and then he was gone {Anton's DP}
Feb 20, 2017 18:07:09 GMT -5
Post by noodles on Feb 20, 2017 18:07:09 GMT -5
a n t o n l a d e t t o
The Capitol is extremely horrible. How can they allow teenagers to kill each other? Apparently, in this world, that is morally fine, but it'll never sit correctly with him. Although he has a weapon, he still chooses to flail with his fists. No one else will give him the luxury to survive if they had a weapon to use, but he doesn't want his entire self corrupted by blood lust and murder. All he wanted to do was to escape the Capitol with some information, but instead he's participating in a killing game of enormous proportion. He doesn't want to become a killer, but if he's forced into a corner, it could happen.
As he is thinking, a fist flies towards his head, his forehead area to be more exact about it. As he gets hit, he feels dazed, and the brief moment of feeling off-balanced would lead to him collapsing and rolling down the stairs that he had just spent ages climbing. The loud grunts of Lorenzo and his other opponents get fainter as he continues tumbling downwards. The tumble is fairly unmemorable other than the pain of his body and head crashing into banister after banister, the blur of the world going in and out of focus each time he falls in a particularly painful manner. Eventually, the descent ceases, but the warm trickle of blood does not, coating the right side of his face, leaving him barely able to see the world. He attempts to move, but it seems as though his limbs have forgotten how to function. He tries to keep his eyes open because the dark world scares him, but is unable to. He is beginning to accept death, but it terrifies him that he will be alone when it happens.
When his eyes close, he sees his brief life flash quickly by. From the birth of his younger siblings, to his awkward fumbling with talking to his crush, to his largest mistake of volunteering for the games, to becoming friends with the older Lucas and Lorenzo and little Wylla, whom he regards as his not-by-blood baby sister. As the events begin to reach closer to the present, the dark evolves into a brighter color, transforming to a darker gray, before shifting to a lovely silver color. The achromatic lights, relax him, and he is about to let them envelope him completely, but shortly before he can bathe in the illumination forever, a noise brings him back to the pain and misery he is in.
The darkness returns as he attempts to reopen his eyes, failing to do so. His head doesn’t feel correct and the teenagers that are fighting the lone Lorenzo upstairs are probably coming down to loot his body of everything useful and to inspect him to see if he’s truly dead. The warmth that he was so close to reaching seems completely out of grasp now, replaced with an eternal icy cold feeling in his body. As he is bracing for the last attack from someone to finish him off, it does not come. He is thinking that if he plays dead, they might leave him alone. Instead, the voice of his ally greets him.
“I’m sorry Anton. It should have been me, not you.”
He wants to say something, say anything to show Lorenzo that he heard him talking and that he’s not just a corpse, but his voice seems to not work, and all he can do is force his eyes open. Through his right eye is nothing but darkness, a result of blood going over it, through his left eye, just blurry shapes, but clear enough to reveal his ally and friend in front of him. Luckily, Lorenzo was still looking at him, so his eye movement and hoarse grunt signified that he was still clinging onto life. Mustering all of his strength to force his voice to work, Anton begins to speak.
“Don’t e-even say that.” He vocalizes. “You must find Wylla and Lucas… Find them and tell them what happened. Tell them that I’m sorry I couldn’t help them.” He never thought that simple speaking would ever leave him so fatigued, but in doing so, he’s used up nearly all of the remaining strength he had.
“I’m so scared. Please don’t leave me alone.” He begs, salty tears streaming down his face. He knew that death was likely with the amount of tributes in the games, but he was still optimistic that he had a chance to live. The cold feeling he had throughout his body moments ago has seemingly vanished, and has been replaced with a comforting warmth. As he closes his eyes, the appealing silver light returns, turning into a not as nice-looking light gray, before transforming into the most illuminating, dazzling white light he has ever seen.
“Don’t forget me,” he whispers, barely audible. And then he’s gone.
As he is thinking, a fist flies towards his head, his forehead area to be more exact about it. As he gets hit, he feels dazed, and the brief moment of feeling off-balanced would lead to him collapsing and rolling down the stairs that he had just spent ages climbing. The loud grunts of Lorenzo and his other opponents get fainter as he continues tumbling downwards. The tumble is fairly unmemorable other than the pain of his body and head crashing into banister after banister, the blur of the world going in and out of focus each time he falls in a particularly painful manner. Eventually, the descent ceases, but the warm trickle of blood does not, coating the right side of his face, leaving him barely able to see the world. He attempts to move, but it seems as though his limbs have forgotten how to function. He tries to keep his eyes open because the dark world scares him, but is unable to. He is beginning to accept death, but it terrifies him that he will be alone when it happens.
When his eyes close, he sees his brief life flash quickly by. From the birth of his younger siblings, to his awkward fumbling with talking to his crush, to his largest mistake of volunteering for the games, to becoming friends with the older Lucas and Lorenzo and little Wylla, whom he regards as his not-by-blood baby sister. As the events begin to reach closer to the present, the dark evolves into a brighter color, transforming to a darker gray, before shifting to a lovely silver color. The achromatic lights, relax him, and he is about to let them envelope him completely, but shortly before he can bathe in the illumination forever, a noise brings him back to the pain and misery he is in.
The darkness returns as he attempts to reopen his eyes, failing to do so. His head doesn’t feel correct and the teenagers that are fighting the lone Lorenzo upstairs are probably coming down to loot his body of everything useful and to inspect him to see if he’s truly dead. The warmth that he was so close to reaching seems completely out of grasp now, replaced with an eternal icy cold feeling in his body. As he is bracing for the last attack from someone to finish him off, it does not come. He is thinking that if he plays dead, they might leave him alone. Instead, the voice of his ally greets him.
“I’m sorry Anton. It should have been me, not you.”
He wants to say something, say anything to show Lorenzo that he heard him talking and that he’s not just a corpse, but his voice seems to not work, and all he can do is force his eyes open. Through his right eye is nothing but darkness, a result of blood going over it, through his left eye, just blurry shapes, but clear enough to reveal his ally and friend in front of him. Luckily, Lorenzo was still looking at him, so his eye movement and hoarse grunt signified that he was still clinging onto life. Mustering all of his strength to force his voice to work, Anton begins to speak.
“Don’t e-even say that.” He vocalizes. “You must find Wylla and Lucas… Find them and tell them what happened. Tell them that I’m sorry I couldn’t help them.” He never thought that simple speaking would ever leave him so fatigued, but in doing so, he’s used up nearly all of the remaining strength he had.
“I’m so scared. Please don’t leave me alone.” He begs, salty tears streaming down his face. He knew that death was likely with the amount of tributes in the games, but he was still optimistic that he had a chance to live. The cold feeling he had throughout his body moments ago has seemingly vanished, and has been replaced with a comforting warmth. As he closes his eyes, the appealing silver light returns, turning into a not as nice-looking light gray, before transforming into the most illuminating, dazzling white light he has ever seen.
“Don’t forget me,” he whispers, barely audible. And then he’s gone.
