unravel .| clementina/emberly

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я𝑜𝓈𝑒
Mentor

2,890 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her/they/them
last seen Nov 23, 2023 2:34:11 GMT -5

anyway don't be a stranger

unravel .| clementina/emberly Jul 4, 2017 0:18:01 GMT -5

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Jul 4, 2017 0:18:01 GMT -5

EMBERLY

"WHILE YOU ARE AWAY, MY HEART COMES UNDONE, SLOWLY UNRAVELS IN A BALL OF YARN"

► ► ►

I have always hated solitude. And yet there was a strange peace here on the roof of the training center, lying beneath the darkness alone. If I close my eyes and listen to the whistle of the wind in my ears, feel it running over my skin and tousling my hair, for just a little while it feels like I am submerged in tranquility. It's a serenity that I have found is rare in my situation, with all this strife and struggle between myself and death.

But in my peace, the despair remains. Less binding, less unstoppable, but still present — a heavy, cold weight pressing down on my chest. I have unraveled beneath it many times alone in my room; sobbed into my pillow, kicked a chair across the room, tugged at my hair and entangled my fingers within its strands.

Sometimes I open my eyes and watch the tiny cars in the distance race by on the streets. The Capitol is almost beautiful at night, with all of the lights, pale gold, white, ruby-red, emerald-green, and sapphire-blue twinkling on the darkened landscape like colored stars.

Tap tap tap — the light sound of footsteps beckons my eyes open. "Did you come here to be alone?" I ask the faceless stranger behind me, my gaze trained directly above me on the endless darkness of the Capitol sky.

"even stars burn out."

arx
Retired Staff

2,426 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Apr 26, 2024 15:19:55 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

unravel .| clementina/emberly Jul 6, 2017 20:03:20 GMT -5

Post by arx on Jul 6, 2017 20:03:20 GMT -5

CLEMENTINA

"Hey stranger, wanna know me truly?
Step closer, it's a broken spell."

My Mom always said that she wasn't a good person. Four years old, chubby fingers stickied by a lollipop that hadn't been paid for, and Mom made sure I was listening when she said it.

"Watch and listen, Tina," she would whisper in my ear, her fingers pinching my chin so that my eyes were on her and not the candy in hand. "That's the only thing I want you to learn from me."

(Watch and listen.)

Of course she always said this before she was about to take something that wasn't her's. Her eyes would light up and she'd smile as she repeated the lesson one last time. As if she were a magician wanting someone to figure out her ingenious trick. Or maybe a clown hoping someone could see the frown beneath all the face paint, how tired she was beneath the act.

It took me far too long that it was the latter. I suppose that's why I've taken her directions to heart. Watch and listen. It's easier than making small talk anyway. Between paragraphs in my book on medicinal plant uses, I find myself listening. I know how many footsteps it takes to get to the elevators. I know who has the heavy footsteps, who paces, who sings in the shower loud enough that it echoes through the vents.

I know what the door to the roof sounds like when it closes and the rumble of the elevator makes a different sort of noise if it's rushing all the way to the top.

Not sure what I'm looking following her up here, but--

"Did you come here to be alone?"

The chill of the night air is comforting; it's easier sneaking into places while everyone is asleep. My Mom taught me that. It's strange how similar we are, though she takes things and I clean up the mess.

I shake my head only to realize she isn't looking.

"No," I say, fingering the pages of my book. "Just came to think."

I stand a few feet away from her, eyes following her gaze into nothingness. I wonder what it's like, being the butt end of a sick joke. One Lowe after the other, a toy for the Capitol to play with as it pleases. Probably pretty awful; maybe a little lonely.

"What do you see up there?"