.: P E R S P E C T I V E S | U N K N O W N :. [One Shots]

Be still

Wild and young

Long may your innocence reign

Like shells on the shore

And may your limits be unknown
And may your efforts be your own
If you ever feel you can't take it anymore

There were two eyes in the mirror, staring straight at and through Heathcliff Travers.

More fearsome than the twenty-three that he would face tomorrow were those eyes. The ones that could see beyond the short hair, the high voice, the way that he could bend a leg behind his head; they were all powerful, all knowing. For what could bring so much fear, staring face to face with his own reflection? Maybe some would say that he volunteered for glory, that was easy enough. Or it could have been to prove that he was strong, that this was a challenge he had set out to fulfill. But his eyes knew better, they looked beyond the reasons that wafted past, false in the moonlight. He stared down at his naked skin, pale and shameless in the empty room.

Was it six hours now? Soon he’d have a knock at his door, and there would be no telling of what would be on the other side. Not that he couldn’t see the day unfolding; the world was already breathing down their necks, ready for the blood to be spilled. Would any of the families have a rightful victor? Would the volunteer have his due? And what of the ones that had spent so long training them, watching the boys and girls wander into the arena only to be mowed down. That was life; that was the world to show them that there was nothing promised, and nothing gained from imaging that their hearts were any more important than another’s. Heathcliff was well aware that the world owed him nothing, not even the possibility of shedding his skin for something anew.

The balcony was freeing. A cool breeze rushed up and past him, whispering secrets of the capitol. He missed his sister. If only that she would have yelled at him to put on some clothes before stripping off her own. They would have stood side by side, as they had since Heathcliff could remember. Who would she dance with now—not that she needed a partner, she was enough of a lead that the world would know who the true talent of the family had been. Besides, he was no leading man. The background ate up his form. Every story needed a supporting man, one that was willing to fall upon a sword, or be dragged through the mud. And perhaps he could have given wisdom, as men such as he often did.

What wisdom would he offer his allies, or anyone? He placed his elbows atop the railing and sighed. There were enough garbage philosophers, men thinking they had a monopoly on what knowledge was. No—he would have rather lived a truth, to be what he was and nothing less. That was the reason for volunteering, to be a part of something bigger, to reveal himself not as a member of district two, but more. Damned if he knew what that was, but Heathcliff could taste that he was on the edge of discovery. Time, if only there was more time. But that was the life he had chosen—the only time that he had left would be of his own creation.

Would he come to be a villain? He had no specter hanging over him, no impulse to shatter the skulls of those that were too weak to defend themselves. Nor did was hiding in the underbrush and watching as the carnage unfolded any more honorable. This was death of their making, where the will to live was balanced only by the hand of justice to decide who would wear the next crown. But there was no justice here. Not when the most honorable one could just as easily be the first to fall. No, they were dependent on the fluidity of fate. Where promises would be shattered when they ran out of use, or where the best intentions festered into ugly scars. For a moment, he could feel the rattle of his own heart and his pulse quicken. He would either live his best life, or die in a shadow of who he’d always pretended to be.

There is no justice, but there is mercy.

He felt the chill run up his spine, and the words of his mother drift over him like a blanket. There is no justice, but mercy—what we can give to one another. Because that is humanity, that is—who we are.

Heathcliff Travers had been the one to volunteer but—who stood here now, watching the evening shift to morning?

They had goosebumps on their arms, and splotchy red cheeks. Determined eyes, and a fast beating heart. They pressed their back against the wall of the balcony and sat, knees to chest, head to knee. They would be born here, and live a short time in the arena. Who was to say if they would return? They waited for the morning to show its first signs before fading to sleep, and finding the warmth of a bed.

Don't break character

You've got a lot of heart

Is this real or just a dream?

Rise up like the sun

Labor till the work is done

Made by Frankel