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nearly / dearly departed {xov & fam - jb}
Jan 29, 2024 21:02:56 GMT -5
Post by august vance d7b [Bella] on Jan 29, 2024 21:02:56 GMT -5
X O V thao
without food you will become hungry;
without family you will lose your soul.
-hmong proverb
The Justice Building of Twelve felt like the in-between space where the dead waited, except Xov wasn’t dead yet. She wondered if anyone actually could have spent much time there. Its architecture was spacious, proud, authoritative–but it smelled damp and musty, as if the imposing structure hid some thinly veiled neglect. It almost gave the impression of one of those fake backdrops in a puppet show. Pretty, but cardboard underneath. Performative, Xov thought. And it had succeeded in spooking her to some extent.
Mostly, she felt numb and a little lost, the events of the last hour feeling a little like one of those dreams that was more vivid in color than reality. The kind that you mulled over when you awoke, trying to ascertain some kind of deeper meaning, but were really just absurd in the end. Everything felt absurd. The padded wooden chair she was waiting in, upholstered in red velvet. Her sandaled feet against the drab, aging carpet. Her blue satin dress especially: why get all dressed up before being sent to the slaughter? Xov thought it made about as much sense as putting a bow on a rooster before slitting its neck for a sacrifice.
But for her family’s sake, she was glad she at least looked older, more dignified. And the people watching at home saw not a blubbering child of sixteen, breaking down in front of the cameras, but a dignified young woman walking upright, leveling her eyes to meet the gaze of fate.
At least that’s what she was going for.
Her task now was to wait. She breathed deeply in and out, trying to settle the turbulent feeling in her gut, thumbs idly stroking the velvet of the chair. Then the door opened.
A pair of peacekeepers filtered in, then her parents with Kai, who had been sleeping when she left the house.
“Niam. Txiv.” She stood to meet them and leaned into her mother’s arms, then her father’s, which wrapped around both of them. Niam pressed her tall forehead into Xov’s until it almost hurt, but she didn’t pull away.
”Xov Thao, you are so unlucky.” There was that bittersweet melange of disappointment and affection that could only come from Niam.
”Un-luck,” her father clucked in agreement. He looked a bit more lucid today, but that wasn’t saying much. His eyes were clouded and distant, flitting nervously around the room, at the light fixtures, at the Peacekeepers.
”Maybe I am. But you’re my parents. So maybe that makes you even more unlucky.”
Xov didn’t know what to say to fill the short time they had, only that she had to be tough. Looking at her parents, they seemed older and more fragile than she had ever seen them, despite her mother’s graceful formality. She held these few delicate minutes in her hands–maybe the last that they would ever have together–afraid that she might break them. One fist opened and closed at her side, nails biting the flesh of her palm.
”We’ll light incense and sacrifice a rabbit, to ask the spirits to grant you good fortune.”
In this dim, indifferent room, the problem-solving of their ancestors felt like empty promises, even though she had seen such things work before.
”It’s not all luck, you know.” Her voice sounded sharper than she meant it. ”I’ll try to win. I know plants–maybe the arena will have something that I can use. I’m quiet, and I’m a fast runner.”
She almost felt angry at the solemn look on her parents’ faces. Almost. Like they had already condemned her. Like someone had already signed the death certificate.
Cai, her brother, spoke up.”Ua siab loj,” he said, to her surprise. Xov had taught him that phrase when they learned to climb trees in the backyard. She bent down and scooped him up in her arms.
”Uh-huh. I will be brave. And you’d better be brave too.” He was almost too big to hold. ”Every tear you shed will help drown me, kvw tij. Believe I’ll win so you won’t cry.” There were already some tears falling down his cheeks, and he wiped them away with his sleeve. Xov kissed his baby-soft cheek and lowered him back to the floor.
She could sense that the Peacekeepers were starting to get antsy, glancing at their watches and shuffling their feet. Final words now.
”I’ll make you proud,” she insisted, repeating what she had said to her brother. ”I’ll learn as much as I can. I’ll kill if I need to.”
”What you need, are some friends to keep you safe. You need diplomacy. Words first, teeth last. Remember that,” Niam said.
Xov added it to the list of proverbs that had grown along with her since birth. She nodded gravely.
”I’ll make friends. I promise.” Again, something absurd. But she decided it was better than the alternative–running to face death, alone.
Time’s up, said one of the keepers.
Once more she was enveloped in her parents’ arms, and Xov could smell the anxiety in their bodies, in their sweat. She thought her parents might be some of the best mourners that she knew. They wore it so well, except for Cai, who was doing a decent job for a six-year-old.
”Already proud of you,” mumbled Txiv, in a rare, almost-complete sentence. ”Be seeing you.”
In this life or the next–that wasn’t clear.
In their family of few words, in this place where children were disposable, she knew it was the closest she would get to I love you.
It almost broke her. Almost.
It took all the strength she had left to keep the lump in her throat from sabotaging the last mental image they would have of her.
