Death will have this day // Luke's DP
Feb 22, 2014 0:12:00 GMT -5
Post by Anatra on Feb 22, 2014 0:12:00 GMT -5
When they told you that you have to fight to the death in a pageant of glory, you did not expect to be part of a brutal slaughter with the clash of swords and the spark of teenage fires. Standing upon that pedestal, trembling with a fear that enveloped some kind of drive to live through the nightmare, I was innocent to the feeling of pain and the dullness of death. I was innocent to the heartbreak and to the Games. I was in no way gentle, but I was definitely without capability to cope with the murder. To have been the murderer would have cut me deeper than the swords that took away what little resolve I had left. I would have crumbled slower, but harsher. I would have lived, but I would not have lived any better. Endangering those that I grew to befriend, my alliance, would have been the last thing I would have done. Dying scoring higher on the list.
The bath of blood ran fluently, fleeting after those who ran. Preying on the weak and humiliating the strong. Which was I?
I didn't fight back. My body resisted but after the first thrust, the second slash, I was down. Collecting itself in the wounds, fleeing my broken body, the blood made it's own bath upon the mixture of dirt and grass. They left me there to die. My eyes flickered until flashes of what I can only describe to be the happiest memories slipped like foil over my blood-veiled head. I am dazed, dizzy and delusional. "All alone it was a fever." I heard her sing into my ear like a lament. "A cold sweat, hot-headed believer." She continued, singing away my wounds. The song was sung like a prayer or a hymn to my likely demise. "I want you to stay." It rings in my ears. But I can't. The struggle breaks my face which can't cope with the pain. It constricts my throat. Warmth is not the word to describe the feel of blood - it is hellish and foul. Courage is not in this blood, nor love. It abandons me, leaving only the blood I need to pass.
My head can't keep upright from my laid position. Falling limp to the side I can see. Blurred and distorted, but I can see. It can't say it, but only feel it - the memory of her singing at the talent show. "You're good." I mouthed with my lips silently, looking upon her from the seats distant to the stage. "It makes me feel I can't live without you." It takes me all the way, because I want to stay. But I can't. Death just won't let me. It is not much of a life the murderers are living, though. Because like in the song, it is not just what you take but what you give. I have hope, the words upon my bracelet token, that I have given the girl I grew dyingly fond of some chance of life. I watch as she is fleeing the rivers of blood that run along the grass and soil. I can't tell whether she is hurt, and I can't tell whether she is alone.
"Now, tell me now, tell me now you know." I hear in my ears, the blood leaking from my head down my face. "I do." I can't say. "I do know." I still can't.
There is only one thing I can go happily by knowing. That the girl I met and grew to love is safer than I. That was my intention all along, it was just not to be this day.
But death stole it.
My eyes are shut by the sound of the cannon.
The bath of blood ran fluently, fleeting after those who ran. Preying on the weak and humiliating the strong. Which was I?
I didn't fight back. My body resisted but after the first thrust, the second slash, I was down. Collecting itself in the wounds, fleeing my broken body, the blood made it's own bath upon the mixture of dirt and grass. They left me there to die. My eyes flickered until flashes of what I can only describe to be the happiest memories slipped like foil over my blood-veiled head. I am dazed, dizzy and delusional. "All alone it was a fever." I heard her sing into my ear like a lament. "A cold sweat, hot-headed believer." She continued, singing away my wounds. The song was sung like a prayer or a hymn to my likely demise. "I want you to stay." It rings in my ears. But I can't. The struggle breaks my face which can't cope with the pain. It constricts my throat. Warmth is not the word to describe the feel of blood - it is hellish and foul. Courage is not in this blood, nor love. It abandons me, leaving only the blood I need to pass.
My head can't keep upright from my laid position. Falling limp to the side I can see. Blurred and distorted, but I can see. It can't say it, but only feel it - the memory of her singing at the talent show. "You're good." I mouthed with my lips silently, looking upon her from the seats distant to the stage. "It makes me feel I can't live without you." It takes me all the way, because I want to stay. But I can't. Death just won't let me. It is not much of a life the murderers are living, though. Because like in the song, it is not just what you take but what you give. I have hope, the words upon my bracelet token, that I have given the girl I grew dyingly fond of some chance of life. I watch as she is fleeing the rivers of blood that run along the grass and soil. I can't tell whether she is hurt, and I can't tell whether she is alone.
"Now, tell me now, tell me now you know." I hear in my ears, the blood leaking from my head down my face. "I do." I can't say. "I do know." I still can't.
There is only one thing I can go happily by knowing. That the girl I met and grew to love is safer than I. That was my intention all along, it was just not to be this day.
But death stole it.
My eyes are shut by the sound of the cannon.
W O R D. C O U N T : 624
N O T E S : Sure he can stay.
