this isn't the end :: abel's end

Geo Venn
the joker

They are pushing Gabrielle and Abel towards us because they’re broken bodies cannot move on their own anymore. Why aren’t they just letting us leave in peace? Why can’t they just leave us alone? I’m too afraid to ask, and I look over at both of them, blood dripping. Abel’s arm is gone, and his eyes look too innocent. It’s still too soon, I think, but it isn’t feasible to save them now. It’s too late to give them first aid, probably to save their lives.

They’re both dying, and Tybalt and I are tied up beside them. Just be grateful it wasn’t you, Geo. Be grateful they didn’t target you. I cannot be grateful enough that I’m still sitting here, alive and healthy while those two are turning lifeless. The doors of death are beckoning to open for them. Please don’t go yet. Please. Let me make you smile one final time I silently walk over, staring at the crazy girl eying all four of us down, but when I lay closer to Abel, maybe it’ll give a vibe that I’m only trying to comfort him. I’m only trying to make him smile.

Two items fly down and into the factory, directed towards me. As they drop, it reveals a fairly thick book and makeup of some kind. Make him smile. Laughing counts too, y’know. I quickly take out the makeup. I’ve never applied makeup, ever, and without a mirror, it will probably be difficult to do correctly. I dab my fingers into the green paint and run it swiftly through my hair, scrubbing it inside and out. Hurry up, Geo! He could die anytime now… as if finish practically dying my hair green with paint, I wipe off the green stains on the leather outfit that I’ve worn for days now. It feels sticky from running around like crazy for three days straight. I dab my fingers into the lightest grey (also the only grey, but it seems too light) and smear it onto my face. Next, I bob my right index finger into the black and circle it around my eyes.

The clock isn’t going to stop ticking just because you want it to, Geo.

I wipe the greyish black onto the concrete of the factory, making sure every last smudge is off of my hands. To finish it off, I swirl the red around with my thumb and connect both of my grey cheeks with a smile that looks like a clown. But if it’s a clown that will Abel MacLaren smile, so be it.

I stare at his innocent eyes, and then I hear the soft voice I haven’t heard in such a long time. The voice is too hushed and weakened to stay around for long. His life is broken, shattered into a million pieces on the floor. There are too many pieces of the puzzle lost, the breaking was too big for all the pieces to be nearby. He is being swallowed by the thing that almost everyone fears, death, yet Abel is still laughing.

I hope he isn’t going crazy while he dies. I hope, I hope, I hope. Please hope, don’t ruin his life in his last moments. Don’t you dare….

I stare into his eyes again. They are too vibrant to be flushed down so soon. They are crystalized, and I hug him. ”What’s in ya book? Let it be jokes, I like jokes,” he speaks just as I let go of him. I look at the book, which is entitled “Book O’ Puns”. I laugh. ”I guess it’s jokes,” I say, flipping open the book to a random page.

I read the pun quietly to myself, and then aloud, ”The chicken is laughing at me,” I begin, keeping my ears open for the cannons that could sound his death. There have been plenty already these Games, please don’t let there be any right now. I continue, ”so, I accuse him of bocking me,” I say, laughing.

I look at him, his eyes dazing out, and I continue. ”Abel,” I begin to speak, sounding broken. Tears begin to moisten up the barely dry facepaint. ”Abel. What goes up but never comes down? Think about it, and don’t stop, okay?” I ask him to keep thinking. He has to keep his mindset flowing. The brain doesn’t die until you let it. ”Are you thinking about it,” my words begin to appear more frantic as he looks deader by the second.

No, Geo you’re letting him die. You’re fucking letting him die, you’re making him hurt even more. You’re making him think of things he doesn’t want to think of. Let him think of his family, you fucking screw up. I breathe in and out louder.

Just leave him alone, my eyes bulge at his as they seem to be fading out.

You’re not letting him wonder about what’s truly important, I continue to call out his name, hoping that he is still listening.

LET HIM DIE IN PEACE, I can’t, I can’t just let him go. I have to be here when he dies, I have to know if it’s him. I have to. I have to. I have to.

You promised you’d watch his back in the Games. I begin to feel the tears fill up my eye sockets. I promised I would protect him. His innocence.

He isn’t in the Games anymore, he’s DYING. And let him die in peace you smartass bitch. I let them flow out, and the paint smears. I could honestly care less.

”Abel. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, I wanted you to-“ I begin to speak, faster and faster, but before I can finish, I am interrupted by a loud bang, and then I finish. ”survive.”

I try not to make myself seem weak as he’s now dead, but I cannot help it. I didn’t help him survive. His loving heart is gone now, and it’s all because of me.

Great, idiot. You let him die thinking about you instead of what’s truly important. I allow my nose to moisten up as well as I hang on to the first and last words of him. ‘Hey! Wait! I just want to talk. I just want someone to watch my back.’ The first words he said to me stuck by me. His innocent accent was accompanied by a boy so mature and caring that I couldn’t say no. Accents and caring are two things that are so great, and they are the perfect combination. But I failed him. I didn’t watch his back when Gunner threw a bag over his head, or when she gave him the killing blow. I could do almost nothing to stop it, and I promised myself I would make sure he would live until I died.

His last words, ‘I like jokes’. He likes jokes, and so do I. I gave him some, but I can’t even tell if he heard them.

”I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” I whisper, and then I put my head down and weep.

Yeah, you cry your pathetic ass off. You practically ruined his life, attention whore. I wrap some bandages that he gave me around my leg wound from the rats.

How many times should I say sorry?

As many times as the clock on the tower ticks and tocks,

I begin. Tick ”Sorry,” Tock ”Sorry, Tick ”Sorry,” Tock ”Sorry,”

I continue, knowing that I will be saying sorry for eternity.

The clock is still Eternally Ticking

Rest in peace, Abel MacLaren, I think.

Rest in peace.



[receives Facepaint and Book O’ Puns from Sponsorship]
[facepaints himself]
[uses 5ft of bandages on himself for -1]
[geo scoots back over to more sobbing with prison sadness]