rendezvous times two (pthalo)
Oct 7, 2011 1:23:15 GMT -5
Post by skylarversion2 on Oct 7, 2011 1:23:15 GMT -5
GrindHe'd went home and cried. For hours upon hours he was in the corner of his room, with saline water streaming down each cheek. He cried until the night's light encased him, tucked him in with a wave of white but he was cold. How could he sleep in a block of ice. He'd shivered. And so had come the time where he'd ignored every word that Zack spat, how Grind had missed training. Grind had failed to muster the courage to tell Zack that he needed to pretend dead, and for days after, Zack had fortunately ordered Grind to do all of the household supply gatherings. Any other time, it would've been a punishment, but at that time, it couldn't have been better. Grind had, however, persuaded his not-dad to let him off of Training for a week. He'd told him that he'd been working harder than he ever had the past few weeks, that it'd all led up to tension between the Careers he trained with and frustration with some of his performances. He'd told him that he needed a break, and so he got one.
He'd gotten the courage to run away, leaving a note with scribbley handwriting and a glob of spit telling Zack to die. That there was no reason for someone that encouraged the training for the killing of others to live. It was all done in a mood swing, a sweep of terror that had overcome Grind, pushing him to a point of deadly silence. There was no sound that night, except for the scribbling of his pen and the thump of footsteps as he'd slipped into night. He'd never expected to return a week later, cooled down, reserved, calm, and find blood-stained wood and a stiff body. He'd ran away at the first sight and skipped school for a week. He'd considered even killing himself, but it wasn't worth it. There was a voice in his head that'd repeated over and over again, he'd deserved it. Zack had made Grind sit through 16 years of nothing but Hunger Games 101, turning him into some sort of monster while Zack stood by as the evil genius, the mastermind.
As the end of Autumn wrapped its way around, Midas a sliver of a memory, Julian had overtaken Grind's every move. He'd resorted to living in the house he'd lived in for 16 years, ridding the body through phrases of nose holding and breath keeping, dragging him by the foot as the cold Autumn breeze swung through the mountains. Maybe is Julian had cared, none of that would've happened. But somehow Grind was still attached. Minute after minute was spent loving and hating Julian, wanting him but at the same time, not.
After Grind had forced himself to go to school, he refused to look at Julian, confident that the mental image he had was enough to last. But one day he'd broke, following Julian as he walked home. The pace made it clear that Grind was doing something he shouldn't have been doing. He needed to stay away from the thing that'd destroyed him.---------
Brigham
His head was held high, hair messily but intentionally styled and a gleaming ring shone under the sun's rays. He'd always enjoyed Autumn. It was never too hot and it was never too cold and the breeze that seemed to constantly envelop him only supported the clouds he walked on. His legs were crossed as his arms were stretched out beside him, resting on the top of the bench. It didn't take long for Brigham to notice the boy with lion-like eyes, locked on his prey as he waited for the moment to sprint and pounce. It took even less time to realize the boy that was the prey, walking along without a clue.
During the Reaping, he'd watched as the blonde haired boy ran towards the stage as the others latched on to him and held him back, tears gathering and ears steaming, senseless words being shouted in all directions. And with the death of the boy that the protester had been screaming for not that far behind, his sympathetic side had immediately kicked in. I know how that feels. It hurts and it tears you apart and it makes you slow and it hurts your heart. If there was anything that Brigham could do for the boy, it was get the stalker off of him.
It'd been a while since he'd broke down, more than a year, and he refused to let one come on. Once he'd feel one drawing near he'd channel his sadness into anger or even more arrogance and hold his head higher. He'd wear more jewelry and tighter clothing and show just how much better he was then everyone else.
So, as they drew near, he flicked his chin up and eyed the boy following, gladly shouting out a "Step off, freak!" as the boy was no more than 10 feet from him. Hopefully he'd listen, he was comfortable where he was. He drew his head back and huffed out of his nose, letting a side of his mouth raise up. You're just too good. he thought.
