{forgetting the important things}//Semper(Blitz)

lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah
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#expensivetrash

{forgetting the important things}//Semper(Blitz) Jul 3, 2013 7:24:06 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah on Jul 3, 2013 7:24:06 GMT -5

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; padding-left:10px; padding-right:10px; background-color: 1C121F; border: BAB079 solid 4px; width: 500px; height: 181px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 50px 50px 50px 50px;][atrb=width,300]

::Distrcit 6::Male::18::

The dining hall was reasonable empty when I enter. The way I liked it. I didn’t want to be sitting around, have a good ole day with the people who would most likely be the last faces I see, in an arena, where blood, and pain would be shinning in their eyes. I duck my head, turning my gaze to the floor as I make my way to the end of one of the tables. I didn’t want to look up, look up and see all the children my age who surrounded me, round up, round up like cows, or sheep waiting to go be transferred to the butchers. For years I have hated the games, hated what they do to people, hated what they do to families and friends. They rip them apart, tearing them in two, and for what? For the entertainment of the people of the Capitol?

Anger surged through me as I reached the end of the dining hall. I could feel it climb through my limbs, making me become tense. Shaking myself slightly I flopped down on the nearest stool, ignoring the groaning complaints of the stool as my body collided with its wood. Slumping I rested my elbows on the table, placing my head into my hands. I try not to let my wander, scared about the thoughts that would creep into my mind. I missed home. I missed so much about it. You never really know how much something means to you until it is gone… Your life for example- sorry, the value of one life.

I never realise how much I actually valued my life until now. Now, when my own life was not in my hands, but in the hands of some pansy who want me dead… Shaking my head I close my eyes, letting the image of the dinning and the few children who sat in the room disappear as darkness began to surround me. I let out a sigh; my body relax ever so slightly. I take deep breaths in, then hold then for a moment, then let them go, in a way of calming myself, in a way of letting my body escape, escape from the presence, and into a world that only I knew about.

[/justify][/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table]

Last Edit: Jul 7, 2013 20:52:21 GMT -5 by lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah

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semper
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{forgetting the important things}//Semper(Blitz) Jul 7, 2013 20:45:56 GMT -5

Quote

Post by semper on Jul 7, 2013 20:45:56 GMT -5

when the north wind moans thro' the blind creek courses
and revels with harsh, hot sand,
I loose the horses, the wild red horses,
I loose the horses, the mad, red horses,
and terror is on the land

I can’t focus. My thoughts are racing like they never have before and I swear it’s going to drive me insane. I leave my room and hastily walk down the hall, hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. As far as I know everyone else is already down at the main gathering place – whatever it’s called, I don’t remember – and are socializing before we’re supposed to be split up once again. I don’t particularly care that I’m unaware of my district partner’s location so I don’t ask around for her as I arrive where all the other tributes are.

There is a wide variety of faces (and future threats) in this area and I only vaguely recognize a few of them. My jaw tightens and I find myself at a stalemate. What do I do? Socialize and attempt to make truces to ensure that my life is prolonged? A good start, so, logically, I sit down at a table.

No one seems to notice me, which I figure is a good thing. Flying under the radar has gotten a few past tributes rather far in the games, so perhaps if I can just ghost for a while then I’ll be alright. I set my hands on the table’s surface and sigh; hardly a minute after that is when this guy with rather fluffy hair plops down on a stool near me, looking like he’s trying to hold back a rage fit. I feel myself shudder and almost instantly shrink away from a possible beating but I catch myself and straighten back up. If this guy is just a ticking time bomb then I hope I can somehow moisten the fuse to allow myself just a few more minutes of self-esteem. ”What district are you from?”

