as my reflection {fades} // Indigo standalone
Apr 20, 2013 16:37:32 GMT -5
Post by Python on Apr 20, 2013 16:37:32 GMT -5
| [bg=100C19][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,499,true] indigo soren |
[/I] but enough to remind each other of what they shared and what they had conquered. Eleven years of prison, of misery, of kissing the brink of starvation and dehydration while their mother’s chains rusted and her sanity withered; that was what we endured, and we’ve never been separated since. Until now.”Indigo,” Her twin’s voice was a melody fastened by an angel’s harp strings, the tones of serenity sweet to the senses but laced with that drop of familiarity that was bitter to an aching heart. This heart sought nothing more than to be blessed by her company, to connect severed heartstrings and mend jagged fragments to piece together a whole again. I miss you so much, Ivy, you don’t understand. They were two halves of a red heart, bound by blood and by time and by the nightmares of closed spaces that haunted them in their sleep. They were meant to be together, perhaps not always by each other’s side (we all have to breathe sometime, I know that. I don’t want to suffocate you.)
The games had created a void. Behind her ribcage and inside her mind she was missing, and now Ivy Soren had been cast into a separate world with golden pyramids and blood torrents with a admirable training score of nine - one of the last numbers she had anticipated to appear onscreen by sister’s name. It was a high score achieved only by those worthy of the battlefield (how did you do it, Ivy? What did you show them?), but compared to the majority her score was nothing spectacular, nothing the capitol had displayed a keen interest in - not when there was a ten and a perfect twelve to compete with. The candidates for victorship were all terrifying in their own unique ways, all equipped lethal weapons and determination and a passion for victory and survival. Ivy is like that, too, I can see it in her eyes. She shares the same flame as the fire-loving twins from district six. And she had proven herself worthy to wield death and wear a crown. She had survived the bloodbath unscathed and rich in vigor, she had followed pursuit of friendships and severed them mercilessly when it was necessary, and she had climbed to the top of this golden pyramid to reach beyond the limits of the skies and embrace the strength that had been graciously bestowed upon her.
”Don’t you dare cry,” she said, voice remarkably untarnished despite her various struggles in the arena. Casper was nestled against her arm, a living token of friendship to keep her company when humans were not to be trusted while I sit here alone, watching you and waiting for mother to come out of her room and talk to me. She was not used to being alone, and she hated it. She hated waking up alone on the couch with the television blaring, she hated bearing mother’s silent, empty stares each morning and evening, and most of all, she hated the tears. ”Don’t you dare cry. Because you know, I’m alright and I’m coming home, soon.” My eyes have bled far too much for you, Ivy. Her eyes were swollen and dry, stained red around the edges and inside each worn crease. She had cried for what felt like ages, curled against the sofa as The Capitol dressed her sister like a doll and treated her like a simple plastic piece of a board game. Her absence was evident after every unanswered sob and every sunrise when she opened crusty eyes and dragged herself off of the couch, hair matted and tangled from several days worth of neglect. Watching her sister on television was the closest she could get to reaching her. Palm against glass, eyes gazing into a mirror that would never return her stare was the closest she could feel to the past, and now it even that was slipping away all too quickly.
”Remember that rhyme? About being the King of the castle?” Indigo sniffled at the memory, twirling the end of her disheveled braid. I’m king of the castle, you’re the dirty rascal. The children had been crude to her during their transition into normalcy, their first weeks of school a journey of conquering rather than peace-keeping. But that hadn’t mattered at the time, because as long as Ivy was by her side there was nothing that could break her, nothing that could make her feel as if she were beyond hope. Ivy is everything; a sister, a friend, a mentor, a protector. And now she was a fighter skirting around death’s claws like a dancing swan, feathers dripping in blood and gold. ”Well, when you look up, know we’re looking at the same stars.” She was a swan that glowed beneath moonlight, and Indigo was her shadow, following but not quite touching her. She rushed to her window and forced it open, letting an icy draft into the room as she slipped her head past the frames. The stars were clearer than ever, some pulsing, some glimmering more brightly than the others, some too distant to appear as anything but fading jewels. Do you see the red one, Ivy? The way it flickers? It’s our star. It’s me. A broken sob escaped her, and she trembled, unable to shed real tears or speak. Her eyes had run dry days ago, as had her hope. Ivy was mighty, mightier than some knights she had witnessed fall by the hands of weakling, but she was up against dragons and steeds and monsters of every variety. For now, she was unharmed, but invincibility was not everlasting. One day, they would all turn and ambush. What would she do, then, but perish by their bloody hands?
