match box {{ Key and Sue (blits)

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last seen May 10, 2024 14:51:57 GMT -5

match box {{ Key and Sue (blits) Jun 3, 2015 21:54:49 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2015 21:54:49 GMT -5

S U E T A T E

This place swallowed him whole with lavish drinks and glamorous rooms.

Armies and armies of tinted Capitolite cheeks, powdered lips shouting at them as they stepped one foot out of the car and threw their sanities to the masses. Sue Tate had not known what to expect from the Capitol, and as he discovered, he hadn't known how to handle it either.

He'd seen a single tree in the center of a courtyard outside of the Tribute center, but it wasn't anything like the ones back home. It was perfectly straight, every branch freshly trimmed, and it's trunk went from blue to green to yellow.

It confused him, and he'd made a mental note to go out and chop it down in the middle of the night.

The first day (was it the first day? he'd lost track of the days like the lies that hang on his lips) had physically and mentally stolen all of his energy away. There were weights on his eyelids and cement bricks hanging off of his legs. When they'd finally decided to retire him for the night, beard and mouth and all, he'd hit his bed like a pile of bricks.

Toss, turn, the blankets choked him with the Capitol scent of lavender and the darkness tore at his mind, empty shadows of past tributes lurking in their midst.

he'd put one two feet on the ground and risen himself up with all of the new found alertness he could muster. And the door swung open with a click. Labyrinth hallways, every step he took every turn he followed only led to another brightly lit, mirror crowded hallway.

He closed his eyes every time he walked by one, afraid that his own reflection would reach out and rip his mouth from his face.

Another glass death, another few sparing seconds of eternal darkness as he walked with his eyes snapped shut, in a one two three.

Stare

Stare
Retired Staff

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Pronouns: she/her
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

match box {{ Key and Sue (blits) Jun 5, 2015 20:12:28 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Stare on Jun 5, 2015 20:12:28 GMT -5

take my love, take my land
take me where i cannot stand
i don't care, i'm still free
you can't take the sky from me

Ripred, I can’t stand this room.

Even when I sit on my bed for hours staring at the wall that projects the image of District Three, I still feel like I’m suffocating. I watch the sun set behind the clock tower, sky fading into gold and lavender until the building is so dark against it that you can’t even see the rust anymore. It makes something in my chest scream a little and I nearly bring my hands up, as if pressing them against my heart will somehow make it hurt less. Eventually it’s too much to watch the moon outline my home in silver and I turn the screen off, instead staring at the stars projected above the candy-colored city.

We didn’t have stars at home. Not often, anyway. The pollution was always too thick, a layer of brown and gray that cut us off from the sky. Maybe that’s what I loved the clock tower so much. Up that high, you could just barely make them out, struggling to shine in a district that didn’t need them anymore. I step off my bed and lean forward, pressing my hands up against the glass. My lips twitch upward. Then, still dressed in the ridiculously clean though now somewhat crumpled outfit they shoved me into this morning, I push through the door and tiptoe past the tribute quarters and out beyond.

It’s not as much that I need to escape as it is that I need to move. At home I was always moving, climbing and swinging and clutching to wire cords that were the only things keeping me from being crushed by the mechanism. It was how I stayed alive. I figure that if I do the same thing here, it might have the same effect, even though for every rusted old piece of metal at home they have a billion sleek silver arches and brightly hued vases. I don’t like the colors. It’s all too bright, like a two-year-old’s painting where everything is just too perfect, the paints all too vibrant and the shapes too round, too flat, too unreal -

Something flawed emerges from the world of perfection and smacks right into me. I yelp, heart leaping into my chest, as I stumble backward into a nearby stand where one of their fancy statues sits. It’s of some creature leaping out of a perfect cerulean wave. A dolphin, I think is what it’s called. Both me and the creature tumble to the floor, and I cringe when I hear the sound of it shattering. My eyes fly open, first to gaze incredulously at the figure towering over me, then at the shattered pieces of glass and pottery scattered about me.

“Shit.”

take me out to the black
tell 'em I ain't comin' back
burn the land and boil the sea
you can't take the sky from me

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last seen May 10, 2024 14:51:57 GMT -5

match box {{ Key and Sue (blits) Jun 8, 2015 22:12:25 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Deleted on Jun 8, 2015 22:12:25 GMT -5

S U E T A T E

It all happens slowly, his mind can hardly process the speed.

One moment, the hallway is terrorizing him with mirrors and statues, wallpaper peeling off the walls and wrapping crinkled hands around his neck, choking the air, the words, the sins out of his throat.

One moment, two moments, three. The body slams into his chest and bounces back, one stumble two shuffles and three things hit the floor.

Her body

The statue's body

And the jaw of District Seven male, Sue Tate.

Her eyes shoot up at him, locking with a face that stood with both eyebrows raised, hands open in shock and disbelief.

"Shit."

And shit was right, as three bodies sat in a silence that was as comforting as his room had been. One body broken, shattered to bits, and the other two broken, body and soul ripped to shreds as soon as their names had been called.

Or, in his case, spoken.

Eventually, his lies wrap around his neck and slam his jaw shut, and he reaches one hand down to help the girl up, raising one eyebrow in the process.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry, must not have been watching where my feet were taking me."

Brown eyes glance to a broken object, counting how many bits of broken hopes laid scattered around on the carpet. He counts in threes,

one two three, one two three, one two-

He takes one step forward, and as his foot stomps down a horrifying crack reaches his ears.

three.

He reaches down and scoops up what's left of the statue's tail, eyes glancing over it before he frowns.

"Shit is right, I guess." He says, rolling the pieces between his thumb and forefinger.

"Sue Tate, by the way."

He nearly reaches out to shake her hand, but he doesn't want to risk breaking the tail into more pieces.