Absurdity Of Life {Goravich's}

new

« Prev
1
Next »

cass
Retired Staff

4,822 POSTS

last seen Oct 24, 2021 18:11:43 GMT -5

Absurdity Of Life {Goravich's} Apr 16, 2012 6:10:18 GMT -5

Post by cass on Apr 16, 2012 6:10:18 GMT -5

Marina Goravich`

Doing
Kofa
Deep Thought
Hearing
Talking

Pain is a strange word. But one that is wound so tightly with me. The word is glue to me, and it follows me where ever I go. But not many people understand the word, or what it means. What is pain? Discomfort, annoyance or grief? No there is more to the word then just simple terms. Is pain really when you have suffered so much and gained so little, or when a woman is on her third day of labour and the screaming and contractions never seem to end? Pain to most is just another word used to describe a feeling, a mere sensation. It means more. When everyone thinks of pain they think sadness and slicing agony, burns, cuts or grazes. They think hurt feelings, a dead person, grief and rage. The word has never been linked to joy or happiness, but maybe only to those who's minds have gone too far. To those when pain is not suffering or abuse, but joy and pleasure. Then it is a happiness that is seeked and cherished not thrown away and feared.

My feet seemed to stick to the ground, they wouldn’t move or budge, and they were stuck. My lifeless eyes turn to the matches I held. Fire was really interesting. It was perhaps the most dangerous thing I knew. It caused so much pain, pain of the good type not the bad. When your mind is far from your body and the only friend you have is your imagination, then pain becomes a friend. After all it is part of your imagination. My hand rubs the roughness of the box, the box seemed glued to my hand, I didn’t want to drop it or let it go. Fire was fun to play with. I wasn’t needed in my house. I was useless. None of them needed me. Why would they? They were all big and strong they had jobs they brang the money. I was a nobody in the family. Pushed aside easily forgotten.

I doubted they even knew I was gone.

I bit my lip to stop it from trembling. I knew that I was moments from tears. It really did hurt to know that they didn’t think of me. I felt pain. But it wasn’t the pain I liked to feel, it was bad pain. I swat at the air desperately trying to fight the pain. I didn’t want it to touch me. It hurt. I don’t like it. It hurts. I like the good pain. The pain that felt nice… comforting. My hands fumble with the box of matches, I pull at the box, frantically trying to open it. The box falls from my grasp. A gasp escapes my lips and I hurriedly bend down to pick them up. I could feel a stinging behind my eyes and I knew I was running out of time. The pain was coming.

I bend down quickly grabbing the little box that held all my hope, held the release. The good pain. I cry out in frustration as the little box opens and everything spills on the floor. Why? Why couldn’t I do this? Marina, calm down. Breath hun. The tender touch of the ghostly hands makes me freeze. I could feel her touch, even though deep down I knew it wasn’t real this was all in my head. But everything I felt once again overwrote what I knew to be true, no. I knew Kofa to be true. She was real. My hands stop trembling. And I calmly pick up a match. ”Kofa what would I do without you?” I breath softly I briefly look up into her eyes, today they were brown, some days they were blue, green or even red. But today they were as light as the colour of honey. Sweet warm and welcoming. I give her a weak smile. But it did nothing to ease the pain that was coming in me. The translucent girl gives a light laugh, her hair floats like a r of red around her face. It flickered like flames. You’d be crazy without me. I’m already crazy…

The thought hits me like a tonne of bricks. I slide onto my knees, the match falls from my hands, and I stare wide eyed at the girl in front of me. “I am crazy.” I whisper, looking at her. It was so close now I could feel the stinging in my eyes so much it hurt. The pain was almost upon me, my chest ached, and I wanted to curl into a little ball and cry, but I didn’t have the strength. Marina. Marina look at me, don’t let it hurt you.

[/i][/color] The pale fingers of her imagination grab a match and place it into my trembling hand. It almost feel out with the shaking, but my grip tightened onto it. I find my eyes once more meeting hers and I knew that no matter what I did she would always be with me. How could she not?

I stare dumbfounded at the box. I couldn’t remember what to do. I didn’t know what I was going to do. The shaking in me increased and the tears sprung to my eyes. I cried out in pure pain as a sharp stab in my chest sent me into the ground. It hurt so much. I fumble once more for the little box, my fingers shake against the rough side and I try to light the match that was still in my grasp. The first try failed, the match falling to the floor. A tear slide down my cheek. A sob racked my body. I grab a new match and strike it as hard as I dare against the small box. It snaps in half. I cry out in distress. “Kofa, Kofa help me!” I sob as more pain hits me. I needed the feeling of the good stuff. I needed to drag myself out of this depression. I was crazy. I really was, and I didn’t know if I was imagining all of this. I didn’t know.[/i] I cry out again for Kofa, but I get no answer.

