jasper fowley {ten} fin

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jasper fowley {ten} fin Apr 23, 2017 21:58:09 GMT -5

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Post by solo on Apr 23, 2017 21:58:09 GMT -5

Jasper Fowley
Twenty-one
District Ten
Riven's brother
Handyman
Mama's boy

Last Edit: Dec 29, 2017 15:35:26 GMT -5 by solo

solo
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jasper fowley {ten} fin Apr 23, 2017 22:22:06 GMT -5

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Post by solo on Apr 23, 2017 22:22:06 GMT -5

Fingers that were once sturdy pull through wavy black hair, quivering ever so slightly against the sides of my head. Wide blue eyes stare at my feet, elbows rest on knees and then I realize I've forgotten to breath. I allow air to rush in through my nose, fill up my lungs, and then back out in a heavy breath.

I can't remember the last time I cried. I just know that I always hated it, the way my nose got plugged up and all I could do was sniffle and gasp and sob about some stupid thing that happened at school. I hated the tightness in my throat and the way my words came out choked and strangled. So of course, I stopped crying. I kept it in, buried it in the deepest parts of my mind, places I never dared to venture. Mum once told me crying is good for you. I don't think I believe her.

She's gone.

A shudder races through my body, from the top of my head to the ends of my toes. My hands drop to my sides and clench at the grass next to me. Fingernails that are a little too long dig into my palms until it hurts.

I look up, staring blankly at the wide, green field in front of me. This is where Kennedy brings the horses to run. This is where Wiley and I used to run and tumble and push each other around. I guess we still do sometimes.

This is where she used to come and paint.

*

Two kids stumble across the grass before my eyes. I'm not convinced they're actually there, because her shirt is too blue, his smile is too wide, their screams and shouts are too quiet.

"Stop it Jasper, stop it!" she whines, looking back and pushing the boy away when he catches up. They're young, maybe six or seven. Her eyes are blue-grey, vibrant, expressive. His are icier and teasing.

"I'm gonna get you!" the boy sticks out his tongue and blows a big raspberry, hands reaching out for the girl's thin waste as she pulls away. A boisterous laughs escapes his throat.

The girl's raven black hair stands out boldly against the green of the field, a stark contrast to her pale skin, her tiny body fumbling its way over thick grass and around trees. It's cut close to her head, falling in front of her eyes, as if cut by unprofessional hands. But the boy's hair is still longer.

She's smiling, or at least, I think she is. She's trying not to though.

Suddenly the boy catches up and shoves her to the ground, the earth opens up and swallows them whole, and the colors return to normal.

*

I close my eyes, willing the images to go away, willing her to go away, but she never was one to listen to me, was she? When I was younger, I used to think she hated me. I didn't know why. I was funny, I was good at tag, I had loads of energy. I guess maybe it was because she didn't like any of the things I did. Sure, I could make her laugh and smile sometimes, but she always seemed hesitant.

Another shiver racks my body.

I watched her die. She died, right in front of me.

I force my eyes to shut even tighter, but I can't stop the moment from playing over and over, a screen right behind my vision, the images of her death reeling on a projector over and over and over again.

(I am going to die you know.)

No, no, no, don't say it, please don't say it.

Her pale fingers fiddle with the handle of her axe, a distant smile on cracked lips. What was she thinking about? I'm not sure. Probably nonsense, considering she was high at the time.

(Hickory dickory dock.)

"No, no...stop..." my voice is strained and I force myself to stop. I don't want to cry.

(You're funny, really funny.)

Deadly blades fly and everything goes red. I gasp and open my eyes.

*

She's here again, in the field. This time her back is leaned up against a tree, shoulder blades balanced carefully around the little sapling, a brush in her hand, blue and purple staining her pasty fingers. She's older, maybe twelve. There's a boy standing next to the tree, eyeing her work. It's the same one. He's older too, muscles showing under his skin, chin now angular instead of smooth and childish.

Her brush sweeps back and forth against the canvas, creating a sky of deep purples and navy blues. The two sit in silence for a while, and I don't think she realizes he's there. He's fascinated by her work, the way her hand moves with such ease, how the colors blend together perfectly until the canvas becomes a galaxy peaking through the blue of the sky above them.

He leans forward and she jumps in surprise. Her brush jerks across her work and creates a jarring streak of black where it shouldn't be. Her heads whips around and shoots him a glare.

"Jasper, you little twat!" she snaps, and he laughs in response, tipping over one of her small paint jars and running away. For a moment, it looks like she might follow him, but then she decides against it and instead attempts to fix her piece of artwork.

She fades from my vision, blurring until she blends with the sky around her, navy blue and purple growing fuzzy until they become sharp green and baby blue.

*

The sky grows darker and I realize I haven't moved in ages. I shift my legs, my foot tingling to let me know it's fallen asleep. The temperature had dropped and I've started to shiver. Or at least, I think I have. I might just be shaking from the shock.

I don't think I've spoken all that much since she died. I've kept to myself, avoided people when I can, escaping Dad's tears and Mum's empathy. They mean well, I know, and they miss her as much as I do, but I can't stand someone else crying anymore than myself. She used to cry a lot, but she tried not to let it show. She was the most emotional out of all of us. I don't think she could help it. She tried, but it never worked.

I'm glad she never had to see her allies die. It would've killed her on the inside. But she's dead anyway, so I guess it doesn't make much of a difference.

(Hickory dickory dock.)

"No, stop it." my words tighten in on themselves. Pale fingers, golden blades, red stains that will never go away. Grey eyes and a sharp laugh.

(Hickory dickory dock.)

Around and around in my mind, circling, echoing, closing in on me.

(Hickory dickory dock.)

Weapons flash.

Riven.

And then, I begin to cry.

Last Edit: May 10, 2017 10:42:57 GMT -5 by solo

solo Career Tribute 622 POSTS last seen Dec 14, 2018 21:57:15 GMT -5	jasper fowley {ten} fin May 10, 2017 10:44:26 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by solo on May 10, 2017 10:44:26 GMT -5 He's done. ^^

[ retro gm ] angel lí ✨ Advertiser 8,148 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Apr 25, 2024 5:22:42 GMT -5 bloomtodeath	jasper fowley {ten} fin May 11, 2017 4:23:49 GMT -5 via mobile Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by [ retro gm ] angel lí ✨ on May 11, 2017 4:23:49 GMT -5 poor bby accepted!
	“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”