the princess diaries iii ♔ diana Mar 16, 2019 10:10:58 GMT -5
Post by Azalea on Mar 16, 2019 10:10:58 GMT -5
Why does this keep happening?
It is almost like the world is working against us. First, it was Zion. It hit so close to home that I felt like I had lost one of the people I was supposed to save, it was like the only thing that kept me in contact with the people I am a champion for was gone. It happened so quickly, the blink of an eye, in between a breath, and I was so frozen in the moments that followed that I would have been cold to the touch.
Today, it was Berlin. It was the same but completely different. It was slow, dragged out, and so I was forced to watch him give up. Blood dripping from every part of his body, it was like he was a rose that had just bloomed and was shedding its colour.
His body was on the floor. And there wasn't even anything Hisidro or I could have done; the other alliance were still ready and raging for more. They were intruders on such a sad scene, and if I could go back to a few hours ago, if I could turn back time, I'd stand my ground against them just so that we could have sent Berlin on in the best way possible. I planted a kiss on his forehead with my hand but how am I to know that my bare minimum is enough for someone else?
He should have had a proper funeral. Zion, too. But somehow, in the Hunger Games, there is never enough time. The situation is never right. The very fibres of the world are working directly against us to try and suck our humanity and love from our bodies so that we become as cool and cold as a stone rose.
I don't like it. I don't like it one bit, and I knew not to trust those shadows the moment I laid eyes on them. The sunflowers were beautiful the first day; it was like they had lit a spark in our stomachs and were warming us from within. Our words were soft and fragile, we were together, carefree and happy. We were survivors that day, but today, we saw their shadows.
Their darker counterparts were so much worse. They took Berlin, the light in his eyes disappeared in a way that was different from Zion's. It was consumed, as if overcome with the darkness, and when his body fell lifeless to the ground, it took complete hold over his heart and turned it black. The saltiness in the shadows offered no sweet nothings to numb the pain, it only added to the bitter scene as it rubbed it into every open wound. I had hoped that my heart would act as a sweetener, that my love would manage to turn the world on its head and spin this into something with a silver lining.
But I don't see it. Berlin is dead, and Zion is dead too. This arena is testing me, testing my heart to the limit and it is working overtime to try and make as much love as possible to drown out the hate. It hurts, at times I can feel it hurt inside, because I have to keep on watching these dreadful sights and I have to keep on feeling hopeless in every moment. Knowing that I cannot do anything to save the people who promised to save me... it isn't a good feeling. It is like I have told a secret, broken a promise and then danced on its grave.
Next time, if there is a next time, which I pray there isn't—I have to stay true to myself. Nothing and nobody can stand in the way of my love, and I will act as if it is my last day on earth. Imagine if it is Hisidro next—the only company I have—I cannot just become a bystander and let him slip into heaven as simply as Zion, as painfully as Berlin. My heart works to spread love, to give love and make it certain that those who need it, get it. I am starting to think that the two of us need the most love.
I am quickly realising how I need to step up and face my fears. If there is anything that Berlin taught me, it is to do just that: to walk into the fire and feel the burn, to stare a flame straight in the eye and dare it to die. If there is anything that Zion taught me, it is to live fearlessly, to live truthfully, to live freely.
I can do that with heart. It might take more work, it might hurt a little bit more than usual, but it is necessary. Love is the be all and end all; it is the promise of all promises, the most beautiful souvenir that life could give you. In times of uncertainty where I hear frustrations from downstairs, love is the one thing I can rely on to make me happy.
Love is, still, the only thing I am sure of. To use it in perfect harmony with courage seems like a given, and if I can love whilst taking on the world, then I will have conquered every fear. I suppose it makes sense—how can I conquer the fears of other people if I cannot even overcome my own? Saving Seven would require more strength than anything else had ever required from me, that is for sure.
It has to be done, though. I still think of them all the time: how dearly I want to tell them that everything will be okay, how I want to hug them and tell them that the world is out there, waiting for them to make the first move. I want to tell them that life is worth living—I suppose that I must show them that it is true, even if you are so sure that it is trying to tear you down.
Life has taken Zion and Berlin, it has knocked me down. I am still here, still breathing, though, I am still alive. If I can still breathe after the things I have seen—death, as raw as it comes—then Seven can do the same.
Wouldn't it be a fairytale to not only breathe, but survive?