -5

Post by Onyx on Jan 9, 2013 14:57:32 GMT -5

Mama, we all go to hell
Mama, we all go to hell
I'm writing this letter, and wishing you well
Mama, we all go to hell

urbanemagpie

[/size]

In a District such as mine, a black market of supplies is always readily available. From the trinkets that hang on doorframes, splintering tabletops or in the arthritic hands of the old women that sell them to the goats and pigs that still survive, sick and skinny, even with all the pollution in this industrial district, anything a citizen could ever need or desire can be found in the darker streets, behind the belching factories or grotty brothels (where I always seem to hear my Elodie's laughter, but it must just be the fumes) and all the places the Peacekeepers are too disgusted to look. It sickens me, how they can hold themselves in such high authority but adopt a high-and-mighty attitude so easily when it comes to finding the source of the trouble. We're worthless to them, lower than the shit on their shoes or the grease on their guns. It makes it easier to get what we need, granted, but some sort of justice if often needed in the lesser-surveyed parts of our District. I, more than anyone, know that.

The two squirrels I traded for Halle's old winter boots, fresh and skinned as well, lay on the kitchen table next to a handful of herbs and a large knife. The shine of the steel has all but tarnished completely (else I know Celeste would have the instrument hidden by now) but it's still as sharp as the day I was given it. That's a particular routine of mine: every I own has its place, and deserves to be treated correctly. Would a mother bird ever leave her nest, eggs or younglings to be destroyed? The table itself is clean, set for eight, and the empty space that should be filled by my husband is where tonight's dinner preparations lie.

I hear the pot of salted broth begin to boil behind me, and I can't help but feel guilty for serving my chicks such a bland meal so regularly. If Savoy wanted to, he could go out and hunt for us, but I know he's afraid that it would taint his reputation as a perfect citizen. But isn't caring for one's family so much more important? The boy is selfish; he never does for the good of this family, just like Braxton. The rest are, in their own way, too. Justice refuses to talk, focused only on her bizarre theories and the solace of loneliness. Meryem has only ever been half there, since I reclaimed my power by driving my sisters away. And the others, Kirk, Celeste, Elodie and Halle, my beautiful, vulnerable children with their quirks and oddities, they drain away my love and life without giving anything back to me. And, eventually, they will all fly this coop, never to return to me. Most of them are out of the house now, not too far away (for I clip their wings with warnings of the dangers of District Five, emphasising every point until I can see the fear in their eyes) but still absent. I work alone, slaving over their meals without thinking too much of myself or what I need. Everything I do has always been for them.

Turning to the open stove, cupped hands full of squirrel and plain-smelling herbs, I notice again how cold it is. Winter is at its peak, and not only are the windows webbed with frost but a breeze has seeped through the cracks in this old house and now sends goosebumps surging over my pale flesh. If it weren't for the welcoming heat of the flame and the steaming soup, my breath would be visible before me, I am sure of it. Always, when my children leave the house, they take the warmth with them. Without their ~~seven~~ six voices ringing through the halls, this house is a shell, and me with it. All I can do is keep myself busy, and wait for them to return. Then, at night, when I can wish my own darlings goodnight, I am restored, knowing that they are safe, satisfied, happy?

I hum as I cook, adding seasoning to try and hide the taste of the stale, calcium-heavy water and the plain meat, a tuneless improvisation that I can barely hear myself. It makes a somewhat peaceful cacophony over the clatter of the spoon and the dull bubbling of the dinner, reassuring me that, as a family, we're still doing alright. Even without Braxton's personal presence, his income covers our whole brood to a degree. However, I quickly cease my melody as the wind picks up again outside, and a chill passes through the air. All I can do is hope that the younglings will be home soon, and I can stop feeling so nervous and paranoid. Without them, it's as if Rosa and Cissy are round every corner, and Halle's lost voice, too, ready to accuse me of my terrible, though just, crimes against them.

