πππππ'π ππππππππ - end of iris
Jan 19, 2020 12:16:01 GMT -5
Post by pup on Jan 19, 2020 12:16:01 GMT -5
i could feel the sword pierce my chest. the was pain. there was more blood. it filled my vision, my mouth, the ground before me. it wasn't a smooth cut, it was jagged, ripping through my skin and arteries. i've seen people die from less. i collapse against the ground, my limbs failing to push me back up onto my knees again. i can't feel my arm. it's gone. i can feel my heart stopping.
it felt like the trackerjacker venom was running through my veins again. in my vision i could see the terrors they showed me when they pinned me to a chair and questioned me. i saw death. i see death now too. i see my arm lying on the ground nearby, middle finger curled above the others from when i flipped off the stadium as it was separated from me. i close my eyes, but the images still burn against my eyelids. it starts with my dad, killing mom, killing carya, killing me. what they tried to doctor in my head with my altered state of consciousness when they injected me with the toxin, but i know it wasn't true. then i saw what was true, the gunshot to my father's head, the hunger in carya's eyes every day in district seven, and then what i had seen before i fell.
death.
i was the first. i'm not going to be the last. as my vision leaves me, my hearing remains. i can hear the boy who sliced through my heart encouraging the first boy who attacked me. they wanted to kill more. they thought that the capitol was fair and just in all of this.
tell me why killing kids is fair and just.
the girl i tried to protect, the girl who was so much like carya, she would die too. i could already feel death's presence over me, and over another body that had collapsed on the field.
i'll be with mom and dad soon.
i hope carya won't be with us anytime soon. i want her to live. i want the girl i tried to protect to live. i want the pure to survive and the villainous to perish. shouldn't doing good things be rewarded? the world has a sick sense of irony.
my hearing fades out then, the individual words of the boys moving away from my corpse melding into a ever decreasing hum of conflict. i i can't see. i can't hear. i can't even taste the blood in my mouth anymore or feel the gash deep in my chest.
and then
later.
the pain carya oak felt numbed with age. time healed what she had felt as a child. she forgot the pain of losing her mother, her father, and her sister. time is measured ingames deaths, exactly what her sister and father had fought against. she remembers the face of the boy who killed her sister, his sick smile twisting while he cracked jokes. that was not justice. it still was not justice, years after it had started.
topaz ross had just struck down takeba suzumi with a slash to the back of the head. crowds had cheered, booed. it was normal at this point. the tributes no longer stood around awkwardly as they had when it first started. they all knew the drill. it was normal now, for a child to die at the hands of another child, to be tortured by the monstrosities each arena presented. carya can't remember when it became normal for everyone, even her. she can remember when the first playing cards came out, iris' face emblazoned on it with her number next to her district. 24. 7.
she wasn't even from district seven. the capitol just wanted them not to show how even inside the capitol the cracks of rebellion showed.
carya can barely remember her life in the capitol now. it was a fuzzy memory of a good life. then she could remember district 13, then district 7. she lived her life, stayed quiet. the peacekeepers stopped checking in on her after a while once they realized she could do no more harm, that the rebellion was dead.
a baby was born. her granddaughter.
she went to her daughter who had married a man with the last name flower. the names in district seven were all so fitting. they all matched the theme of lumber. she wasn't sure why, maybe the flowers were forced here too as a sick joke like she and iris were.
the parents were sure about what to name the baby. carya sat next to her daughter, taking the baby and swaddling it in her arms. she had never told the story of her sister before to her children, but she knew what to name her granddaughter. her life wouldn't be fair either. she was stuck in district seven, being punished for her great grandfather trying to fight for a better life for everyone in panem.
"i know what her name should be" carya says with a small, nostalgic smile, a smile that only comes from reminiscing of love before it's lost,
iris.
it felt like the trackerjacker venom was running through my veins again. in my vision i could see the terrors they showed me when they pinned me to a chair and questioned me. i saw death. i see death now too. i see my arm lying on the ground nearby, middle finger curled above the others from when i flipped off the stadium as it was separated from me. i close my eyes, but the images still burn against my eyelids. it starts with my dad, killing mom, killing carya, killing me. what they tried to doctor in my head with my altered state of consciousness when they injected me with the toxin, but i know it wasn't true. then i saw what was true, the gunshot to my father's head, the hunger in carya's eyes every day in district seven, and then what i had seen before i fell.
death.
i was the first. i'm not going to be the last. as my vision leaves me, my hearing remains. i can hear the boy who sliced through my heart encouraging the first boy who attacked me. they wanted to kill more. they thought that the capitol was fair and just in all of this.
tell me why killing kids is fair and just.
the girl i tried to protect, the girl who was so much like carya, she would die too. i could already feel death's presence over me, and over another body that had collapsed on the field.
i'll be with mom and dad soon.
i hope carya won't be with us anytime soon. i want her to live. i want the girl i tried to protect to live. i want the pure to survive and the villainous to perish. shouldn't doing good things be rewarded? the world has a sick sense of irony.
my hearing fades out then, the individual words of the boys moving away from my corpse melding into a ever decreasing hum of conflict. i i can't see. i can't hear. i can't even taste the blood in my mouth anymore or feel the gash deep in my chest.
and then
im
gone.
54
games
later.
the pain carya oak felt numbed with age. time healed what she had felt as a child. she forgot the pain of losing her mother, her father, and her sister. time is measured in
topaz ross had just struck down takeba suzumi with a slash to the back of the head. crowds had cheered, booed. it was normal at this point. the tributes no longer stood around awkwardly as they had when it first started. they all knew the drill. it was normal now, for a child to die at the hands of another child, to be tortured by the monstrosities each arena presented. carya can't remember when it became normal for everyone, even her. she can remember when the first playing cards came out, iris' face emblazoned on it with her number next to her district. 24. 7.
carya can barely remember her life in the capitol now. it was a fuzzy memory of a good life. then she could remember district 13, then district 7. she lived her life, stayed quiet. the peacekeepers stopped checking in on her after a while once they realized she could do no more harm, that the rebellion was dead.
a baby was born. her granddaughter.
she went to her daughter who had married a man with the last name flower. the names in district seven were all so fitting. they all matched the theme of lumber. she wasn't sure why, maybe the flowers were forced here too as a sick joke like she and iris were.
the parents were sure about what to name the baby. carya sat next to her daughter, taking the baby and swaddling it in her arms. she had never told the story of her sister before to her children, but she knew what to name her granddaughter. her life wouldn't be fair either. she was stuck in district seven, being punished for her great grandfather trying to fight for a better life for everyone in panem.
"i know what her name should be" carya says with a small, nostalgic smile, a smile that only comes from reminiscing of love before it's lost,
iris.
if you haven't noticed, shrimp is amazing at making tables tysm <3
tysm for letting me be a part of these games and the hgrpg lore! i had a great time writing iris (and tbh she's one of my favorite characters i've written even though i've had such a short amount of time with her).
tysm to gm bourgeois decadence [aya] for running an amazing games and tysm for d7m fraser birk β frankel lance Kire and hesper hart πΊ d9f for plotting with me!
tysm to shrimp for this amazing table and for just always being amazing tbh <3
