Too Late For Sorry [Marr]
Jul 7, 2015 17:51:39 GMT -5
Post by Artemis on Jul 7, 2015 17:51:39 GMT -5
*
It had annoyed Max to no end to hear the condolences of his coworkers that his protege was chosen as a tribute; it made his blood boil when some of them had the nerve to congratulate him. All it did was reaffirm the notion that the denizens of the Career district of 2 were a bunch of bloodthirsty savages, and he'd come to learn that now more than ever watching the town square, packed with bodies, yelling and cheering for their favorite tribute the same way they cheered for their favorite athlete at the Olympics.
During the Games, the screens ran through the day and night, always under guard by the Peacekeepers.
Max was on patrol when the mechanical dopplegangers were released, watching with terrible anticipation as the tiny girl whom he'd so shamelessly berated just days ago was cut down on a massive screen lighting the empty square. The only sound was the faint breeze skirting down the street, past many closed doors and shutters while everyone else was asleep.
In all of Panem, Max was probably the only one there to watch.
He couldn't have made his disapproval any clearer or stated it any louder than he had when Olivia had volunteered as tribute; striking where he knew it would hurt, in Max's pride in Olivia, and throwing his dogtags at her feet that she had opted to wear as her token. It had been rather childish really, and Max couldn't help himself but find the parallels between his outburst in the Justice Building and when he had left home to become a Peacekeeper. The sentiments had both been the same; anger, at finding out someone he cared for wasn't who he thought they were. Hurt, at having all of his effort and investment thrown back in his face.
Sadness, feeling like being disowned all over again.
Max had always thought Olivia was different. She was too smart, too sensible for this senseless butchery; she had started training to become a Peacekeeper herself years before she would be eligible, she had endured the parents who neglected and mistreated her, she shouldered the burden of her brother's reputation with more grace and gumption than damn near anyone Max could think of.
This tiny girl with the spitfire attitude, who hadn't been deterred by Max's prickly nature, or judged him for the district he came from, who had against all odds persuaded Max to go home for the first time in nearly a decade to see his family again and put his own hurt to rest, had thrown all of it away in one impulsive moment deciding she wanted glory and her face on a screen.
She had turned out just like all the others.
At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. That had always been Max's habit, to hold those who'd hurt him at arm's length; it was easy with practice, he'd held a grudge against his own father for 8 years.
But it had only been a week since last he'd seen Olivia, and like the injured child he was, Max's last words to her had been full of anger and disappointment.
She'd volunteered, yes. And Max wasn't going to stop being angry at that. But deep in his chest, he felt that old ache return; he'd thought it gone, when he'd gone to visit his ailing father in the hospital expecting acid and instead being begged for forgiveness, but instead was coming back with a vengeance. It didn't feel like abandonment though, this was different.
Sadness. Regret. There were infinitely many words for it, and Max wasn't nearly eloquent enough to try and describe them all.
A warm summer wind blew by, ruffling his hair as Max took off his cap, stepping closer to the large screen. It didn't matter whether or not Olivia knew he was watching while the rest of the world slept; no amount of anger could push Max to condemn someone to dying alone, even if they didn't know someone was there. The sight of her face magnified onto the giant screen, blood running down her face where the knife had stuck was utterly grotesque, and Max knew he would be seeing it in his dreams for many nights to come.
His protege, the girl whom his friends had nicknamed Firecracker and whom he had a thousand obnoxious nicknames (and one affectionate one) for, Olivia Revenue would come home in a box; with her father thrown deep into some cell in the detention center and her mother wasting away in a mental facility, there would be no one there to receive her, to welcome her home one last time.
No.
That wasn't right. Angry though he was, Max couldn't help himself but admit that Olivia had been there for him; the only one at the train station when he'd come back from District 8 relieved and heavy-hearted and confused. It was only right that he return the favor. He'd be there to receive her so she didn't return home alone. He'd be beside the hole in the ground in which they laid her to rest, the only mourner in attendance, so she wouldn't be buried alone. And he'd stand there watching the screen, so she wouldn't die alone.
