serendipity | {what will never be}

new

« Prev
1
Next »

admin dars
Administrator

7,695 POSTS
last seen Apr 26, 2024 12:40:52 GMT -5

— 🥀 —

serendipity | {what will never be} Oct 16, 2016 22:43:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by admin dars on Oct 16, 2016 22:43:09 GMT -5

D R A C E ;

Opal Shore still haunts your dreams, even after all these years.

You see her amid the spiderwebs, the arachnid queen fighting for her crown. You know now she was not the monster: You were. But in your dreams, she still hunts for you. And every time she finds you.

And every time, she wins.

It probably should have been that way in the first place, and perhaps it would have been if her sword hadn't broken. You think about that often: If she would have beaten you under different circumstances.

She always whispers you the answer in the darkest of sleeps: "Yes, I should have killed you. Just like I killed Xanthus. Just like I killed Yaa."

You always awaken to cold sweat and Valencia's warm body.

(She is what has saved you. Again, and again, and again.)

Things have taken on a certain fluidity since your victory. You paid off your contract, and Damea's, and Val's father has finally given you the respect you deserv. He is still the same man he was the day you met him, but he treats you and your family like you matter, and you appreciated it.

He even comes over for dinner on Tuesdays.

When your eyes open this time, it is daylight. You scan your surroundings because, as is not terribly uncommon for you to do, you think you are in your arena again. You can even smell the tar. It always takes you a second to compose yourself, but for the most part you're okay. You've seen some of the others fall victim to alcohol and drug use, slip into places so dark that death doesn't seem like the worst option anymore.

You can't do that. You can't feel that way, because--

"Good morning Dad! Momma says breakfast is ready."

She has your eyes.

She is six now, though she likes to think she is much older.

"Okay, Lettie. Tell her I'll be down in a second."

You cannot let yourself fall apart. Lettie and Valencia, they can't handle you falling apart. Not after everything you've accomplished. Not after everything you've outgrown.

So you hold on.

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

admin dars
Administrator

7,695 POSTS
last seen Apr 26, 2024 12:40:52 GMT -5

— 🥀 —

serendipity | {what will never be} Oct 17, 2016 16:25:47 GMT -5

Quote

Post by admin dars on Oct 17, 2016 16:25:47 GMT -5

M A G E N T A ;

You've been drowning for a while now: mostly in liquor, but the depression has a way of keeping you from breathing, even on dry land.

Soren stopped talking to you-- says the drinking is out of hand. (Maybe he is right, but fuck him for trying to control you.) Actually, everyone has stopped talking to you: your parents included.

That is their problem, you guess, but sometimes you wish your bed could handle two for more than a single night.

This time, her name is Jennah. She's pretty. You're impressed with yourself.

The house is trashed-- again. Since every other house in the Victor's Village is barren, your house constantly looks the worst. They come and clean it once a week, but your parties are becoming legendary. You step over two other (hopefully) sleeping bodies, and have to think twice just to be sure they didn't start off the night in bed with you and Jennah.

They didn't. You are at least 80% sure.

After using a pair of tongs to pull a wig out of your sink, you fill a cup with white wine (because you're classy as fuck,) and take your definitely-absolutely-positively prescribed morphine pills. After a while you are high enough to function, so you shrug a long fur coat over your dress from the night before.

Your hair is definitely a mess, and after checking your reflection in the fountain in your front yard (home to very many frogs and tadpoles and one mostly unused condom, since you refuse to let the maids clean it,) your eyeliner makes you look like you've died at least twice.

Maybe you should have.

You snort.

Fuck that.

Colgate killed a little kid and claimed it was selfless. He deserved to die and you'd do it again any day of the week, even if he was from the same District as you. You pull out a cigarette and a picture of Argo, bring each to your lips once, and head into town for whichever bar decides to lift the ban they currently have against you.

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

admin dars
Administrator

7,695 POSTS
last seen Apr 26, 2024 12:40:52 GMT -5

— 🥀 —

serendipity | {what will never be} Oct 18, 2016 21:15:41 GMT -5

Quote

Post by admin dars on Oct 18, 2016 21:15:41 GMT -5

[trigger warning: suicide]

G A V I N ;

You lost your innocence the day you watched Charlotte take Leon's life while you took Siren's. You lost your innocence the day that Charlie spat blood on the burning sand and said: "What now?" and you squeezed the handle of your axe a little harder and replied:

"I go home."

Rowan had been your home. You lost your innocence the day you won, but you did not lose your home.

She was the trees and the red and the wolves and just-- she was home.

And you had it good for a pretty little while: three years with Rowan and Raven living with you. Three years with your very most favorite people, without the worry of your father's beer breath screaming in your face, or your mother's plastic grin hovering over you anytime someone looked.

You had your home, and you had your happiness.

And when the 70th games happened, it all went to dirt.

There was nothing you could do to save her. You just watched, selling everything you brought with you to the Capitol and then some, asking for favors from the beauties and beaus of the Capitol, giving them their hour of fun if it meant saving her: anything, if it meant saving her.

And she still died.

And every year on this day, when the gong sounds and the animals awaken, you can't breathe.

When they raise their swords and bring down their hammers, when they shatter their innocence like you shattered your own: You. Can't. Breathe.

You know Raven loves you-- she always will. But she doesn't know what to say, or what to do when you wake up screaming in the middle of the night.

This year, tributes Ryan Summit and Reese LaChance have both made it out of the bloodbath without a scratch, and you decide it is time. You make sure all the affairs are in order: that Raven gets to keep the house, that your tributes will still be taken care of, and you find yourself in front of the rope tying station, barren, as was the entire room. All of the weapons and things that could have been immediately lethal were gone, but the rope was still there.

You had started this journey by using rope.

You remember lassoing the dummies from that very same perch seven years ago.

You pull on the rope to make sure it is well-secured to the roof.

Without Rowan, the wolves would have gotten you long ago.

You tie the same knot you tied in the 67th: spot on.

Without Rowan, the wolves have come back.

You slide it over your head.

Without Rowan, they've finally come to take what is rightfully theirs.

You step off the edge.