She won’t let them. She was making it perfectly clear that her blood would not be spilled so easy. Together, working as if they were machines slicing and gashing without a second thought (they can’t afford those thoughts, they have to kill before they become prey) Ivy and Elodie - the sex-addicted maniac that had somehow earned herself a spot in Ivy’s personal alliance - vanquished Benat Izar the very next day and left nothing but a forgotten corpse in their wake. It was her twin sister, however, who had delivered the final blow. A gash across the boys arm sent him spiraling into the dirt, Ivy’s weapon (which Indigo couldn’t help but notice looked more like a torture device) dripping with his fresh blood. She can do it, she can actually do it. She can kill. She can win. The anticipation of devastation had turned her knuckles white as they clutched desperately at a couch cushion, nails digging and damaging strands of fabric. Hope was restored. If she can kill without remorse, she can win, she can come home. Indigo was selfish, she didn’t care who died and how just as long as Ivy could return to her. She could kill hundreds of people and Indigo would still prey for her safety. Kill them all if you have to, I‘m counting on you.
The arena was raining blood and body parts. Elodie’s hand struck dirt, having been kissed harshly by the edge of Ivy’s torture device. ”Eat it,” her twin spat, responding to the girl’s pleas for food. Reluctantly, the girl complied with the demand and ate her own hand. Horror gripped her aching chest, and she wasn’t sure whether to feel disgusted by her sister’s brutality or relieved that she was appeasing the capitol with her ambition to win. This is what they want to see, this will get her sponsors. She tried to convince herself that Ivy, too, was repulsed by her own actions, but her demeanor said otherwise. It was as if the arena were hypnotizing her under its evil spell, rearranging her insides and turning her into something she wasn’t supposed to be - A cold-blooded, relentless murderer. She was reminded all too well of his dark eyes and husky voice, fists stained in her blood. But that was a past. It was something they would never revisit. He had changed, just like Ivy had, and for the better. From steel to warmth, he had embraced her after the reaping, and now, from a kindling candle flame to a bitter icicle Ivy has transformed into a killer - except this, too, was for the better, because it would mean her survival.
”Hello, tributes! It’s been quite a week, hasn’t it?” the voice of Claudius Templesmith was a terrible, terrible omen. The fabricated kindness sugar-coating his tone made her feel nauseous as she brought her knees to her chest and gripped them tightly in dreaded anticipation that made her insides churn. A feast - that’s what they called it, right? A gathering of tributes in one area, like a second bloodbath. More prizes awaited desperate tributes, and Ivy looked pleased among the flashes of sullen faces. Please don’t do it, Ivy. Please don’t go. She dropped her feet to the floor and shook her head, pleas always answered by silence. Ivy was persuaded to attend for whatever reason, and Indigo deprived herself of another night of tossing and turning. She kept her cheek pressed into the cushions as the announcers appeared on-screen, wasting time with their reviews and recaps as the tributes camped out and nestled into their makeshift beds of grass.
She waited and watched until the sun peered through the curtains of the living room, her eyelids drooping and weakened from her own exhaustion. The sleepless nights were taking a toll on her appearance, but she didn’t care. Ivy was the only subject on her mind, and as the tributes dragged their bleeding bodies to the gardens Indigo roused herself with them, eyes trained only on the screen as her heart began to race and the tributes began to gather. Ivy was one of the first to enter the clearing, strolling confidently with an air of dominance and Casper perched over her shoulder. Instantly the chaos started to brew. A flash of red and glinting silver sailed past Ivy’s head - wielded by the slayer from four, a mother who had lost her beloved to this very Game - and drew a panicked screech from the twin on the other side of the screen, a sound she never thought she was capable of making. Blood spattered the items dangling from loose tree branches, but it was not Ivy’s blood - not yet. As Casper’s mangled corpse glued its shreds to the ends of River’s flail other tributes pounced like rabid animals on the hunt; the boy from six, the boy from one, all seemed determine to destroy a tribute from the lower districts. Run, Ivy! River swung again, with such precision and such swift accuracy the movement was almost a blur.
This time, she didn’t miss.
