we grow like { t o r n a d o e s } // Python, blitz

Stare
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and i will hold you tight / like the moon in the arms of the sky

we grow like { t o r n a d o e s } // Python, blitz Feb 6, 2014 21:50:19 GMT -5

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Post by Stare on Feb 6, 2014 21:50:19 GMT -5

chapter ( the fifth )

go back and forward,
but all is melting like the snow
taking all from us,
all we thought was left to know

People just don't understand.

(He hit me. He hit me. And for a long time, I let him, because I didn't no better. My realization came gradually, as did my strength to fight back against a man I loved. Now I can punch him in the face without even flinching, and I'd never admit it, but that scares me.)

Careers are raised to fight. Watching them, I silently wonder if they, too, learned in difficult ways. I can imagine expectant families and horrible consequences for failure. Perhaps I am not entirely unlike the beasts raised close to the Capitol, but I wouldn't dare say I'm similar. I'm far too unrefined to be anything less than a half-starved savage in their eyes.

There must be someone else.

I find her easily enough. This is one of the many times I've become distracted when I probably should be training, and the disapproval of the Gamemakers weighs heavily on my back. Still, my eyes flicker closed and I see images of a broken family so similar to mine and a silent flame in bright eyes and I know that this girl is one worth talking to. I did my research on her. She was the youngest reapable child in a group of orphans referred to as the Sycamores. It explains why the camera couldn't find her parents' faces in the crowd, instead focusing on the reactions of thin and desperate looking children. It's a hard thing for me to remember, as I'm sure their expressions only mirrors those my sisters must be wearing.

With others I am always rough and blunt and arrogant, but with her I am not. My hand lands on her shoulder, a tap that is almost gentle, before I take my position next to her without even bothering to see what station we're at. "Mind if I join you?"

on what we treasure
falls a dusty snow
taking us backwards
but where we will never know

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we grow like { t o r n a d o e s } // Python, blitz Feb 7, 2014 18:26:40 GMT -5

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Post by Python on Feb 7, 2014 18:26:40 GMT -5

We are dead long before we run out of time

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L A I L A S Y C A M O R E
DISTRICT5 | THIRTEEN

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Healing was frustrating. The procedures shown on television weren’t easy to replicate on live dummies, and as she pinched the needle between her fingertips she cringed at the thought of piercing her own skin with it. Stitching wounds in the arena would be essential (if she lasted long enough to sustain them without dying) if she wanted to live longer. Lilith always made her wash her cuts and scrapes with soap and warm water before applying band aids because leaving them dirty would attract bacteria and infections, which could apparently kill. She refused to be the stupid little girl who died of an infection, so she was practicing the skill at the first aid station using needle and thread to mend fake wounds on a lifeless dummy. It was aggravating work.

Each time she poked through flesh she tried to imagine that it was her own arm. She couldn’t. She knew what it was like to get shots of vaccines and pricks of the finger to draw blood for tests, but wouldn’t this be worse? She didn’t understand how the tributes could do it. Maybe it was the desperation for life. She had yet to feel such a thing, but maybe in the arena her perspective would change. Pain from a skinny little needle wouldn’t be the worst of her worries, after all.

”Mind if I join you?”

She glanced over her shoulder when her skin was tapped, and looked up at the girl as she spoke. Laila vaguely remembered watching her reaping – she was only memorable because she had a lot of sisters, something she could somewhat relate to (Sycamores weren’t her real siblings, but they were close, and they were many). She also remembered the girl carrying a teddy bear. ”No,” she replied simply. For once she didn’t actually mind the company. This girl didn’t appear to be one of the annoying ones. ”Where’s your teddy bear?”