”I’ll miss you!” she called to their backs as the door closed behind them.
She’d come back for them. Here, in the land of the living.
without food you will become hungry;
without family you will lose your soul.
-hmong proverb
The Justice Building of Twelve felt like the in-between space where the dead waited, except Xov wasn’t dead yet. She wondered if anyone actually could have spent much time there. Its architecture was spacious, proud, authoritative–but it smelled damp and musty, as if the imposing structure hid some thinly veiled neglect. It almost gave the impression of one of those fake backdrops in a puppet show. Pretty, but cardboard underneath. Performative, Xov thought. And it had succeeded in spooking her to some extent.
Mostly, she felt numb and a little lost, the events of the last hour feeling a little like one of those dreams that was more vivid in color than reality. The kind that you mulled over when you awoke, trying to ascertain some kind of deeper meaning, but were really just absurd in the end. Everything felt absurd. The padded wooden chair she was waiting in, upholstered in red velvet. Her sandaled feet against the drab, aging carpet. Her blue satin dress especially: why get all dressed up before being sent to the slaughter? Xov thought it made about as much sense as putting a bow on a rooster before slitting its neck for a sacrifice.
But for her family’s sake, she was glad she at least looked older, more dignified. And the people watching at home saw not a blubbering child of sixteen, breaking down in front of the cameras, but a dignified young woman walking upright, leveling her eyes to meet the gaze of fate.
At least that’s what she was going for.
Her task now was to wait. She breathed deeply in and out, trying to settle the turbulent feeling in her gut, thumbs idly stroking the velvet of the chair. Then the door opened.
A pair of peacekeepers filtered in, then her parents with Kai, who had been sleeping when she left the house.
“Niam. Txiv.” She stood to meet them and leaned into her mother’s arms, then her father’s, which wrapped around both of them. Niam pressed her tall forehead into Xov’s until it almost hurt, but she didn’t pull away.
”Xov Thao, you are so unlucky.” There was that bittersweet melange of disappointment and affection that could only come from Niam.
”Un-luck,” her father clucked in agreement. He looked a bit more lucid today, but that wasn’t saying much. His eyes were clouded and distant, flitting nervously around the room, at the light fixtures, at the Peacekeepers.
”Maybe I am. But you’re my parents. So maybe that makes you even more unlucky.”
Xov didn’t know what to say to fill the short time they had, only that she had to be tough. Looking at her parents, they seemed older and more fragile than she had ever seen them, despite her mother’s graceful formality. She held these few delicate minutes in her hands–maybe the last that they would ever have together–afraid that she might break them. One fist opened and closed at her side, nails biting the flesh of her palm.
”We’ll light incense and sacrifice a rabbit, to ask the spirits to grant you good fortune.”
In this dim, indifferent room, the problem-solving of their ancestors felt like empty promises, even though she had seen such things work before.
”It’s not all luck, you know.” Her voice sounded sharper than she meant it. ”I’ll try to win. I know plants–maybe the arena will have something that I can use. I’m quiet, and I’m a fast runner.”
She almost felt angry at the solemn look on her parents’ faces. Almost. Like they had already condemned her. Like someone had already signed the death certificate.
Cai, her brother, spoke up.”Ua siab loj,” he said, to her surprise. Xov had taught him that phrase when they learned to climb trees in the backyard. She bent down and scooped him up in her arms.
”Uh-huh. I will be brave. And you’d better be brave too.” He was almost too big to hold. ”Every tear you shed will help drown me, kvw tij. Believe I’ll win so you won’t cry.” There were already some tears falling down his cheeks, and he wiped them away with his sleeve. Xov kissed his baby-soft cheek and lowered him back to the floor.
She could sense that the Peacekeepers were starting to get antsy, glancing at their watches and shuffling their feet. Final words now.
”I’ll make you proud,” she insisted, repeating what she had said to her brother. ”I’ll learn as much as I can. I’ll kill if I need to.”
”What you need, are some friends to keep you safe. You need diplomacy. Words first, teeth last. Remember that,” Niam said.
Xov added it to the list of proverbs that had grown along with her since birth. She nodded gravely.
”I’ll make friends. I promise.” Again, something absurd. But she decided it was better than the alternative–running to face death, alone.
Time’s up, said one of the keepers.
Once more she was enveloped in her parents’ arms, and Xov could smell the anxiety in their bodies, in their sweat. She thought her parents might be some of the best mourners that she knew. They wore it so well, except for Cai, who was doing a decent job for a six-year-old.
”Already proud of you,” mumbled Txiv, in a rare, almost-complete sentence. ”Be seeing you.”
In this life or the next–that wasn’t clear.
In their family of few words, in this place where children were disposable, she knew it was the closest she would get to I love you.
It almost broke her. Almost.
It took all the strength she had left to keep the lump in her throat from sabotaging the last mental image they would have of her.
”I’ll miss you!” she called to their backs as the door closed behind them.
She’d come back for them. Here, in the land of the living.
