the { s a n i t y } of life // Aetherians
Feb 21, 2014 21:11:03 GMT -5
Post by Stare on Feb 21, 2014 21:11:03 GMT -5
{ chapter the eighth }
kick me out and let me go
you don’t need me, i’m an angry soul
shut me out and lock the door
you don’t need me
you don’t need me, i’m an angry soul
shut me out and lock the door
you don’t need me
She was Hestia in her own right, keeper of the order that held our chaos together, and oftentimes steady fingers could calm the storm that so often raged beneath fragile skin. I remember the way the bruises seemed to fade in the presence of her smile, like ancient shadows chased off by the light, and sometimes I long for the voice that etched fairytales into my childhood, before I was too young to know better. She was our martyr and I idolize her despite her flaws (she lived to please and was too quiet for her own good), a goddess in my mind. It’s been years, but if I close my eyes I can still recall the last expression she wore on her face before her hand went cold in mine.
My name is Savannah Carey, and I remember the day I died.
Today is not that day. Crimson life is already drying, hardening over my winter-white complexion like a second skin. My saliva tastes metallic, laced with blood, and I can feel it hardening into my hair. I was in the Bloodbath, and I was drowning. Corpses lie at my feet, eyes blank and unseeing, bodies mangled almost beyond recognition. One lacks a head. The screams of those once living still echo in my ears, ghosts that will haunt me until I, too, fall into oblivion. The world is crashing, my sanity cracking, but I do not die today.
I know one of the bloodied faces. His features have frozen into an expression that is not his and it aches deeply in my chest, appearing between each frenzied heartbeat. That is a face that I might have seen in the marketplace once or twice. That is a face that was once sweating and filthy with the toxins of the factories. That is a face that watched me from across the table on the train. Last thoughts should be of home. My feet draw me toward him without my permission, a stumblestutterstep that leaves me reeling over his unmoving body. Suddenly an endless mantra of don’t touch him don’t touch him don’t touch him races through my head and I dance away from his unmoving form as if death is a contagious thing residing in his flesh. Was he thinking of home when he crashed to the ground, knowing very well that he’d never rise again? Was he remembering the little girl he saved when he drew in his last breaths?
Did he think of me? Did he wonder if I’d save him?
All at once the thing shrieking in my chest begins to quiet and go numb. It doesn’t matter what Luke thought or felt. Luke is dead. I’ll miss him until the day I join him but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone and I’m here. My frown fades, the line of my mouth hardening, and I take another step away from him. He is a burden that must be dropped. All these bodies are. My chest rises with a sharp intake of breath and I turn toward my allies. Toward the living. And there is only one thing I can say to sum up all the thoughts and emotions I’ve just cut off.
“Screw this.”
there’s a pain you carry with you
through the days you will dream
of losing me
and losing you
through the days you will dream
of losing me
and losing you
They leave for the section of the Arena that I was drawn toward since the beginning. I can’t imagine why anyone would gravitate toward any other area, so foreign and strange. Grasslands and boulders may not be District Eight, but they’re certainly what I’m most comfortable with. The boulders hint at a certain steadiness that I could definitely use at a time like this. I stay behind, surveying the damage my once (somewhat) bloodless hands have caused, and silently count the number of people who must hate me. Eye. Willis. Luke? Laila. After a short while I follow after them, shouldering my things and leaving the Cornucopia and land of corpses behind.
At some point my hand reaches back and I find Teddy in the depths of my pack. Relief courses through me at the sight of him. No blood. My eyes flutter closed and suddenly I see myself through Lucy’s eyes, on a flickering television screen with her stuffed bear in one hand and an axe in the other. I feel the presence of my other sisters and even of my father, and in that moment I feel a twisted sense of security. It doesn’t last. Bright eyes blink open and I’m back in the land of the almost-dead, breathing in the smell of the earth and watching for any who might attack me.
I find the others soon enough. The fresh blood on them alarms me but I say nothing, figuring they’ll prefer not to talk about it.
For now, these three are my family. I’ve heard tributes in previous Games call their allies “brother” and “sister”. Before the Bloodbath, I couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. Now it’s fathomable, though not entirely likely. These are the people who stood by me, who had my back even though they could have just as easily stabbed a knife through it. They aren’t my siblings, but a connection has been forged whether I like it or not. The solemnity of the situation hangs heavy between us, tying us with threads of despair and fear.
No offense to the Capitol, but that’s not exactly how I like to make friends.
I watch them for a moment and then a crooked smile finds its way onto my face. “You know what? I’ve had enough blood for one day. Let’s play a different game.”
I drop down to the ground, crossing my legs in front of me and resting my backpack to one side, though my axe remains in my lap. I can almost hear the confused murmurings in the Capitol and the disgust of the districts at my casual manner but, at this point, I find I couldn’t care less. My eyes wander lazily over the three of them before I zero in on my target. “Claude. Truth or dare?”
fall asleep (better off)
and let me go
close your eyes (better off)
goodbye
and let me go
close your eyes (better off)
goodbye
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