crossroads.— [the ending of abel o'malley]

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crossroads.— [the ending of abel o'malley] Dec 3, 2021 3:59:46 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Dec 3, 2021 3:59:46 GMT -5

Everything went to black with one final hit of my skull with my own district token from Whiskey. And I was ready for it. I was ready to rest, I was ready for death. Every breath I took filled my lungs with more pain than air. I couldn't move if I wanted to. I felt cold, so very cold. I waited for death, but death never came. At least not yet. Death was still waiting for me in the form of the devil himself - Whiskey Finch.

I felt my eyes slowly open - after who knows how long - and I felt more confused than anything. My eyes were open. I was alive, for now. I tried to move my hands and that's when I realised they were tied together. I could barely move with my legs tied up as well. I looked around me and noticed Whiskey sitting close by with a gun.

He didn't notice I was awake yet, perfect. My vision was blurred but I tried to take in my surroundings. Through the holes in the ceiling I could see it was later in the day now. It wasn't quite sunset though. And I had a feeling Whiskey's patience with me waking up was drawing thin.

Sure enough, all of my weapons were out of reach, including the knives that were strapped to my thighs. I spotted the backpack far away too, I couldn't even try to escape. So why did he bother leaving me alive? It wasn't like I was any use to him. I felt death inching closer and closer to me. The wounds I could see were still bleeding, I wouldn't make it. We both knew it.

"Whiskey...? Why- what's going on? Why haven't you killed me yet? I know you're going to before the end of the day, so I want to ask you something. No matter how much bullshit you think it is. I- I wanna pray! I wanna pray one more time!"

I didn't realise it, but I was crying as soon as I started to speak. I was shaking again too. And Six was still there in the room with us, watching us. I couldn't tell if I was seeing someone who had died for real or if it was just all of the blood loss. And I couldn't decide whether or not his presence was comforting or not.

I just knew I had unfinished business I had to take care of before I died. I hadn't been able to apologise to Cain and Pa for what I said about them to Arthur. I needed to make sure Prop knew this wasn't his fault. I needed to tell Aurora's family how much she meant to me. Lock needed to know that everything would be okay. There was so much left unsaid. Could Whiskey tell? Is that why he hesitated? Or was he just too scared to kill someone?

After a moment of silence, I pleaded to him again, I was desperate, "P-please Whiskey... please, please... I need to do it. And I need to be able to tell them goodbye before I go... please."

[ table by kiah ]
[ part 1, it's not over yet ]

pogue
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Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Oct 19, 2024 11:07:44 GMT -5

Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

crossroads.— [the ending of abel o'malley] Dec 3, 2021 15:17:13 GMT -5

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Post by pogue on Dec 3, 2021 15:17:13 GMT -5

Whiskey holds the token of a boy more dead than alive in shaking hand, caked with the blood of its owner and dripping down against the concrete next to them. He should slam it down into the boy's head below, should hammer it so deep into Abel O'Malley's bleeding head that even the Capitol wouldn't be able to bring him back, should use what's left of his adrenaline to cave in the boy's skull until the echoes of a cannon above fade into nothing but silence.

He should be just like his father and just like the man before him, just like every Finch that has ever been so forgotten that they had nothing left to give but the same pain they had back to everyone else, all curse and rage and blood spilled in the wake of their own destruction.

He lets out one final scream of tired pain before he tosses Abel's token behind him, nothing but sadness and pity sinking through his veins as he looks at his unconscious opponent.

Because he's always been just like his mother, and life had never been able to let him live it down.

He's wrapping a bandage around the gash in his arm when Abel wakes up, gun sitting unloaded in his lap and pointing down towards the floor. Snake eyes drift upwards at the sudden change of breathing, the collapse of lungs inside rotting chest, Abel's form shuffling and twisting in the growing darkness of the sunset as he comes to.

They drown in their own mortality, together, two bloody sides of the same coin.

He pulls tight the bandage and winces in pain as Abel stirs, so caught in his own false silence that he thinks he has a chance to escape. It's only when Whiskey's teeth are ripping through the cloth laced around his wound that a half-dead boy begins to speak, beg, plead, and Whiskey feels poison jab and carve into his heart as he hears Abel's voice break.

It's selfish, the way he watches Abel struggle and beg in a desperate bid for that familiar rage he'd known all his life to drip and settle back into his veins, the way he waits for his vision to bleed red and for his veins to go up in flame and fury. He watches with shaking hand and frown etched on his face as Abel's tears carve themselves into his cheeks, riding the waves of hammering heartbeats as he pleads with his own false god to give him the same fury he'd carried with him for far too long.

It never comes, dead heart sinking into the waters and leaving him feeling nothing but hollow pity for a boy he'd tried so hard to hate.

But maybe that's just the price of breaking a cycle much larger than himself.

"You people always talk too much." He finally observes, gaze dropping down to his gun as he pulls the bullets out of his coat pocket and begins to load the gun. "Always a shit ton to say, nothin' to ever back it up." He's clutching a loaded gun by the time he's finished, eyes focusing in on the dying breaths that slip from between Abel's lips.