My hand scrambles on the ground, and I feel the roughness of a stick. I close my hand around it. I close my eyes tightly, desperately trying to stop more tears from falling. My face was pressed close against the cold wooden ground. The coldness, which was normally so soothing, just caused more pain. I feel the match scrap against the little box and I open my eyes slightly to see a small flickering light. It danced at the end of a thin skinny stick. Twinkling like the very essence of life itself. My shaking hand made it sway from side to side. I open my eyes wider taking in the beauty of the light. With a gasp I slowly pull myself up. The light stays, burning away at the stick. The heat made my fingers hurt, but it felt good. It felt pleasant. A smile slowly creeps onto my face, I look around the room. I’m right here, Marina. I will always be with you. That was all I needed. Those words gave me courage and I pressed the flickering flame onto my skin. ”Forever.”[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

Last Edit: Apr 28, 2012 22:45:40 GMT -5 by cass

Python
Retired Staff

4,515 POSTS

Pronouns: She/Her
last seen Oct 27, 2024 23:26:22 GMT -5

Absurdity Of Life {Goravich's} Apr 17, 2012 8:18:43 GMT -5

Post by Python on Apr 17, 2012 8:18:43 GMT -5

-----------------------

A monster was snoring in his lair. Blonde hair disheveled, piercing eyes sealed shut with sleep, and muscular arms splayed out above his head and over the edge of his mattress, Jamarion Goravich was savoring as much sleep as he could before the sunlight seeped through his curtains and burned his eye sockets from the inside out. As dawn arrived, allowing the sun to creep its way above the horizon and bask the land with its warm rays and white light, his untidy room was illuminated and large shadows appeared to dance upon the walls. Soon his eyelids could no longer serve as a protective shield for his sensitive eyes, and with a grunt of disgust he rolled onto his opposite side and thrust the covers over his head. Sleep refused to welcome him back, however - he could hear small, distinct noises in the house. Most likely his siblings performing their morning routine. Jamarion grumbled.

After several minutes of protesting and fighting with the sunlight, the stubborn monster gave in and sat up in his bed rubbing the yellow crust from the corners of his eyes. He cupped his hands over his ears - it muffled the distant sounds and narrowed his focus - and angrily began to murmur to himself.

”I hate waking up.” The sound slipped out in a small whisper that seemed to bounce off of the walls of his empty skull like the hiss of a snake. He liked the way it echoed in his eardrums and drowned out everything else that tried to control him. He was in control, and only his voice would dominate. ”I just want to sleep.”

Unfortunaly, once Jamarion was awake there was no coaxing him back to sleep. He was a rambunctious teenager with endless amounts of energy that he would rather not waste hibernating in his room like that nerd Klaus usually did when he read his books. Jamarion scoffed at the thought of this. Stupid Klaus and his stupid books - didn’t he have anything better to do, like having a life? With fresh thoughts of tormenting the younger sibling in his disturbed mind he walked over to his dresser and randomly picked out an outfit for the day. He briefly wondered why there was such a small selection of clothes in his draws, then glanced at the pile of dirtied clothes on the floor. Hm, he would have to do something about that. Maybe later.

He tossed his pajamas - his clothes from the day before, actually - to the accumulating pile of garments on the floor, and approached his window with his hands over his ears. His window happened to face the street of their strange neighborhood, and Jamarion watched with a dullness in his blue gaze as people walked out of their front doors and made their way down the street to go to work. Jamarion didn’t have work today - it was the weekend. There was also no school, and sadly no Hunger Games to watch. The half-naked blonde boy had already been deemed victor after his opponent - Jamarion never remembered their names. He didn’t care about their lives, or lack of one - had stabbed himself in the chest. Now they would merely show the recap video and clips of the victory ceremony, and that would bore him to death. But what else was he supposed to do? There would be no absent-mindedly lifting heavy objects in the factories to make a penny. There would be no sitting in the classroom doodling on his paper or stalking the hallways as children stared at him and waited for him to find his next victim, or fabricate an excuse to slam somebody’s face into a wall, or just bully some kid for the thrill of it. And now there would also be no Hunger Games. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Spend time with his family? the thought made him grimace.

A familiar little boy passed Jamarion’s window. Memories of the faces he had pounded were all an indistinct blur now, as if somebody had mashed them together like one would when mixing paint. He didn’t know the kid or where he lived, but he was probably just another nobody that Jamarion had roughed up a little bit. No big deal. He hurt a lot of kids, including his own siblings - with the exception of Hopper and Tacara. In a strange sense he sort of respected Hopper because he was in charge of making sure that everybody had enough to eat, that everybody that held a job was not hoarding money or taking too many days off, that everybody was pitching in with chores, and of course that everybody was attending school. Jamarion didn’t like being told what to do, especially when it involved chores - he hated chores - and sometimes he would snap at Hopper and threaten to maim him like he did everybody else, but so far he’d never been provoked enough to do so. Hopper was just so calm - it was difficult to channel anger toward him when he never acted aggressive. The kindness in the boy’s heart disgusted him, however. How the boy could remain so tranquil while living in this fun-house for freaks was beyond him. He could hardly bear it himself without picking at least one fight a day. Then again, it was usually Jamarion who started the fights and the arguments. It gave him something exciting to do.

