Keep Losing Ground // [Navya/Harbinger]
Sept 27, 2015 21:50:03 GMT -5
Post by admin kay on Sept 27, 2015 21:50:03 GMT -5
NAVYA SACHDEVA
"Nav, your hair!" One her sisters admonished her on the long, dusty walk from their apricot orchard to the center of town. Normally she wouldn't have stayed close enough to her sisters to be critiqued; she would have been dodging Kirito's footfalls, scooping up rocks and seeds and other little treasures. But he didn't live next door any more and she wasn't a little girl any more. So when it came time for another Reaping, Navya let her other twist her hair into coils, wore another hand-me-down, and tried not to flinch as Kiara adjusted the pins against her scalp.
In the pin, away from her brothers and sisters, Navya carefully collected every pin. She took them out carefully, but still the metal tore against delicate flesh. By the time the Capitol escort ascended the podium, Navya had a fist of bloodied pins instead of rocks and seeds. She clutched them to her chest, breathing quick and shallow. But what did she have to fear? Kirito was on the stage, yes, but he was crowned. He would always be there, every summer, staring over the district with his soft eyes.
When his gaze wandered over her, Navya winked at her best friend.
In the end, it would never have been enough. She couldn't have held the pins tight enough, couldn't have winked long enough, couldn't have done a single thing to change the booming voice that named him. But after, as she dragged herself up the steps to the Mayor's house, she obsessed over every detail. Had she not sacrificed the right number of apricots? Had she not said her prayers faithfully every night? Had she been too gleeful, too happy to have Kirito home? Did the gods so disapprove of happiness?
Somewhere between the pen and the wooden door, she had lost the pins. Her dark hair cascaded around her shoulder, unkempt and tangled. She'd begun to cry, her eyes more liquid than solid. She'd meant to stand taller, to stop weeping, but when the Peacekeeper ushered her, she could do neither. She spoke through the ridiculous anguish.
"I just - I just came to - to," she hiccuped. "To say that I'll take care of them. I don't," she sniffled, heaved a giant sigh, and managed to still her tears for a moment. Navya wiped her cheeks with both hands, pushing away the evidence of her weakness. "I didn't come here to cry," she whispered the counsel to herself. She forced her gaze up to his, just as she had done in the field beyond the broken train. In his eyes, she found courage, just as she had on that first day.
Her tears dried. She stepped forward, close enough to touch him, to feel the thrill of just being near him. "I came to here to say: I know we haven't known each other very long, but I do know you, Harbinger Rhodes. I knew you even before the train. When we were there, rescuing Felicity and the others, I looked at the train and thought: it could take me away. It could take us far, far away. But I didn't say anything because I knew then what I know now: you have a good heart. Don't lose it."
Don't forget me, she wanted to say, but it was so stupid. They had spent so little time together, and it was Kirito who had kissed her even if it hadn't meant anything, not Harbinger. She couldn't say something so stupid to Harbinger Rhodes. So instead, she offered him a slow smile, the kind that comes after a storm.
In the pin, away from her brothers and sisters, Navya carefully collected every pin. She took them out carefully, but still the metal tore against delicate flesh. By the time the Capitol escort ascended the podium, Navya had a fist of bloodied pins instead of rocks and seeds. She clutched them to her chest, breathing quick and shallow. But what did she have to fear? Kirito was on the stage, yes, but he was crowned. He would always be there, every summer, staring over the district with his soft eyes.
When his gaze wandered over her, Navya winked at her best friend.
In the end, it would never have been enough. She couldn't have held the pins tight enough, couldn't have winked long enough, couldn't have done a single thing to change the booming voice that named him. But after, as she dragged herself up the steps to the Mayor's house, she obsessed over every detail. Had she not sacrificed the right number of apricots? Had she not said her prayers faithfully every night? Had she been too gleeful, too happy to have Kirito home? Did the gods so disapprove of happiness?
Somewhere between the pen and the wooden door, she had lost the pins. Her dark hair cascaded around her shoulder, unkempt and tangled. She'd begun to cry, her eyes more liquid than solid. She'd meant to stand taller, to stop weeping, but when the Peacekeeper ushered her, she could do neither. She spoke through the ridiculous anguish.
"I just - I just came to - to," she hiccuped. "To say that I'll take care of them. I don't," she sniffled, heaved a giant sigh, and managed to still her tears for a moment. Navya wiped her cheeks with both hands, pushing away the evidence of her weakness. "I didn't come here to cry," she whispered the counsel to herself. She forced her gaze up to his, just as she had done in the field beyond the broken train. In his eyes, she found courage, just as she had on that first day.
Her tears dried. She stepped forward, close enough to touch him, to feel the thrill of just being near him. "I came to here to say: I know we haven't known each other very long, but I do know you, Harbinger Rhodes. I knew you even before the train. When we were there, rescuing Felicity and the others, I looked at the train and thought: it could take me away. It could take us far, far away. But I didn't say anything because I knew then what I know now: you have a good heart. Don't lose it."
Don't forget me, she wanted to say, but it was so stupid. They had spent so little time together, and it was Kirito who had kissed her even if it hadn't meant anything, not Harbinger. She couldn't say something so stupid to Harbinger Rhodes. So instead, she offered him a slow smile, the kind that comes after a storm.
table coding (c) ghosty