[/justify][/color]
yea, the south wind sobs among the drowned creek courses
for sorrows no man shall bind---
ah, god! for the horses, the black plumed horses,
dear god! for the horses, death's own pale horses,
that raced in the tracks behind

A Gallop of Fire, Marie E J Pitt

[/center][/size]

i hear the mountains calling me home

lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah
Moderator

4,606 POSTS
Pronouns: She/Her
last seen Apr 25, 2024 5:22:11 GMT -5

#expensivetrash

{forgetting the important things}//Semper(Blitz) Jul 10, 2013 4:45:55 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah on Jul 10, 2013 4:45:55 GMT -5

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; padding-left:10px; padding-right:10px; background-color: 1C121F; border: BAB079 solid 4px; width: 500px; height: 181px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 50px 50px 50px 50px;][atrb=width,300]

::Distrcit 6::Male::18::

“What district are you from?” the words slip into my thoughts, pulling me out of them, dragging me back into the presence. I turn to face the boy who now sits a few stools away. He hadn’t been there when I had first sat down. I stare at him. He had red hair- wait more like orange hair, like a flame in a way. Freckles scattered his face as I glanced at him. what district are you from? His question bouncing around in my mind. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to know what district he was from, or his name, anything about him. I wanted to know nothing. Because if I knew something, anything, it would make it that much harder when it came to be in the arena.

I stare into his blue eyes for a moment longer before pulling my gaze away. “why? Why would you want to know?” I ask before I could stop the words from falling from my lips. “You know how much harder it is to kill someone that you know. You don’t have to know much about them, but even knowing something, some small thing, will make it so much harder.” I say, staring at the wooden table that I leaned my arms against. I didn’t want to look at him. I couldn’t look at him, I couldn’t bring myself to tear my gaze away from the table.

I was about to tell him to piss off when something clicked inside my brain. “You’re related to him, aren’t you?'’ I ask. A couple games ago a kid name Haff, was sent into the games. It had been disgusting, the capitol had sent a kid with autism into a place where 23 other people would be hunting him down. A boy who barley understood what had been going on. I’m not sure how I knew this, but something told me, something deep inside me warned me that this boy, that this boy who sat next to me now, was also part of a broken family. “6. I’m from district 6.” I say, my voice a whisper as the words escape from behind my lips.

[/justify][/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table]

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semper
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{forgetting the important things}//Semper(Blitz) Jul 11, 2013 21:40:13 GMT -5

Quote

Post by semper on Jul 11, 2013 21:40:13 GMT -5

when the north wind moans thro' the blind creek courses
and revels with harsh, hot sand,
I loose the horses, the wild red horses,
I loose the horses, the mad, red horses,
and terror is on the land

This guy doesn’t take my question very nicely. I’m somewhat taken aback by his response; why do I want to know? To be friendly, of course. But he makes a very valid argument: knowing the name of someone makes it just all that much harder to end their life when it comes down to it. Having connections to people will just put a strain on my attempt at staying alive in the arena. It’s an awful thought to imagine myself endure the hellish games by myself, so perhaps you could just classify this seemingly futile attempt at conversation a silent plea for companionship.

His icy front suddenly melts and he asks a question that reopens an old wound that never properly healed. I don’t even need him to explain who ”him” is to know that he means my brother. My jaw tightens and I look down at the table. Often, in this building, I’ve wondered if my current location is where Haff once stood: in the room, on the stairs, in the dining hall, and even in the training room. I almost feel closer to him here than I did back at home and, to me, that’s a sad realization.

I don’t even bother to answer since he proceeds to say that he’s from district six. Technically we’re close in terms of districts. I give a little nod to let him know that I heard him, lowering my voice to a mutter to reply. ”I guess I don’t need to tell you which one I’m from then. I’m Andy.”

[/justify][/color]
yea, the south wind sobs among the drowned creek courses
for sorrows no man shall bind---
ah, god! for the horses, the black plumed horses,
dear god! for the horses, death's own pale horses,
that raced in the tracks behind

A Gallop of Fire, Marie E J Pitt

[/center][/size]

i hear the mountains calling me home