Then, the loud, drawn out creeeeaaaak of a timber somewhere in this skeletal building distract my attention entirely. I jump, muscles contracting painfully and heart hammering like an army in my ears. I turn fast, listening intently for a second noise, for any indication of an intruder in the house (it's safe here, we're safe). Too fast. I spin round again, thankful that my reflexes didn't leave when my young, carefree perspective on life did, but it's already too late. The pot falls to the stone kitchen floor, soup extinguishing the stove as it tumbles over the edge. A crescent moon of porcelain forms around my feet, and I watch with some empty horror as the still steaming broth hits the pale, exposed skin of my calves and ankles.

The pain doesn't come for another three seconds (I know because my heart beats nine times before my screaming drowns it out) and them I'm falling too, knees crumpling as my hands scrabble uselessly at the burning-hot, broth-covered surface. Shards of porcelain enter my skin, staining my black skirts a deep maroon as blood blossoms through the fine fabric. My feet ache as the skin burns, hot, searing pains that travel down to my toes and up my newly shredded legs. I yell out, begging for someone to come and help me, my children, who should be returning home at any time, my husband, who I haven't seen in far too long, a stranger, a Peacekeeper, anyone who can help me.

My screams burn my throat and make me hoarse, tears running freely from my dark eyes, and I bang my fists on the floor to avoid thinking about the pain. For a moment, I am so absorbed in my own pain-ridden state that I forget that now there is no supper for my chicks. For all my life is pain, even though I cover it with a mask of care and love. I am all raw, burning skin and pain. I am dying already, crying out for help, silently, while still pretending that I can look after others. Indeed, it seems that I am in no way capable of looking after even myself.

I can only pray that the help I need comes quickly.

[/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

And when we go don't blame us
We'll let the fires just bathe us
You made us oh, so famous
We'll never let you go

[/size][/center]

ooc: Hello, Magpies! I know Tristen isn't quite done with his app, yet, but the rest of you are all set to join in this thread so it's up and Halle can arrive home later! I kinda want the children to return home in ones or twos, all from their separate places and with a different story of their day. This is an introduction thread which means that you all have a chance to develop your Magpies in detail, and react to the situation at hand. I look forward to continuing this thread, and reading what you've all written! Happy posting!

[/justify]

someday we'll be drinking with the seldom seen kid

charade
Retired Staff

3,811 POSTS

last seen May 1, 2024 12:08:12 GMT -5

Thinking

building a coffin [your size] :: MAGPIES Jan 10, 2013 6:22:56 GMT -5

Post by charade on Jan 10, 2013 6:22:56 GMT -5

Justice Magpie

There's a hatchet got a knife
When I awoke there was nothing real in this life
But dreams are so intoxicating
When you're doing this alone

Time always passes slowly when I have nothing better to do than lounge of the roof outside of my window. The sun makes its way slowly across across the sky, beginning its slow descent into the outskirts of the district. Soon it will vanish to wherever it is that heavenly bodies go when we can't see them, and even though the textbooks claim its because the world is spinning on its axis and ushering us into the night period, I know better. It is a sensitive being the sun, and it does not care for what the night holds. I'm not. The dark might be scary to some people, but the truth is that people sleep in the darkness because it is safer. It's harder to see things in the night, but then, it also harder for things to see you as well.Don't think I'm getting all philosophical because I'm not. Monsters are plenty real in Panem, whether they choose to hide it or wear it out in the open for everyone to see.

Take my family for example. Some are better at hiding than others, but the fact remains that the Magpies are an unnatural bunch of people. I've come to accept that fact over time. We're unnatural because we don't view the world or live it in the way that most people do. While I have never been able to figure out just why that is, I take solace in knowing that no one can have it worse than my mother's sisters.Wherever they may be. But I don't like to spend too much time time dwelling on the past, not when there is such work to be done. The days have been steadily growing colder, heralding that winter has come with frost and chills, occasionally blanketing the district with pristine white snow,; a cleanliness that is marred by uncaring boots and the narrow minded. It is a travesty that it never lasts, that the purest things are often the quickest to be corrupted.

