sewn together | {Byrony/Ventus}
Jun 16, 2014 23:42:50 GMT -5
Post by hesper hart 🐺 d9f on Jun 16, 2014 23:42:50 GMT -5
ventus blanchard.
[presto]
[/presto]am i better off dead?
am i better off a quitter?
they say i'm better off now
----
district seven
eighteen
falling apart
am i better off a quitter?
they say i'm better off now
----
district seven
eighteen
falling apart
It seemed my lips weren't ever going to stop tingling from the shock of Bryony's against my own, but eventually they did. Somewhere between the time when I laid my head down to rest (even though I didn't get any) and the time when the sun kissed the horizon and beckoned me to work, the feeling in them had faded. And as wonderful, as amazing as the feeling was, it didn't change the fact that I had almost died. That was almost treated like a cow up for slaughter, except the cows at least got the decency to be murdered in the quiet, all on their own. My death would have been a good thing.
A few days passed, each one filled with work in which I hardly noticed myself going through the motions until my father was tapping me on the shoulder, asking when I would be ready to go home, and then the rest of the time was either spent in front of the television, watching the pre-game interviews or sneak peaks, or trying and failing to sleep. I couldn't face Bryony... not after he had seen me so broken, and until I was whole again, I didn't plan on seeing him. He was supposed to be the broken one, not me. He was the one that was terrified of his own shadow, not me. I was supposed to be strong for him, and in three seconds everything went up in flames.
My mother seemed to notice the differences in me more than anyone else, always looking at me with this horror stricken look, like she felt so miserable for me, but that was just it, I didn't want her to. I didn't want anyone feeling sorry for me, not her, or my dad, or Bryony.
I sat in the kitchen watching an over-view of the tributes training. A lot of the footage was filled with Gavin's face, usually with a hatchet in his hand, or with him talking to the girl from Two, as well as a few of the others. Good. He was already doing far better than I ever would have. An unbelievable need for him to leave, for him to not die in vain over a cause as lost as me was an enormous weight on my shoulders, and I was beginning to think that he was one of the few that actually did have a chance.
Mom walked in, a gentle hand against my back. "Why don't you run to the market for me? Well, for you, really... clear your head a bit?" I didn't say anything out loud, probably because I would only sound as broken as I was, but I nodded and took the small list of things she had written down and a wad of cash before exiting the house. The night was young, still early enough that I could see everything in a violet haze, but dark enough that I doubted anyone would notice the tears that kept falling down my cheeks.
"Straighten up!" I begged myself. ""Just pick up the damn pieces and put them back together!" But pieces were replaced by tears when it came to things I was picking up, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop.
Until I saw something that gave me no choice.
I was extremely close to the market, only a few hundred yards when I saw them. A crowd of them all surrounding him, a few of the bolder ones ducking in and pushing him, him, him.
Bryony.
His demands to be left alone were futile, and I realized this was a chance to redeem myself, to be the helper rather than the helpless, and I surged forward, slamming into one of the boys in a matter of seconds, and then having pushed Bryony behind me in a few more. "Leave him the fuck alone, or you'll wish you had."
- - -
table: tristen
