Regen Freiheit | D8 | Fin

But now we're sleeping at the edge
Holding something we don't need
All this delusion in our heads
Is gonna bring us to our knees

Your world is  f a l l i n g  around you.



Yesterday, you woke up to the sound of your mother's voice. It was soft and kind, like flowers, but you knew she was stressed. Her words were strained and when you dared to open your eyes, a thousand shades of grey flooding your vision, you could tell that her leg muscles tensed every-so-often under the loose hem of her dress. You let her finish talking to the man at the door before moving. 

Two days ago, you woke up to the warmth of Dylix's body pressed up against yours. His back bones pressed into the chiseled surface of your abdomen. You treasured the moment, wishing that you could place a specific colour with his hair without asking, but you knew that you would succumb to asking sooner or later. It was a deep shade of grey, almost charcoal, and it contrasted his skin perfectly; not too much but not too little. From what you had heard, it was the stark opposite of yours. It was just 'light grey' to you.

A week ago, you woke up to the shrill sound of your alarm clock. It rang deep in your room, piercing even the stillest of silences. It was like the screaming of the children on the TV when the games were on, except listening to your alarm clock was less charming. You vaguely remember seeing a girl named Pixie Ruined appear on the glass screen of your television one night. You saw her running through a world of white, something that you were used to yet not used to at the same time. This is elegant, you had remembered thinking while watching the snow dribble down around her like the sky was crying. This is elegant.

Today, you wake up to the rough surface of brick pressing into your cheek. Day has just broken across the horizon and you can hear the muffled chirps of birds in the background. Last night is a mess in your head and no matter how hard you try, you can't summon the strength to remember what happened. You can't remember staggering out of the local pub when they found out you weren't of age. You can't remember walking down the alleyway, all your focus on keeping a confident stride, then letting your steps falter in a way that gave away all of your secrets of the night. And you certainly can't remember losing your sight entirely, not even greyscale to comfort you in your journey, and falling to the ground in a drunken mess. What even drove you to be at a bar this late at night?

That's the only thing you remember, though. You recall watching reruns of previous games and trying to tell yourself that enjoying them is sick, that it's degrading, that it's going to ruin everything you've ever cared for, including yours and Dylix's relationship. You know they don't deserve it, but that doesn't stop you from turning on the TV and sitting in front of it a if you're lost in it's blue glow.

I'm eighteen, you think to yourself. Why not just be in them? Get reaped and be sent off to die like every other kid that didn't deserve it. 

Except you feel like you deserve it. Better you than them, right?

So you went to drink. You thought you were a danger to everyone around you and while nobody else thought that, you worshipped the idea. Save them by saving yourself. 

Tomorrow, you will wake up to the warmth of Dylix again, but this time, his sleeping form won't be on your mind at all. What will be plaguing your thoughts is your fate and the games. So elegant, you think to yourself.

So elegant.

Fin

Note: Little tiny details and a bit more of his past can be found here.