don't save us from the flames ; { atlas/percy train blitz }
Jun 7, 2016 15:35:39 GMT -5
Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Jun 7, 2016 15:35:39 GMT -5
During one of our Bloodworth busts, Calypso shoved one of the brothers to his knees- they cracked against the concrete- and handed me a pistol from her belt. She beckoned me with her eyes, cold and flickering from me to the brother. I staggered forward in her will, my arm outstretched, the barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head.
Click.
It was a taunt, a snicker.
I couldn't see his face from where I stood, but his sobs cut up the air and shook his body, turned to glass against my gun.
"You're weak," I said. But my voice was soft, full of wonder- he was a man who split skulls with bullets for fun and thought blood red was a color who suited anyone who got in his way, and yet he trembled, cried, in the face of death.
It was incomprehensible.
But now the gun is held to my head.
(Click.)
And I think I understand why he burst into tears.
There is a deep pain- it is darkest, most caustic in my chest- in me, like every one of my nerves is frayed, split. It is a white pain, present but not.
When I walk into the train where Atlas White awaits, it is shoved into the back of my mind- Calypso taught me that agony is a weakness before others. If you deny that it is there, you will not feel it as intensely for a while.
So I don't cry. I smile at my district partner when my eyes meet his.
"Tell me, do you think you're brave or stupid?" I ask, putting my hands on my hips and cocking my head to the side inquisitively.❧out of the flames
a piece of brain in my hair
the wheels are melting
a ghost is screaming your name
