deafening silence // eszter ; day 1.5
Feb 23, 2017 15:23:13 GMT -5
Post by d1b. xylia fray ♕ kaяi on Feb 23, 2017 15:23:13 GMT -5
[oooh camo station, it's lit]
No matter how hard I try my lungs cannot seem to get their fill.
Each breath I inhale is more painful than the last and I feel as if I may collapse. Who knew I was so out of shape. I give myself a moment with eyes closed and my hands on my knees. I try and open my eyes, but my vision is hazed and the arena around me is spinning.
Honestly though, I’m not sure if it’s me or if it’s this fucking arena.
Sounds of birds and leaves rustling in the wind fill my ears. And relief strikes me as I realize that I have not gone deaf. My adrenaline in the Bloodbath took over, and I don’t think I have ever been more focused in my entire life.
My body aches all over, and I’m almost positive that most of the blood covering my clothes is mine. I check myself for gashes and bruises, but… nothing. Absolutely nothing. The weight of being alive hits me and my body crumbles to the ground.
I stare straight ahead, shocked, confused. How am I still alive? How did I manage to get out without a single mark, when there’s already been who knows how many deaths? A million thoughts rush through my mind, not one better than the last. The Gamemakers want to see my suffer, I’m already dead, I may actually be able to survive.
And I do not want to think about any of these.
I reach into the bag slung across my chest, searching for anything useful, but all that’s in there is the crayons I collected from the Bloodbath. The Bloodbath with barely any weapons, the bloodbath with only crayons that the Gamemakers placed in it.
I’m starting to think the arena isn’t the only crazy thing around here.
My finger wraps around one and threatens to snap it in half out of frustration, but instead I wrap my had around it and pull it out. The label reads ‘wisteria’, a shade of purple that is really unable to be put into words. I twirl it between my fingers absentmindedly. My thoughts wander about how I’m going to survive, about what kind of weapon I’m going to use since there’s probably not many here in the arena. I realize I’m going to have to make one. I take the crayon in my hand and begin sketching the outline of a saber in front of me. A long sword with a slightly curved blade and a relatively ornate handle.
Now how the fuck am I going to make it.
I try and think of things in the arena that would be sharp enough, but before anything comes to mind the saber drawn in front of me begins to build itself up off the ground, becoming more and more real with each passing second. I tentatively reach out to see if it’s real, and when my fingers skim across the sharp blade and stain the purple sword with my blood I cannot help but gasp.
I must have died already.
But as the blood on my finger dries up I begin to realize how alive I am.
I grab the handle gently, afraid to touch the blade again. This arena is literally the most fucked up thing I’ve yet to seen. I use the saber to help myself up, still weak and in shock. My vision finally stops spinning and everything around me becomes clear. I’m surrounded by bushes shaped to be some type of mutts and covered in roses. It’s eerie almost, as if the mutts made of leaves are watching and the roses are dripping in blood.
I begin wandering around the garden, taking in each mutt, examining each rose. I gently run my fingers across some of the roses, testing them to see if their color comes off, seeing if it will stain my skin. I continue to move through the topiaries, but refusing to look any of the in the eyes, afraid they may come to life.
My legs carry me and I feel as if I am not in control of my own body. I hear the wind creak against the mansion to my right and a shiver runs down my spine. I do not like it here. Before I know it, I am in the center of the garden, or what I assume is the center. A large circular patch of dirt just sits there, out of place, like something is missing from it. I walk towards it, sword dragging behind me, leaving a line in the dirt where I’ve walked.
I stand in its center, eyes watching the fake mutts that surround me, wind blowing against my face, adding more knots to my hair. This garden is beautiful in a weird way, representing life and death at the same time. Silence fills the air and there is no one to be found (at least I hope not). I am at peace. And I realize that this is something that I might actually miss. And it hits me-
How badly do I really want to die?
table by fox
[uses her wisteria crayon to draw a sword]
[collects 3 medicinal/edible plants]
E S Z T E R
No matter how hard I try my lungs cannot seem to get their fill.
Each breath I inhale is more painful than the last and I feel as if I may collapse. Who knew I was so out of shape. I give myself a moment with eyes closed and my hands on my knees. I try and open my eyes, but my vision is hazed and the arena around me is spinning.
Honestly though, I’m not sure if it’s me or if it’s this fucking arena.
Sounds of birds and leaves rustling in the wind fill my ears. And relief strikes me as I realize that I have not gone deaf. My adrenaline in the Bloodbath took over, and I don’t think I have ever been more focused in my entire life.
My body aches all over, and I’m almost positive that most of the blood covering my clothes is mine. I check myself for gashes and bruises, but… nothing. Absolutely nothing. The weight of being alive hits me and my body crumbles to the ground.
I stare straight ahead, shocked, confused. How am I still alive? How did I manage to get out without a single mark, when there’s already been who knows how many deaths? A million thoughts rush through my mind, not one better than the last. The Gamemakers want to see my suffer, I’m already dead, I may actually be able to survive.
And I do not want to think about any of these.
I reach into the bag slung across my chest, searching for anything useful, but all that’s in there is the crayons I collected from the Bloodbath. The Bloodbath with barely any weapons, the bloodbath with only crayons that the Gamemakers placed in it.
I’m starting to think the arena isn’t the only crazy thing around here.
My finger wraps around one and threatens to snap it in half out of frustration, but instead I wrap my had around it and pull it out. The label reads ‘wisteria’, a shade of purple that is really unable to be put into words. I twirl it between my fingers absentmindedly. My thoughts wander about how I’m going to survive, about what kind of weapon I’m going to use since there’s probably not many here in the arena. I realize I’m going to have to make one. I take the crayon in my hand and begin sketching the outline of a saber in front of me. A long sword with a slightly curved blade and a relatively ornate handle.
Now how the fuck am I going to make it.
I try and think of things in the arena that would be sharp enough, but before anything comes to mind the saber drawn in front of me begins to build itself up off the ground, becoming more and more real with each passing second. I tentatively reach out to see if it’s real, and when my fingers skim across the sharp blade and stain the purple sword with my blood I cannot help but gasp.
I must have died already.
But as the blood on my finger dries up I begin to realize how alive I am.
I grab the handle gently, afraid to touch the blade again. This arena is literally the most fucked up thing I’ve yet to seen. I use the saber to help myself up, still weak and in shock. My vision finally stops spinning and everything around me becomes clear. I’m surrounded by bushes shaped to be some type of mutts and covered in roses. It’s eerie almost, as if the mutts made of leaves are watching and the roses are dripping in blood.
I begin wandering around the garden, taking in each mutt, examining each rose. I gently run my fingers across some of the roses, testing them to see if their color comes off, seeing if it will stain my skin. I continue to move through the topiaries, but refusing to look any of the in the eyes, afraid they may come to life.
My legs carry me and I feel as if I am not in control of my own body. I hear the wind creak against the mansion to my right and a shiver runs down my spine. I do not like it here. Before I know it, I am in the center of the garden, or what I assume is the center. A large circular patch of dirt just sits there, out of place, like something is missing from it. I walk towards it, sword dragging behind me, leaving a line in the dirt where I’ve walked.
I stand in its center, eyes watching the fake mutts that surround me, wind blowing against my face, adding more knots to my hair. This garden is beautiful in a weird way, representing life and death at the same time. Silence fills the air and there is no one to be found (at least I hope not). I am at peace. And I realize that this is something that I might actually miss. And it hits me-
How badly do I really want to die?
[uses her wisteria crayon to draw a sword]
[collects 3 medicinal/edible plants]
