sunny — d11, fin | Hunger Games: The RPG

fox
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1,363 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Apr 25, 2024 12:23:42 GMT -5

but a butt ?

sunny — d11, fin Feb 13, 2022 22:22:14 GMT -5

Quote

Post by fox on Feb 13, 2022 22:22:14 GMT -5

“My house says to me, "Do not leave me, for here dwells your past."
And the road says to me, "Come and follow me, for I am your future."
And I say to both my house and the road, "I have no past, nor have I a future. If I stay here, there is a going in my staying; and if I go there is a staying in my going. Only love and death will change all things.”

― Khalil Gibran

samson theroux
eighteen

Last Edit: Feb 15, 2022 0:19:04 GMT -5 by fox

fox
Graphics

1,363 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Apr 25, 2024 12:23:42 GMT -5

but a butt ?

sunny — d11, fin Feb 14, 2022 0:09:25 GMT -5

Quote

Post by fox on Feb 14, 2022 0:09:25 GMT -5

S A M S O N

i turned eighteen in the summer; the night smelled of the sun, crickets chirped in the fields, my skin was warm and flushed.

eighteen does not make anyone less of a child.

at eighteen, my mother was just a girl.

and there was a man, not of the district, stationed here in a white uniform that year of her eighteenth. he came to us like death in the golden fields of grain, the orchards full of fruit like jewels.

and over the months, the man lived on our land, and ate the food of our earth, and slept in the shade of our district.

he was so much older than her,
my mother, with the flowers in her hair.

and him, like death,
who lived and ate and slept amongst us

– returned to his capitol when the winter came, in the chill of a quiet november night, and left a famine behind him.

he left my mother without a word, a girl he charmed with beautiful words and careless touches and most importantly, the promise of a sweeter life. he did not know greed because all was his, and he did not know cruelty because we were just playthings, transient and quaint in his world of splendor.

my mother still gave me his name

because he was not of this district, this poor, destitute, hungry district that fed him for three seasons here, and then for his whole life there.

maybe with a name like this, i could also take and never give.

and maybe with a name like this, i could also go to his capitol, that magnificent, dazzling place of casual ruthlessness.

my mother died soon after my birth, picked as if she had been only a flower in the grass.

i turned eighteen a few minutes ago in the murmur of summer, quietly, watching the moon from the window, wondering if i felt any different. and now from the grave, i look at the other moon in my bed, her skin glowing, breath even in her sleep. i brush a strand of her hair behind her ear.

what would it be like to be unceremoniously cruel.

to live as they lived.

as my father lived, whose blood flows in me.

i dreamed of a new world, one where all was just and right and true.

and now i dream only of taking, just once in my life, without having to give.

i dreamed of revolution, and then i dreamed

of only survival.

🔆

"Sunny," she says, the only one who calls me so. her voice is yellow, like a soft afternoon, the sky dipped in gold. the sound comes up through the branches of the tree.

Sunny for her, Sami for my aunt, Samson for the slips of paper in the reaping, the name of the vazaha who killed my mother.

i fall from the branches, and there she is –

my pockets are full of poppies these days, red blooms from a hand dipped into the capitol's morphling pool and shipped to district nine instead in crates marked as grain.

i have nothing to give her.

and if i did, i think i wouldn't want to when all i've ever had was half – half a name, half a body, half a soul. there has never been enough in this world for me, for what i want, for what i deserve.

i must do what i need to survive.

she is just another girl,

one who followed me, as if i were the sun, over fences, into warehouses in the dead of night. who held my hand, and kissed my lips, and watched me bleed out once or twice in her arms at dawn and live again in the evening.

but nothing more.

no more.

"Cel… you didn't really think this was going to last, did you?"

somehow it's easier than i thought to not care.

"i never promised you anything."

and to take.

"honestly… you were just a quick fuck."

and to be violent.

"i'm sorry."

and in my eighteenth year, as my mother's dying wish, i think i have learned to become my father's son.

I'M GOING TO MEET MY GOD.

Last Edit: Feb 15, 2022 0:15:57 GMT -5 by fox

fox Graphics 1,363 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Apr 25, 2024 12:23:42 GMT -5 but a butt ?	sunny — d11, fin Feb 15, 2022 0:19:21 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by fox on Feb 15, 2022 0:19:21 GMT -5 ripred_bot

fox Graphics 1,363 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Apr 25, 2024 12:23:42 GMT -5 but a butt ?	sunny — d11, fin Feb 18, 2022 17:11:28 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by fox on Feb 18, 2022 17:11:28 GMT -5 giving it a lil bump ripred_bot

Deleted 0 POSTS last seen Apr 26, 2024 15:02:38 GMT -5	sunny — d11, fin Feb 18, 2022 17:25:12 GMT -5 via mobile Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Deleted on Feb 18, 2022 17:25:12 GMT -5 when the plot twist is fuckboyism conversion Sunny do good deeds pls accepted