"If you were in my position, would you have let me say goodbye?" He asks the question to an audience that doesn't have the answers, voice empty and words laced soft into his own ragged breaths. I don't think you would have, his piercing stare says.

"I mean, you were right about one thing at least, O'Malley." He continues in uncertainty, gaze faltering once more and focus tracign the cracks of the concrete between them, the way the shadows drip and bleed from the floor and dance softly in the blue moonlight. "I'm a sinner.. I'm a piece of shit, a scumbag, lowlife, probably better off dead." He's echoing every soft whisper and harsh yell that's ever been thrown at him in his seventeen years, men in white pointing loaded guns and telling him exactly what he had always been. "I revel in it, now. Use it to keep myself alive, used it to make sure you end up dead. I love it..." He trails off as his voice cracks against his own thoughts, because admitting himself to a false prophet feels like betrayal of the highest sin, swallowing his own poison and waiting for it to kill him from the inside out.

Abel prays to a dying god that promises forgiveness for even the worst of the world, Whiskey worships a rotting corpse that assures him he was never meant to be anything holy in the first place. "We both have our vices, I guess."

"So go ahead.." He says, voice numb and sadness seeping into the words. His foot kicks Abel's own token out towards him, the clattering sound of it bouncing against the concrete echoing and bouncing amongst the walls of the garage before it lands softly in front of Abel. "Pray."

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crossroads.— [the ending of abel o'malley] Dec 3, 2021 16:10:20 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Dec 3, 2021 16:10:20 GMT -5

I watched Whiskey silently, just as he had watched me. I felt as though I was choking under his gaze. Like something with strangling me. And then I realised I was being strangled. Strangled by my own sins. Strangled by my false ideals that God chose who lived and died rather than letting things happens as they would. God was here, and he was weeping at me.

He didn't even choose who was reaped. It was nothing but shit fucking luck that determined that. Six and Prop won't chosen for being sinners. I just- I wanted to believe that they were. I wanted to believe no one else in my family had to die like Six had. That I'd never have to stand there and watch as Lock or Fly or Eleven or Flanker or Cain or Noah or anyone that I loved stood on that stage.

But I only made everything worse. Prop was probably watching this, blaming himself for it all. I heard Inside say that Prop was mad at himself for not volunteering for Six. Two dead relatives, and no one to blame but himself. Cain had to watch me die now. I know he loved me, despite the cruelty in his words. And of course I loved him too, same with Noah. They were my brothers after all. And Ma and Pa... I know Ma is probably crying right now. I don't know if she can even watch this anymore. Pa? I don't even know if he's noticed I'm gone.

I really believed I could do it. So did Kassandra, at least after I killed that girl. She got me that alcohol after all. I don't know how much it cost but I know sponsoring shit ain't cheap. And Katelyn... I was so confident, even if it was faked, when I said I was coming home in those interviews. And now? Now she had to deal with another dead tribute.

I finally started paying attention, or at least trying to, when I noticed he was doing something with the gun. The room was spinning slowly and my head was pounding. My blurred vision made it too hard to see the bullets, but I could still tell he was loading it up. That's when I tried struggling against the ropes again, even though I knew deep down there was no point to it.

"If you were in my position, would you have let me say goodbye?"

Did he even have someone to say goodbye to? Did he have someone back home he was fighting for? Because I would have. I'd like to believe I would have. But I was smart enough not to answer his question. To keep my mouth shut. He hadn't shot me yet. And even if he wasn't planning on letting me pray, the longer this part took the better. Anything could happen. Nixie or Sinead or someone could come in here, kill Whiskey, and untie me. Though I knew that was nothing but false hope.

This whole time that's all I had. False hope. Every new sunrise I saw in this arena was just a lie. Every mutt or tribute I killed was just a way to keep me believing I could make it. It was just a farce. A way to keep me from ruining their fun. I bleed and fought and killed for nothing. My soul is battered and torn. But, at least soon it will be able to rest.

And then it happened, he kicked the stone that Cain gave me closer and allowed me to pray. I took it as best I could with my tied hands. It was near impossible to get in a good position to pray with the way I was tied up, but that didn't matter. It didn't matter where you prayed, or how you prayed, or why you prayed. God was always there. And he'd hear you. So I clasped the rock in my hands and began to whisper. I knew Whiskey wouldn't hear me, and I was thankful for that. I remembered that there were likely microphones still on me somewhere. But this prayer wasn't for the viewers, it was for God.

"God, please hear me. I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the wrath that Whiskey Finch, Maddox Rune, and Aneesa Warden faced at my hands. I'm sorry for the greed that consumed me as I desperately tried to win. I'm sorry for my damned pride convincing me I was chosen or that I would come home. I'm sorry for the envy I felt towards my own allies, that they hadn't watched one of their friends die. Please God, please just let me rest. I'm repenting. And please... please don't make any more of my family go through this. They don't deserve it God, no one does."

I opened my eyes and looked around the room until I saw it. The glint of a camera lens. And I knew the cameras were on me right now, at least in Eleven. After all, I was about to die. And this was a bit dramatic. That's exactly what they wanted to show everyone. I glanced over at Whiskey before staring straight at the camera in the distance. I needed to apologise to Cain and Pa, even if it was the last thing I did. My voice was broken, but I still managed to get the words out.