I have bundled myself up today, wearing a mismatched outfit that is undeniably colorful. Greens, purples and blues, they all find a way to ensconce and entrance me. I'm sure they alone would make my visible from my perch but what stands out even further is the shade of red I've dyed my hair to make it less dark. They are drawn to dark colors like moths to flames and I don't wish to entice them any further. It occurs to me that this might be the day of my death, that I could be over taken by temporary madness and toss all of my garments away, the cold air freezing me to the bone as I become a permanent pale fixture of the house exterior; which really wouldn't be too far from the truth. Or perhaps I misjudge the strength in my legs and a misstep sends me careening down to the ground arms and legs akimbo, breaking my neck as a scarlet bloom forms a halo around my mangled head.

Maybe snow will start to fall, burying me alive unseen and not found until the summer months are back in full swing. Death comes for us all one day, and I find a measure of comfort in figuring out how it might try to come for me. It keeps my mind agile and sharp, especially in the mind numbing cold. I have been up here for at least an hour, after having returned from a jaunt around the district that ended in a failure to find anything. The weather drives most people in doors and most animals into hibernation.It also kills insects dead. Does that make me like the weather? Convinced that nothing out here is going to kill me, not today at any rate. I make my way back into the window, shimmying over the sill and onto my bed. The window I shut behind me. Wouldn't want anything to follow me home.

My bedroom is my sanctuary, a safe haven from everything that the world,or my family tries to do. The mirrors let me know that I haven't died when I wasn't looking and so I preen and bow at each of the Justices's that look back at me from all corners of the room. It is a strange dance, but one that I have danced quite often. I just wish the house wasn't as old as it is, because when I am preening in front of the fifth mirror, I step on a creaky floorboard and almost lose my balance, catching myself on the desk underneath my collection. It is a collection I have worked extensively on, and I cradle the jar full of multi-colored wings with care as I look at the wingless butterflies on the wall, each impaled through their midsections; an action that left little brown stains on the walls behind them, one last attempt to get away while the formaldehyde was setting in.

I waggle a finger at them and then start to dance again, spinning in a small circle as I begin to sing. "Do re mi fa so la ti do! Do you know where you're going. Do you know who's watching you? I am one with your line of thinking, but you don't make any seeeense!" I draw out the last word with a grin before throwing myself backwards onto my bed. It's getting late and I'm sure my siblings will be arriving home soon. My mother will as well, if she bothered to leave the house today. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel like I heard someone screaming. When I was a child I used to tell my mother that I heard things, and she'd dismiss them as folly. I've learned to accept that, and so I know that I can't trust everything that I think I hear. Why would someone be screaming at this hour anyway? I guess I'm just hearing my mind scream at itself, so I whisper scream back at it in an attempt to shut it up. When that doesn't work, I Bury my face in my pillow and wonder if maybe I hadn't come inside from the widow too soon.

Once a skeptic, now the critic
And you think that you finally found a place of your own
Amongst the cold and timid souls
Where only failure knows your name

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

cass
Retired Staff

4,822 POSTS

last seen Oct 24, 2021 18:11:43 GMT -5

building a coffin [your size] :: MAGPIES Jan 16, 2013 7:05:07 GMT -5

Post by cass on Jan 16, 2013 7:05:07 GMT -5

There is a house built out of stone
Wooden floors, walls and window sills
Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust
This is a place where I don't feel alone
This is a place where I feel at home...

I always dream. And in those dreams I fly, I soar into the sky higher than any person has gone and I climb, higher and higher. So high that the clouds go far below me and I reach a hand outwards as though to grasp them, but I can’t. I can’t reach them and a small grin flickers into existence, knowing that I was higher than the clouds. I go so far, so fast that I see the point in which the Earth ends - the edge of existence when time and eternity blur into one. Space creeps upon you and the edge stands tall and bright like a luminous light, where the blackness meets day, where death meets life. Still, I continue to soar. On (magpie) wings made of dreams, into the world of hopes and impossible feats.