A heap of bones and bruised flesh cowered in the corner. Her mother was once again chained to the wall, suffering a similar but prolonged fate that did not leave her any less defiant than how she felt moments ago, when the monster had raked his claws across her flesh for misbehaving. The little brave twin had pleaded him to stop, to stop hurting mommy because she never did anything to him! He had instantly reeled on her, pounding fists like iron hammers into her bones until she cried for mercy, drowning in pointless sobs and screams until her head grew fuzzy. Ivy and mother had stood helplessly by the sidelines until his rage simmered and he finally left.Eleven years. Eleven years we’ve been locked in his warehouse and he has never, ever hurt me. Mother always tried to warn them that the outside world was a terrible place to live. Dictators reigned, children murdered each another, and there was nobody to take care of them if they starved. At the time, she had never realized her mother always lied - that she was trying to make their lives easier in this hellhole of a prison. She had spoken bits and pieces of the truth, but most of it was so terribly, terribly wrong.
In the midst of the torrent of pain and disbelief she failed to hear the absence of the usual “click” that sounded once the large warehouse doors were sealed shut. The click was the lock. It was the barrier that kept their deathly pale forms from experiencing the morning sun. The only light they ever captured was through the few, tiny windows that remained out of reach. Sometimes, the girls would bask in this light because mother told them that the light was important in helping them grow. It was warm, welcoming, peaceful. She had always loved the way the light bathed their skin gold and changed the color of her sister’s hair when she fastened it into a perfect braid. Neither of them could figure out what the sun actually looked like (“Think of a big, yellow ball, that is too far away to touch but very strong. Strong enough to burn your skin if you’re not careful!” said mother), but regardless it was one of Indigo’s favorite things. As she lay curled in one of the musty corners, though, she knew the sun was hiding like it always did when the warehouse turned dark. There was no light to crawl to, no relief to her pain. There was but one hope and savior: Ivy.
I remember the strange men dressed in white, bursting through the door with you by their side. I remember them dragging us to the outside world and slapping handcuffs on our ‘father’. I remember them sending him away to have his tongue cut out, telling us we would never have to see him again. You saved us, Ivy. You saved me.[/I][/color][/blockquote]
But I couldn’t save you.
Blood and brain matter painted the floor of the gardens a nasty color - her blood, my blood. Our blood. She screamed. Somewhere, the pillow she tossed knocked an old vase off of its pedestal. It shattered across the floor, like Ivy’s cranium. ”NOOO!” She collapsed to her knees in front of the television, screeching until her throat was raw and her lungs were aching. Tributes were still scattered about, but the voices of the commentators were loud and clear above the chaos. ”Ivy Soren is down!” “Killed by River Destin!” “Crushed her skull in mere seconds!” The camera panned to her twin sister, zooming for a grotesquely detailed close-up of her body. Her reflection was staring back at her, but with glassy eyes devoid of the spark that made her Ivy Soren. Rivulets of blood trickled down her forehead and her temples, blending with the pinkish and grayish fragments of brain matter and the white of her crushed bones. She screamed again, voice cracked and splintered as if she were swallowing a pitchfork, and instantly leapt to her feet as she involuntarily empted the contents of her stomach. She trembled, she coughed, she struggled to breathe as the hollow eyes of her twin sister continued to stare, unblinking, even as she staggered away from the television shouting desperately for a release. She burst into the sunlight of their backyard and fell into the dirt, searching for her stars - their stars. But there were none.
”IVY!” she stretched the last syllable until her cheeks were tinted purple from loss of precious air. Her fingers clawed the dirt and tore blades of grass from their roots, letting them snap beneath her nimble fingers as if they were tributes’ necks, but she did not battle the hysteria. She sobbed, she choked, and she doubled over into the patch of healthy grass as she struggled to capture her breath and find her sanity. She did not move for hours as the sun scorched her back. The birds continued to sing their lovely melodies, the bees continued to buzz and pollinate, and the flowers continued to bloom, but as the earth remained whole and spinning Indigo ceased to live in harmony with its theoretically beating heart. She felt her iron spirit dwindling as she let the sun consume her, burning her skin pink when her heart felt so cold. She waited, she waited for the sun to vanish and the moon to rise so she could see their stars again - so she could see Ivy again, because somewhere her spirit had to be there calling for justice and for Indigo. Just give me a sign. Tell me you’re still here, that you’re not gone forever. Please.[/I]
But on that cloudy evening, the stars never appeared.[/size][/color][/blockquote][/justify]
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[/center][/blockquote][/justify]Credit to Lei for the table