Tacara was another subject completely. She was the only family member in the house who could try her hardest to annoy the shit out of Jamarion and fail miserably. Nobody knew what it was about her that made her so invincible in his presence - she was probably the most cowardly girl in all of Panem. She was like a little mouse hiding in the corner trying to find a way to steal some cheese and scurry away without punishment. And sometimes, this mouse would hide behind the cat. Tiger or jungle beast was a better way of describing it - Jamarion always thought of himself as beastly - but the concept was all the same. Jamarion just never bothered by her. He was indifferent to her using him as a shield to conceal herself, and faintly swelled with pride the way she treated him like a protector. Jamarion could hurt anybody, after all - Tacara would never be in an danger.

As the kid vanished, Jamarion closed his curtains once more and sat down upon his bed. If he couldn’t find anything to do, he decided, he would just go bother Klaus. Or maybe Marina. The two were his main targets, anyway - it was always amusing to watch their reactions when he shouted at them or deceptively brought his fist back as if prepared to break their noses. Marina especially. The girl was so frightened of him it made him feel giddy. It was so pathetic - yet so amusing. Klaus was not as easy to scare. He actually argued back, but there was always satisfaction to come when Jamarion won his arguments with a punch to the jaw or a kick to the gut. A smirk stretched itself across his pale features as he thought about what fun he could have within the battered walls of his chaotic home.[/justify][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Apr 17, 2012 8:25:09 GMT -5 by Python

florentine, d4b ❁
Moderator

1,716 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 14, 2024 18:45:29 GMT -5

Absurdity Of Life {Goravich's} Apr 28, 2012 5:58:45 GMT -5

Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on Apr 28, 2012 5:58:45 GMT -5

KLAUS GORAVICH
[/center]

♕ DISTRICT THREE ♕

[/b]

For somebody so bright, you're awfully stupid.

[/color]

Again you watch as a camera shakes it's way into focus. It takes you a moment to make out the surroundings, but when you do you see that the frame is simply filled with concrete and grey stone buildings stretching high into the sky. There is a cough from somewhere out of shot - nothing is moving at all in the picture. "I'm Klaus Goravich and today I'm trying to shoot more scenes for my documentary. It's about my life." The voice is sweet and innocent, the cautious voice of a boy who is not quite ready to become a man. Still it does not spin around to face the speaker, but you think perhaps it is better this way.

"Welcome to District Three." The camera swings around three hundred and sixty degrees, encompassing many more stone buildings and cloudy skies outlined in grey. "I guess it's not much - but it's home." The boy begins to walk - his footsteps filter through the speakers like a broken record tap, tap, tap. The camera does not shake as it did to begin with - however the image does not stay completely clear. It almost seems as though the world is unstable. Grey, colourless and shaking. A picture of innocence and lies mingled into one. Then again, it is possible that you are reading much too far into the scene.

The boy stops at what can only be described as a park - a bare lot of land with a wooden construction balanced precariously in the middle. "Today I'm going to talk about home - because it's something that's very important to me." You still cannot see him, however the smile in his voice tugs at the corners of your mouth a little. As he sets the camera down on some unseen object and bounces into view, you begin to think about your own home. "My home is a very busy place. Although mama died when we where born, we're all there for each other." He laughs a little as though he is thinking of some inside joke and then adds, "Well, most of the time. Sometimes Jam is a little rough and Marina's a little distant. But in the end we're a family."

He hesitates, giving you the feeling that he is not quite sure what he planned to say. His high, slanting cheekbones remind you of someone. Someone important. When the memory escapes you, you turn your attention back to the screen to see that the boy has moved. "I think a home is really the place that you feel loved. No matter how you're treated, if a place is your home you'll always return." The boy stares right into the lens until you feel as though he is staring right into your soul. It seems as though he is weighing up saying something more - linking the statement to the Capitol, perhaps, or to President Snow, but then he averts his eyes as if to say don't worry. And you don't, because such comments would be suicide anyway.

"In a book I once read," the boy says, looking around as though checking he is alone. "There was a hero. And they were saying what it was like when you'd been away saving the world. And then you came home, and you forget how much you miss it." He pauses. As though he is thinking over his words to check they make sense, he blinks at the camera and then begins again. "Well, I think that's true, in a way. Except, you know, I'd never forget how much I missed them."

At this the boy looks genuinely sad, in a way that almost makes your heart melt. But then you shake your head and remember why it is that you are watching the fractured videos to begin with.

The boy picks up the camera once more. "So, my home. District Three, Panem." The camera shuts of for a moment, and when the color and light bring the screen to life again you are no longer staring at a clearing amid the grey - you are looking at a house.

"I'm not showing you my house, I'm showing you my home. Which means not showing you the rooms and walls, but the people who live in it. Marina, Tacara, Jamarion, Lyana, Hopper, and me."

Ooc: sorry for the shortness and bad quality of the post. I was struggling so much for muse. Hey, I tried, okay.

Speaking
Thinking
Expression
Body
Headings

[/justify][/size][/color]