He'd been so stupid, so selfish to take his anger out on her. And now that Olivia was many miles away, unable to hear or see him as the life drained out of her, could he finally suck it up and whisper as he touched the screen,
"I'm sorry."
But as usual, his apologies were far too late.
B A N G
During the Games, the screens ran through the day and night, always under guard by the Peacekeepers.
Max was on patrol when the mechanical dopplegangers were released, watching with terrible anticipation as the tiny girl whom he'd so shamelessly berated just days ago was cut down on a massive screen lighting the empty square. The only sound was the faint breeze skirting down the street, past many closed doors and shutters while everyone else was asleep.
In all of Panem, Max was probably the only one there to watch.
He couldn't have made his disapproval any clearer or stated it any louder than he had when Olivia had volunteered as tribute; striking where he knew it would hurt, in Max's pride in Olivia, and throwing his dogtags at her feet that she had opted to wear as her token. It had been rather childish really, and Max couldn't help himself but find the parallels between his outburst in the Justice Building and when he had left home to become a Peacekeeper. The sentiments had both been the same; anger, at finding out someone he cared for wasn't who he thought they were. Hurt, at having all of his effort and investment thrown back in his face.
Sadness, feeling like being disowned all over again.
Max had always thought Olivia was different. She was too smart, too sensible for this senseless butchery; she had started training to become a Peacekeeper herself years before she would be eligible, she had endured the parents who neglected and mistreated her, she shouldered the burden of her brother's reputation with more grace and gumption than damn near anyone Max could think of.
This tiny girl with the spitfire attitude, who hadn't been deterred by Max's prickly nature, or judged him for the district he came from, who had against all odds persuaded Max to go home for the first time in nearly a decade to see his family again and put his own hurt to rest, had thrown all of it away in one impulsive moment deciding she wanted glory and her face on a screen.
She had turned out just like all the others.
At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. That had always been Max's habit, to hold those who'd hurt him at arm's length; it was easy with practice, he'd held a grudge against his own father for 8 years.
But it had only been a week since last he'd seen Olivia, and like the injured child he was, Max's last words to her had been full of anger and disappointment.
She'd volunteered, yes. And Max wasn't going to stop being angry at that. But deep in his chest, he felt that old ache return; he'd thought it gone, when he'd gone to visit his ailing father in the hospital expecting acid and instead being begged for forgiveness, but instead was coming back with a vengeance. It didn't feel like abandonment though, this was different.
Sadness. Regret. There were infinitely many words for it, and Max wasn't nearly eloquent enough to try and describe them all.
A warm summer wind blew by, ruffling his hair as Max took off his cap, stepping closer to the large screen. It didn't matter whether or not Olivia knew he was watching while the rest of the world slept; no amount of anger could push Max to condemn someone to dying alone, even if they didn't know someone was there. The sight of her face magnified onto the giant screen, blood running down her face where the knife had stuck was utterly grotesque, and Max knew he would be seeing it in his dreams for many nights to come.
His protege, the girl whom his friends had nicknamed Firecracker and whom he had a thousand obnoxious nicknames (and one affectionate one) for, Olivia Revenue would come home in a box; with her father thrown deep into some cell in the detention center and her mother wasting away in a mental facility, there would be no one there to receive her, to welcome her home one last time.
No.
That wasn't right. Angry though he was, Max couldn't help himself but admit that Olivia had been there for him; the only one at the train station when he'd come back from District 8 relieved and heavy-hearted and confused. It was only right that he return the favor. He'd be there to receive her so she didn't return home alone. He'd be beside the hole in the ground in which they laid her to rest, the only mourner in attendance, so she wouldn't be buried alone. And he'd stand there watching the screen, so she wouldn't die alone.
He'd been so stupid, so selfish to take his anger out on her. And now that Olivia was many miles away, unable to hear or see him as the life drained out of her, could he finally suck it up and whisper as he touched the screen,
"I'm sorry."
But as usual, his apologies were far too late.
B A N G
