choking on memories } [VT // Rade]

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arx
Retired Staff

2,424 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Apr 18, 2024 20:03:20 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

choking on memories } [VT // Rade] Dec 24, 2015 23:36:36 GMT -5

Post by arx on Dec 24, 2015 23:36:36 GMT -5

tags: charade

I R I D I U M

what makes night
within us

We buried her with the crown still wrapped around her head. It came back to District 6 clean, shimmering—fit for a Victor. They even took the time to engrave her name into the inner rim. But it was merely a cruel joke, a façade meant to aid in my family’s pain and misery. As if we needed the reminder of what she could've been—a Victor, my sister, alive. Instead, I had to attend her funeral. Instead, I had to bury her, kiss her cold forehead, say goodbye. Instead, I'm going to a victory ceremony for Harbinger Rhodes with one less hand to hold and one more hole in my heart.

('I don't want to go.')
("You have to, Iris. It's the rules.")

('I hate rules.')
("I know.")

My parents made me dress up. Pinch-y shoes, a dress that's too tight, hair tied up in what felt like knots. I tried to wear my ball cap over the flashy, polka dot bow, but Mom caught me before I left the house. I tried to refuse to come, I even threatened screaming throughout the entire ceremony. But this time, unlike during the Reaping, neither of my parents budged. ("If you're so determined to speak with her then you can't go looking like you just rolled out of bed.") But I don't really want to look like I care either. Because I don't. I don't care. I don't, don't, don't---

I run my fingers over the delicate stitching of the tapestry, linger on the smallest spot of blood that not even the Capitol could get out of the material. I hope she doesn't notice it; it's not my intention to have this gift be as cruel as the crown on Jeq's head. Though I suppose it isn't really a gift. I'm simply returning something that doesn't belong to me or my family. I'm not sure it ever really belonged to Jeq either, though she came home with it wrapped around her body.

If anything it belonged to the girl sitting on the throne. I visited her grave a few days ago, right after I visited my sister's. (Ellexias Verisity.) The letters were as big and as bold as the ones carved into my sister's headstone, though the stone was weathered. It had been two years since she had been laid to rest and if I was honest with myself, I don't remember a single thing about her except that she was from District 6, my sister wore a depiction of her on her back, and Katelyn Persimmon knew her.

That's why I have to endure the dress and the hair and the shoes and the seemingly endless sorrow. Katelyn Persimmon is the only one this tapestry could possibly belong to. I tuck the tapestry under my arm, giving one last look at the girl sitting on the ice throne and the girl kneeling before her—the victor of the 69th Hunger Games.

But today isn't meant to be her shining hour; that day has come and gone. Today is meant for Harbinger Rhodes, the victor of the 71st Hunger Games, and I am part of the family of the fallen. My Moms had planned to keep my sisters and I out of the spotlight, tucked away from the cameras and the glamour of victory. But as it always is in Panem, the Capitol had other plans, shoving all off us onto a pedestal along with an entire lot of Keenis for their latest Victor to see. But of course I don't hear a single word he says, nor do I really have the energy to care.

In truth, I'm terrified. I hate admitting it, but my palms are sweaty and my heart is racing in my chest as I watch her, waiting silently next to Kirito Miristioma as the newest member of the District 11 squad ends his speech. My knees grow weak and wobbly as a Peacekeeper sets me down on the ground. The crowd begins to move, some people shifting away, others moving to congratulate the new Victor. But my mission keeps me heading in a different direction, away from the swell of the crowd and towards the older Victor.

I've practiced the words a thousand times. I've asked my sisters to help me with my speaking for the past few days simply so I could talk to her and not sound incompetent. But there is only so much a deaf girl can learn about speaking, and I know this won't be perfect. She's startlingly tall, pretty; I take a deep breath to expel my anxiety. I pull the tapestry from the crook of my arm and hold it neatly in front of me, extending my arms only when I've composed myself.

"This belongs to you."

I'm sure the words are muddled, if not completely indecipherable coming from my untrained lips. But I'm ready for her answer, waiting to read her lips and ready for her to take back what doesn't belong to me. I'm already being crushed under the weight of my sister's memory; I can't shoulder the burden of Katelyn's demons, too. I'll suffocate.

may leave
s t a r s

E C K H A R T

table creds to avalon

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

charade
Retired Staff

3,811 POSTS

last seen Jan 6, 2024 4:36:58 GMT -5

Thinking

choking on memories } [VT // Rade] Dec 25, 2015 5:18:43 GMT -5

Post by charade on Dec 25, 2015 5:18:43 GMT -5

KATELYN PERSIMMON

So many threes.

