set me on fire {slash} blitz

Rock bottom was hit the moment I shattered under the camera at the reaping, but still held together my masquerade of strength and fearlessness of a warrior. I was on my deathbed when I stood in the Square, prayers hissing between clenched teeth that it wouldn't be me. But the blare of "Hannah O'Leary!" from the escort's lips doled out the killing blow.

I live no longer - I exist. A shell of the little girl who ran into her brother's arms when he ripped himself away from oblivion by thrusting others in and returned, against all odds, from the arena.

There is a tide, an onslaught of waves, pulling me into the undertow, to the shelves chock full of alcohol. It is an amber dreamland made for troublemakers, drunks, and tortured souls.

(Which category do I fit under?)

I am nothing against the black sea and the relentless voices of the briny wind - Hannah Hannah Hannah HANNAH HANNAH HANNAH O'LEARY -

Nothing, as I am nothing in the face of a new current, this one white hot and utterly enveloping. It is odd to feel something other than fear and anger and deep, deep despair, but perhaps this - what I can only recognize as desire - was sparked from the clashing of the void against the rest of my crumbling structures.

Someith Krearns. Saxton Hale. Annora Taylor.

My lips burn for theirs - or maybe that's just the alcohol seeping into my cracked skin.

'cause nothing good comes after midnight

ain't no goodness come from pain

❧

{ table: zoë }