[/i][/color] To a place where the possible is only a touch a way and any question no matter how bitter or wrong it is always has an answer.

The sky glows with tantalizing colours that slip through the air in a million different shades. And as the sun begins its descent the sky explodes with specks of little, bright burning lights that dance and sparkle everywhere. A million rainbows stumble into existence and I know that this is the place I want to be. Stars lay scatter across a pristine field and my home is right there. I watch it fall. My home tumbles across the sky, where it collapses in an exhausted heap, consumed by the water that begs for it and quenches its thirst. I feel no pain or sorrow for my lost home, for the sun is like me, a burning ball of light. Fire that is as strong as anything, a thousand shades of colour and the almighty power and warmth for this cruel world. When it dies it grows once more. Each and every day it falls to the pits of hell and yet every morning it fights its way back to the highest point it can reach; before tumbling once more into its black abyss. It is a fighter.

No matter where you are you can see the sun; I believe that as it takes to the air it leaves such a bright, fiery trail of flaming sparks that that is the reason why stars become what they are. They are the sun’s creation, to fend of the darkness when no one else can.

Stars are little suns and no matter the day, the weather or the time there is never darkness. It is kept at bay by those billion, trillion balls of light. Each a little flickering ball of hope and each day when I do not dream of flying I reach upwards and grasp one, drawing it close to my chest where no one can touch it. Keeping it safe and away from others, but keeping that so always I will be a light and the darkness will never take me (In a world tangled with chaos and despair, the welcome light of the stars and the sun is always needed to throw warmth and reassurance over those who cannot find it). Right now I feel no warmth. The sun seems to glance off of my skin, and instead of pleasurable seeping warmth all I feel is icy prickles that seep through my skin and seem to pierce my very soul.

Last night I did not dream. It felt odd having fallen asleep with my customary smirk, knowing that I had done a very good days work and releasing myself to the darkness that would bring me my wings and the world I had conquered. Instead I found nothing. I had spent the day easily befriending the newest store manager, twisting words of flattery and mixing it with a sweet innocent tone and my instinctive easy going charm. People like that are easily to manipulate and twist, especially when they can sense authority and power and I particularly ooze power. The normality of the situation did not strike me. I often played with the managers, bargaining and bribing them on words and nothing else. Most of them knew me and after speaking with them and getting what I wanted they would feel angered, but by next meeting they were over it and once more worshipping me. After all how can you not? I am the son of the stars and sun, the God of the sky and space and hell why not time too?

So I slipped into night, having the stars guarding me and knowing that some sweet and pleasant fantasy awaited me. I found nothing, I did not fly like a bird, and I did not soar across the sky, leaving behind everyone and everything. I did not conquer the sky, or scream out how possible it was. I saw no love, I saw no stars. The sun did not slip into the ocean; the moon did not dance into existence. There was nothing, but the forbidding darkness that held me so tightly. It grasped me and squeezed me until all the air was thrust from my lungs and I could no longer breathe. I held no star at my chest to give me my light. There was only coldness in my bones and icicles in my heart. There was only me and my doom as the night swallowed me whole.

Now, as I stood in front of my home, the wind blowing gently, sweeping locks of my hair across my face I felt uncertain. My legs tottered on the idea of turning and leaving. I barely noticed the house anymore, my surroundings a simple blur when the confines of my mind had me fixated. I could not stir the energy within me to place my grey stormy eyes onto my surroundings, drinking them in and looking with great interest at the place I called a home. Normally I would take great care with wanting to know the world that I owned, but my dream –no, my lack of dreaming had left me disturb. Normally (for the belief of normality was like the bible I abided to. I was –as I believed, the only normal being in my whole family) I would have stride into the house, an air of nonchalance and obvious authority would trail behind me. Everyone knew when I was home. The oddness of the situation I now found myself in perplexed me. I hated being so unsure of myself. The sun did not grace me with its touch as it normally would, and the actions I would normally take to walk inside my home had deserted me.I stared numbly at the door.