"Cain... Cain I love you. You were right. You were right. You're just... you're always right. And I shouldn't have said what I did that night with Arthur. I love you Cain. And just know, you'll be a great Peacekeeper. I know you will. Just remember things aren't always as black and white as they seem. And if you ever get deployed to Three, check on the Rollei's for me."

"Noah, I love you too. Take care of Ma for me, alright? And be safe. Please be safe... All of y'all be safe. Pa, I'm sorry to you too. I know I shouldn't have been so mad about the Justice Building and you not comin' in. You had important things to do and I get that. I love you Pa. You and Ma both. And I wish I was a better son, I wish I was."

"Lock, don't ever stop being who you are. Don't lose faith or hope because of all this. Everything will be okay. One, Hook, Prop, Four, Flanker, Inside, Outside, Eight, Eleven, Winger, everyone, it'll all be okay. Just don't blame yourself Prop. I made my own choices. Just live your life to the fullest man."

More false bravery from me before I broke down sobbing. Once I managed to speak again I looked at Whiskey once more, "Please... please avoid my head... we had to do a closed-casket for Six. And... and it was hard. Not seein' him a last time."

[ table by kiah ]
[ part 2, final goodbyes ]

pogue
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1,890 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Oct 19, 2024 11:07:44 GMT -5

Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

crossroads.— [the ending of abel o'malley] Dec 3, 2021 21:00:46 GMT -5

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Post by pogue on Dec 3, 2021 21:00:46 GMT -5

Whiskey catches Abel's gaze for a moment as the boy picks up the stone, drenched in his own blood and clasped in shaking hands. Something dreadful knots in his stomach as he watches Abel desperately grasp the stone, his whispers quickly losing against the roar of the rain above. Pain flutters up from unhealed wounds, bits of red seeping out from underneath his bandages as he finally pulls himself up to his feet. He gasps, lightning and fire spreading underneath his skin as bones creak and groan in protest, hand clutching the side of the crate he'd been sitting on until the black spots that dance and flutter in his vision finally subside.

Abel's whispers thread and lace themselves into the air as he walks forward on legs that shake with the roar of the rain, balancing a soul that feels too uncertain to do what he is about to do with a feral instinct that knows he has no other choice. He listens, gun cocked and breaths ragged as Abel spill out the names of a family he'll never see again in between sobs, eyes wide and steeled gaze faltering as the names keep coming. He feels hollow guilt bubble up in his stomach, feels the thoughts of his own family drag themselves to the forefront of his mind. Is this what he'd be like when finally faced with blood and blade, begging for forgiveness before tripping into the void. He gulps, mouth too dry and throat too ragged to taste anything but metal.

He doesn't want to find out.

"Please... please avoid my head... we had to do a closed-casket for Six. And... and it was hard. Not seein' him a last time."

There's the end of a loaded gun pressed into the back of Abel's skull by then, metal dragging softly against the boy's blood-stained strands of hair. Whiskey grimaces at the extra request, all huff and puff and false bravado even though his hand is shaking so much that he feels like he might miss the killing blow completely. He sighs, shaking breath half caught in his own throat before he moves the gun down slowly, eyes following the scope of the rifle until it stops in between Abel's shoulder blades, metal shaking and grip tightening on the handle until it feels as if the metal will split in two.

"Wherever you end up..." He whispers, and it's like he's speaking more to himself than the boy in front of him. "I hope it's worth it."

His fingertip hovers over the trigger, a million shallow heartbeats hammering in his chest as snake eyes stare into the back of a dying sinner. He's sure the cameras are loving this, the way he's slamming death down into a boy who touts a religion long since banned, the way he can't bring himself to pull the trigger because he wants the storm to pick up above them again, desperate for the thunderous rain to cover up the noise of a harsh execution. The papers will probably call him sadistic, but the poison he's licking at just feel like cowardice.

It never comes, and he's left staring up at the cracks in the roof in complete silence when he finally swallows pain and pride and pulls down against the trigger.

The gun snaps its teeth and shows its fangs and spits lightning in one deafening crack, recoil pulling sharpened claws against the tired muscles of his forearm and sending him stumbling backwards for a half a second, balance only caught in time to watch Abel's body fall forward and to the pavement, red rose petals dripping from his back.

Whiskey stares in silence, snake eyes faltering and showing, if only for a moment, the terrified gaze of a boy who'd just claimed his first kill. Shaking hand and shaking soul, it takes five seconds before Abel O'Malley's cannon fires off above him and sends a chill down his spine as he moves forwards, waves of pain washing over his body as the adrenaline finally gives way to something else: shock. Above him the rain storm starts anew, a hundred tears slamming against metal and carrying through his ears like endless applause, blending and melding into static as he cocks the gun again.

He unloads two more bullets into the corpse of Abel O'Malley as his cannon fades into the distance, telling himself that it's to make sure he's truly dead. Deep down, he hopes that pulling the trigger again will help make it easier.

It doesn't.

Last Edit: Dec 3, 2021 21:14:39 GMT -5 by pogue