far from free / { t / v }
Aug 30, 2023 10:12:58 GMT -5
Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Aug 30, 2023 10:12:58 GMT -5
A cruel, wilted part of my consciousness cheered when Krueger died. The rest of the bar did, too, but the lines we parade on won’t overlap. Clink, clink, clink. The chatter that brims the walls of the bar resorts to praises, welcomes, and disbelief as they complement the victory.
”To Seven!”
”They fuckin’ did it finally,”
And, in the distance, ”maybe this one will actually do something,” reminding me that despite my victory, I hadn’t done anything that I was meant to do. I knew, deep down, that I fucked up this year. I put the life I had already secured before those that hadn’t. A few reporters have approached me, asking why I didn’t try to help those who didn’t get a say in being reaped. They asked if I had ” anything to say to their families back home,” which is hard to say because that place is hardly a fuckin’ home anymore. The empty, hollow pink walls of the living room they’ve moved my mother into feel like a reminder of my failures over my victories.
Shot glasses get raised to the heavens, and sorrow gets pushed down our throats. A burning of fire, followed by a bite of acid, fills their throats. I raised mine, too; eyelids squeezed shut to form a blockade against the set of tears. It’s passed to my liver, where I turned to look for Rafael - the only person who offers some security, despite being the biggest motherfucker here. Instead of finding the big bitch, my eyes immediately meet those of a slender man in all black. Like he’s dressed for a damn funeral or something. Pointed ears, and a hum that wisps the man’s mouth that’s of alcohol.
On the whim of defense, I’m set on edge by any new capitolite. And this one is looking right at me, with a gloss in his eyes that features way too little consciousness to know what this dude wants. ”You need some-someffim, elf-ears?” My words stumble, wobble and slip around my mouth as if the thick liquid that’s been pouring down it makes it slicker than normal. ”Not the-” I choke on my words, suddenly being reminded of the bender Rafael’s taken me on, ”not the boy you want - “ I point at the TV, a bloodstained boy from seven presented. ”You want hhhim. Nnot, me.”
Because shit, I wish I didn’t matter anymore.
Fion
