{{Obstacles}} :Mentor//Rosetta:
May 24, 2012 12:32:51 GMT -5
Post by Onyx on May 24, 2012 12:32:51 GMT -5
Doing | Thinking | Consciencing | Hearing | Speaking
[/i] I imagine the turmoil inside her – guilt, loss, pain? A pang of pity throbs in my gut for Lethe Turner, because I think I would rather be slaughtered in the Arena than relive others being torn apart every year, and every night.Do you want me to call you madam? I sneer, arms folded across my stomach as I regard the woman leaning on the bench I am sitting at. She is slightly silhouetted against the neon lights that form an artificial halo around her head. Ironic, that the only one who stayed alive could be given such an aura of death and heavenliness. Her breathing is strong and quiet, and she still has the District look about her. But what has victory done to her?
Nearby, the twelve year old girl crashes to the ground, her heavy sword singing as it spins away from her, and the Careers laugh from their ominous looking clump. I hear her cough as she scrabbles to her feet again, like a lamb on ice, and know it is a sob in disguise. Laugh now, but all but one of you is going to die. I am going to die…
This thought brings me back to my mentor. If she did it, why can’t I? Because, really, I don’t want to have to go what she goes through. I look her in the eyes, and she that she feels nothing towards me at all. Would she mourn for me, now there is no one left to mourn? Or would it just be a matter of ah well, there’s always next year, another hopeful to try and fill my footsteps. Perhaps she already favours Haff.[/i] My eyes prickle as I stare earnestly up at her, imploring her to take some faith in me. I am going to-
I know I’m going to die, but could you help me make it later? Everything is so alien here, so new to me. No one back in District Five will care when I die. No one will care about my feelings. Can I give them a reason to care? Could Lethe give me the time I need to show I could be remembered? It’s just a beauty contest.
I break the eye contact, while she still considers me curiously, and focus on the weapon I had been training with before Lethe called me over to say she would talk with me. A broadsword, it was too heavy for me to lift at first, and I threw all my height and weight behind it as I thrust blindly at a Trainer. It was embarrassing, and humiliation is more lethal than any weapon out here.[/i] A tribute with broken mind and morale is a tribute with an easily broken body. I was broken even before my letter was drawn.
But who am I to judge tactics? A helpless seventeen year old with shaking hands and a baby’s strength, while a Victor watches my every emotion. I am a runner. I am faster than time. But how can even eternity help Eternity, when everyone else is faster?
Awkwardly, I shift my sitting position, curling my long legs below my chair and taking the protest of my muscles as another sign that I am still alive. I suppose, I’m more of a survivor than a fighter. I can use a knife, I think,[/b] stupid words, as I realise once again I am talking to a fighter, but I’m happy for anything that will help me.[/b] Anything, please.
A half-frown creases Lethe’s eyebrows, but her eyes shine with some bitter amusement. Instinctively, I glare back, hoping that she will see that I’m strong. But I’m not a fighter. And I am going to die.
Ardently, I try one more time, please? Anything. Every second, I wish there was some way I could prove myself a little more.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/justify]