Three years of victors for district eleven. Three in a row. Three allies lost to the snow and the cold. Three times she’d been in district six, and every time, all she could think about was Marc and Lexi. The pair from six that she owed the most to. If not for them, she wouldn’t have made it as far as she did; it was a debt that could not be repaid save for making sure she didn’t waste the gift of life. That her life would mean something. She stared at the sea of faces as Harbinger made his speech and her heart ached. She was not sorry that Harbinger was alive. But she was sorry that his life meant that twenty-three other families were in mourning. They all mattered; they were just as important. But there could only be one survivor, because the Capitol made it so.

The Eckharts and the Keenis stood across from the stage, under the screens that held wavering images of Kitty and Jequirity. They were different, but it felt the same. They were Lexi’s father and Marc’s brother. They were the Venns, the O’dales and the O’connors. She locked eyes with one of them, and after turning away and back, she realized that the girls eyes never left where she was. Katelyn wondered what the girl was thinking. Was she furious with Katelyn for Harbingers life? She wouldn’t be the first to lay the blame for a death at a mentor’s feet. District eleven’s newest victor got on with his speech and ended it, descending the stairs like Kirito had done a year ago, and Katelyn followed as the crowd began to swell.

She saw the girl again; an Eckhart, a couple years younger than her, but probably of reaping age. Katelyn couldn’t tell. She offered a roll of fabric up like a sacrifice and muttered in voice that sounded rusty with disuse that it belonged to her. For a moment, Katelyn’s brain stopped, trying to fathom what it was and why the girl felt led to give it to her instead of Harbinger. But after thinking of another Eckhart, the one she had watched on screen, she knew what it was as sure as the sinking feeling in her stomach. There were always a few items in the Cornucopia that made little sense at first glance; string, pliers, keys. This was one of them. The tapestry that Jequirity had in the arena, depicting a moment of calm in the storm in Katelyn’s life that had lasted for eight days.

Because if there was anything the Capitol wanted to get across, it was that the tributes, the victors, everyone belonged to them. But that moment in time wasn’t for them to keep; it wasn’t theirs to have any more than Septys and Ruth’s relationship or Nat Krigel’s head. It wasn’t right, and everyone knew it, but chose to ignore it or otherwise decided that there was nothing to be done about it. She trailed her fingers along the edge of the tapestry gingerly, as if the mere act of touching it would transport her back to the arena, to that snapshot of her life. “Oh God, none of this friend stuff is real. There can only be one victor, even if the three of us outlast everyone else.” But a person chooses their friends, and the bonds forged in fire or ice meant the most when it came down to it.

“What…What’s it like in district six? I’ve always wondered what life is like in other places.” It was a question that came back to her, followed by the answer as Marc and Elverum rested and drank in the safety of the castle. That the biggest buildings were the institute and the college. Lexi worked in a building with basement floors. The truth was that it wasn’t much different. She could tell that six was better off than eleven had been three years ago, better than any of the lower districts. But not by much more. There were no farms. No fields. Now that Katelyn thought about it, this was probably where the labs that held mutts were. Slums and hospitals juxtaposed the dirtiness of street drugs and the clinical uncaringness of the medical field. Hard times, made harder because victors did not come from district six.

Their eyes told her that hope was a rarity if it existed at all; she saw only anger and misery.

She stared at the younger girl, feeling the fear in her eyes, watching the slight trembled in her hands. What could she say to her? That she was sorry that Jequirity had died choking on her own blood like that cowboy the year before Katelyn had won? She had an inkling of what to say, but it was hard, hard to know that this little girl had to be in the position to need them. Katelyn took the tapestry and held it under her arm, glancing at it like it was a living thing; then she stooped down and hugged the Eckhart girl briefly, hoping that the action wouldn’t freak her out. Then the words found their way out of her lips. “She was strong. Don’t you ever think different. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

Katelyn sighed, and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know it hurts.” She said sadly, remembering cold nights where she cried herself to sleep after seeing faces in the sky. “I’m sorry that you lost her. But you gotta let go of the pain. Take the time you need, but let go of it. Let go of it and remember her. Let her be your strength instead of your burden.” Songs and stories didn’t truly have an end. They existed for as long as there was someone to shout the words from the rooftops or whisper them as they cried themselves to sleep. As long as someone chose to remember why it made them feel the way they did. Lexi and Marc were a mournful dirge for district six. Velocity a tune. The other twenty, chapters of a story forgotten by the world at large, but not by their loved ones, and certainly not by her.

In a perfect world, her friends were alive. They lived in the same place and there was no such thing as the hunger games.

But…

You can’t always have what you want.

“I hope you never have to follow in her footsteps, Eckhart. But thank you. I think of Lexi and Marc often.”

"When you’ve lost your way, when you have no words,
we are your strength, when you don’t have anymore. "

table coding (c) ghosty

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle