a million miles to a cemetery ★ {izars jb}
Feb 2, 2024 8:16:59 GMT -5
Post by Cait on Feb 2, 2024 8:16:59 GMT -5
ines izar
There is a ritual that every Izar knows. Doesn’t matter if they lived it their self or were just a passing ghost in someone else’s life. Either way, you’ll struggle to find an Izar that doesn’t know what the inside of the Justice Building looks like. I’m in esteemed company.
I had the chance to be here, once, before the world knew my name. When Haizea Rose-Izar was still alive. I watched her get dragged away by Peacekeepers, the fight draining out of her as reality started to choke the air out of her lungs. I stood outside the door, searching within myself for a way to push past the barrier, to beat the separation. But I couldn’t do it. When my allotted five minutes passed, I turned my back on her and walked away.
Something to be said about karma. Fate catches us all.
The room is silent for a long time, swirling with ethereal auras. I think of Haze, waiting for a cousin she never knew. I think of Mateo, the lamb of last year, and feel sad that he wasn’t the last of us to stand here.
I almost convince myself that I’ll spend the last ten minutes of my time in Eleven alone as punishment for not being there for them, in their final moments. Because I can make excuses for myself and say I was just obeying Nekane’s rules, just trying to protect myself from her inevitable anger. But it doesn’t change the fact that nobody ever wants to be alone. They deserved better.
We deserved better.
The moment Yani bursts through the door, I don’t know whether I’m relieved, or grateful, or heartbroken. All of the above. But she’s upon me in an instance – we’re tight hugs and shaking arms and I start crying almost immediately.
She’s the closest thing I’ll have to family, but I know it’s a one-sided street. I tell myself it’s okay. Vasco is a lingering shadow by the door – a braver soul than I ever was, will ever be. I’m happy to fall second string to him.
“Thank you for coming–” I hiccup somewhere along the way, choke on my own saliva and swallow the rest of my sentence in barbed fragments: I’m glad you’re the ones who are here.