Any person looking would have found the situation as strange as I did. I was a conventional person and the obvious lack of sequence and accustomed dealings was hurting me, physically and mentally. I had certain times and places for things and right now I felt completely out of whack, unaware and unresponsive, to anything, but my own internal battles. I was also thoroughly shocked that all this has occurred just because I did not dream. Most would have found that stupid, and I would have been mocked. But it wasn't only because of the dream, it was simply because I had not felt the sun upon me, the morning rays as they streak across the sky. Or the night stars that stayed close by and guarded me from the dark. I had been completely and utterly alone. In a world where all you had to do was simply look to see something I had seen nothing. I felt utterly lost and empty.

Suddenly the bubble that had been around me burst and the air was filled with a scream so filled with pain and agony that the wind seemed to pause. My eyes snap open and I look at the house. This time truly seeing what was there. But my feet felt glued to the ground and I made no move towards the house. I wouldn't, not until it was all normal.

And I built a home
For you
For me
Until you disappeared
For me

ooc -- [ YAY MAGPIE THREADAGE ]

For you
And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust
Out in the garden where we planted the seeds
There is a tree as old as me
Branches were sewn by the color of green

[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

arx
Retired Staff

2,429 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen May 9, 2024 9:43:15 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

building a coffin [your size] :: MAGPIES Jan 16, 2013 17:36:14 GMT -5

Post by arx on Jan 16, 2013 17:36:14 GMT -5

`Elodie Mirielle Magpie~

I am now in a world where I have
to hide my heart and what I believe in,
But somehow I will show the world
what's inside my heart
And be loved for who I am.

I was about to crawl back through my bedroom window early this morning when my feet stopped moving. My eyes were so heavy that I think I slept standing up out on the roof for almost an entire minute. My feet ached, the heels that I had worn had just been a tad too small and rubbed into my feet. All I had to do to ease my weariness was crawl into the bed that was only a few feet away, but my feet refused to move as I stared through my bedroom window and into the starry room that I had painted. Instead, I found myself stumbling (I think I almost fell off to be honest) back across the roof and jumping back down to the ground and rushing off back into the streets of District 5. My head was a bit fuzzy, swimming from the previous 6 hours of drinking and dancing, but it wasn't anything I wasn't used to and although all I could hear was the beat of the music I had been listening to all night, I felt like I could take on the entire world. (I suppose I could've - superpower: Puke all over enemies on demand.) But I suppose that all those thoughts were just drunken delusions because I can't even take on my family when I'm sober. Perhaps the key to the world is being drunk all the time. Who knew alcohol was the key to success?

But I suppose waking up not only with a massive headache but in a dumpster are the negative side effects to walking around in a drunken stupor.

My eyes flicker open to stare into the face of one of the many street cats that roam around the district. It stares down at me with golden eyes before leaping from the edge of dumpster and onto my stomach. I moan as he (and yes, from where I see it, he is definitely a he) lands on me, all his weight crashing against my stomach making me feel like I'm going to hurl ~~for the billionth time.~~ My head pounds and for the first time in the past few seconds, I realize that I'm sprawled out amongst piles of garbage with no shoes and no underwear (and I'm sure I wore some out - my sexiest pair too. Damnit.) and even a bit of company, not including the cat. I sit up, clutching at my head, trying to get rid of the ache that is there. The guy next to me groans in his sleep as I sit up, putting my hand on his chest to steady myself as I try to stand amongst the the filthiness. My feet make a pattering sound against the asphalt as I jump out of the dumpster, my clothing and hair a total mess. Nearby a street lamp flickers out as the sun begins to rise and shed light across the alleyway. I raise my head to see a few guys gambling and smoking a few yards away, only looking up at me for a moment before continuing on with their game (actually, everyone one of them I talk to calls it business, not a game) and talking as if I weren't there. I bring my hand to my face when pain bursts in my cheek, and stoop down to stare into a puddle on the ground, finding a bruise rising on my cheek. I stand again, looking over the edge of the dumpster at the guy in the guy who had shared such a 5-star joint with me. I look to where all the answers are: the left hand. And sure enough, I find myself staring a ring. The wives always hit me when the find me - or at least they try. usually I can dart away fast enough to avoid them. But obviously I was completely out last night. In fact, I can't recall much of anything. I think I'm losing my special ability to remain cognant even after more than a few drinks.