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Last Edit: Feb 7, 2014 18:31:36 GMT -5 by Python

Stare
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last seen Feb 15, 2024 23:43:11 GMT -5

and i will hold you tight / like the moon in the arms of the sky

we grow like { t o r n a d o e s } // Python, blitz Feb 7, 2014 23:16:33 GMT -5

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Post by Stare on Feb 7, 2014 23:16:33 GMT -5

chapter ( the fifth )

little tornado
you and the hurricane
close your eyes and
go campaign

She reminds me of my sisters. She has Olivia's determination, Eva's curiosity, Nora's energy, Helen's strength, and Lucy's youth, all tied up into one very impressive young lady. I'm quick to assume the exercises in training as soon as the trainer sets a needle and thread in front of me. I've always been half decent at sewing after years of patching up old clothes and stitching buttons back onto dresses.

If anyone but her had mentioned Teddy, I would have left right then and there. I would have thought they were openly mocking me or trying to point out a weakness. I've heard the way they mention it on television, saying that it's both childish and sweet, but sure to make me a target. To Luke's dismay, I'd angrily thrown the remote at the screen before storming out of the room. Instead of frowning, though, my lips twitch up into a small smile. "I left him in my room. I didn't want something to happen to him."

I continue to stitch the false skin in silence for a minute, losing myself in the rhythmic process. For those precious seconds, I can almost feel myself transported back to District Eight. It's summertime, with the sun shining outside our window, and I can hear Nora spouting sonnets from her place near the window while I sit on the old rocking chair, fixing up one of Olivia's blouses. The needle goes in and out of the delicate fabric and I reach a certain point of concentration where there are no thoughts or feelings. Just me and the precious life all around me.

It doesn't last. When I finally close the fake wound, I find myself back in the cold, monotonous reality. I am in the Capitol. I am training. I am a tribute in the 66th Hunger Games.

And, as much as I hate to acknowledge it, so is the girl next to me.

I don't want to let her go, though. If anything, I want to cling to her like a lifeline. I don't, though, instead saying, "He was my little sister's. Her name's Lucy. The poor thing's the youngest of six, but sometimes I think she's the bravest, too." After a pause, I glance in her direction. "I hear you've got a pretty big family, too. Is it as chaotic as mine?"

little tornado
blew out the windowpane
left the inside
to the rain

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we grow like { t o r n a d o e s } // Python, blitz Feb 10, 2014 17:49:14 GMT -5

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Post by Python on Feb 10, 2014 17:49:14 GMT -5

They shut the door, we fell far behind

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L A I L A S Y C A M O R E
DISTRICT5 | THIRTEEN

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The girl was better than her at stitching false skin. It was yet another reminder of how young and inexperienced she was compared to these teenagers, another reason for her to be wary of all of them. Another reason for her to accept her inevitable fate, yet the fire within burned too bright and painful for her to just fall limp on command. She was too determined and too angry to just allow death to snatch her up. Knowing how stubborn she was, she would make it excruciating for herself by slapping the hand away, by fighting back. She knew it would only result in more pain and perpetual struggles – she had watched the Quell games, filled with children who wanted to delay death. Fighting tempted pain, but it also tempted life. It would be the only thing fueling her raging fire.

Green with jealousy, she jabbed the needle violently into the flesh and left it there. Let it feel her worthless wrath, let it suffer for her failures. She certainly would – but not the girl beside her. Her fingers were elegant in their work, expertly drawing the skin together again as Laila tried to recall her district of origin. She was somewhere beneath her from the lower districts, where memories grew blurry. At this point she only knew about the careers and her allies, and she couldn’t recall a single thing about this girl other than the teddy bear. It belonged to her little sister. Laila didn’t know anything about little siblings; she had Ara, but she was a babbling baby who could only cry and soil herself. Would she ever have taken one of Ara’s toys with her to the capitol? Absolutely not. She had no use for such things, not even sentiment.

”Yeah,” She forced herself out of her envious haze and averted her eyes from the perfectly stitched wound, refusing to even glance at her own half-assed attempt. ”Our house burned down once, and we don’t really have parents to help us. Two older kids take care of us.” And then here was the old hag. Laila didn’t count her as anything but an irritating burden. Edgar and Lilith, however, were the closest thing she had to parents. She wasn’t sure if that was pitiful or fortunate, but they tried their best. It never seemed to be enough to satisfy, but it was enough to keep everyone together. It was enough to make her miss them.

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