our heroes fade — diana. & angel.

Everything plays like a sepia movie, the dreamlike details spun by a cassette that sits somewhere inside me: broken, but not forgotten. That's the root of this adversity — the infected source: I cannot forget. No matter how much the buzz of alcohol tingles through my veins, I cannot forget. Even if all the drinks pile up to a mountain of bottle shells, I see the sun breaking over lofty hills and the massive sign atop them.

I see fire kissing the spearheads as if cleansing it anew of blood but if anything, it burns with blood. The fire burns like it's never burnt before, as if it stems from the fingertips of children whose hearts hold the same flare.

The denim jacket feels threadbare, hanging loose on my shoulders. Fitting, I muse, as the door of Mackenzie Pryce's mansion comes to a close. The air's laden with the unfathomable, and the leaves rustle – a somberness to their song. It's reaping day. I try not to ponder about it too much in fear of losing myself in the storm of details.

I lived and I died.

I am and I was. Simple as that.

This somberness precedes me to the justice building. The structure's unchanged, the walls vivid and fed with all the souls they have devoured. It's a cathedral made up of ghost flesh here and my own is laced to its architecture. Soon, Diana Sayers’ would be too.

A tap on the cigarette box makes one fall out. There’s a spark, and then the stench of nicotine. I haven’t smoked in months but muscle memory preserves the elegance of the act: how to beautifully hold the cigarette between fingers. “A volunteer, huh?” I speak, smoke through my teeth. “I was one of those in my time. It’s been a long time since.”

Jest about it, like they’re at brunch speaking over waffles and maple syrup, not in the justice building as Death watched their every movement.

“I am sure every other resurrected tribute is doing this right now, so—why not?” I throw my head back to exhale, smoke where breath should be.

If I cannot forget, why not recall each detail verbatim? Seeing this girl make something of my advice is better than bottling it up. And, seeing Marley enter the justice building to embrace me was a pleasant surprise. It made me believe I was not disappearing without a trace — that I existed, and someone was there to see it.

“Ask me anything. But, just so you know, I ain't Mackenzie Pryce. I am not some golden hero with an olive wreath resting on my head. You ask and I won’t lie.”