And now I have to go home and try to explain how exactly I acquired such a fancy bruise in my sleep.

I lean over the edge of the dumpster, my fingers deftly unclasping the gold watch from the guys wrist and slipping the ring off his finger without any protest on his part. He only groans again and rolls over in the trash, mumbling and smiling about something he must be dreaming of. (No doubt that he is dreaming of me and not his stuck up wife that doesn't put out.) I wave at the guys at the end of the alley and a few of them wave back at me as I run off towards home with hopes of crawling back into my room before anyone notices that I'm not asleep in my bed. (Yeah, like they would ever notice me.) My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I swing myself onto the roof and tiptoe my way over to my window, slipping into my room without disturbing anyone. My bed seems to glare at me, scolding me for neglecting it. I walk over to the mirror in my room and begin to wipe myself clean. My shirt has my puke all over it and my hair also has it's fair share of the previous contents of my stomach as well. I wipe the make-up from my eyes and where it has smeared all across my face and can only wince when I press the towel against my cheek, trying to get rid of the make-up that is basically plastered to the bruise. By the time I look in the mirror again and am satisfied with the result, I change into clean pajamas and crawl into bed. I hadn't known a person could ache so much just from being so tired until now as I crawl beneath the sheets on my bed and my body seems to just quit working.

I stare up at the ceiling, my eyes blinking slowly, getting heavier with each passing moment. I know I'm supposed to be up in another hour, if not in the next few minutes, to either show up for breakfast or come join the family at the table or something that would force me to leave my room. (Now a days, only a good looking man can really ever get me to leave my room.) But as my eyes flutter and my brain drifts too unconsciousness and the stars painted across my ceiling swirl into one giant blob, I know that there is no possibility of me leaving my bedroom. Not this morning at least. And as I hear a door creak somewhere in the house, my eyes seem to slam shut and my mind drifts away to sleep.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

My feet glide across ice as thin as glass and as clear as a diamond. I know that ice should feel cold, but instead my feet are burning as if I were walking across a bed of hot coals. But I couldn't feel anything in my feet - I could only tell they were burning because they were making a sizzling sound (very similar to bacon ... even the smell was the same) and smoke rose from beneath my feet. But I didn't want to burn. The more I walked the more my feet sizzled. With each step that I took pain slowly started to shoot into my feet until I was screaming silent screams into the air. I try to sit, to ease the burning in my feet, but every time I touch the burning ice I feel more pain. The edges of my eyes are blackening as I curl up in a ball on the ground, clutching my knees to my chest, tears rolling down my cheeks, freezing on my cheeks, piercing into my skin like knives. And then my blood drips to the ground. I can see it pooling beneath me, but when I bring my hands to my cheeks there is no blood to be found. But still I watch it drip from my face and onto the ground, making puddles shaped like hearts. I want to cry, but I'm afraid that if I keep crying then my tears will keep cutting my face apart and I will keep bleeding hearts and I don't want to bleed hearts. (I'd much rather bleed other organs - perhaps livers? Or kidneys?) My own, true heart begins to race and suddenly I'm being swallowed by the puddles of my own blood. I try to scream for help, but what is a cry for help when no one is listening? And then I see them. In the sky, flying above me, circling around me, waiting for my rotting corpse, gravitating towards me and my blood, screeching. Birds. And when one swoops down towards me, I can see it's black and white - a magpie. And then it speaks to me. "You aren't a bird. You can't fly. But - you can die, die, die." And then the bird cackles.

A sound that could almost be confused with a scream.

Who is that girl I see staring straight back at me?
Why is my reflection someone I don't know?
Must I pretend that I'm someone else for all time?
When will my reflection show
who I am inside?

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."