Maybe This Time [Rook]

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cyrus
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Maybe This Time [Rook] Jul 30, 2012 14:50:20 GMT -5

Post by cyrus on Jul 30, 2012 14:50:20 GMT -5

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

What did it feel like, to be able to let everything go? I’m walking along the edge of the wall—I’ve grown adept at finding the places that are best to get in—and stop to watch a few peacekeepers along in the distance. This is the third day I’ve tried to get inside this district, and it doesn’t help that I’ve come as close as I’ve wanted to my brushes with the law. Was it freeing, when everything faded and there was nothing left to say, nothing left to know?

[/color] This district’s long stretch of wires and warnings along the fence were much more real than the others I’d faced. But unlike the heaving clouds of smoke from the rigs of district five, this was dotted with small factories and patches of dilapidated houses. Because sometimes, when I sit alone at night, I want to close my eyes and never wake up. I want to know how it feels to never see anything, because all I ever see is you.

My heart races as I crouch down low to the ground. This is the place.[/color] I begin burrowing against the wet ground with hands, yanking out roots and undergrowth from below the barbed wire. I can feel it underneath my fingernails; I can feel it as I scratch against the hard earth and rocks. The stalks of white fluff that dot the other side of the fence sway back and forth—will someone be coming to pick them soon? But I’ve learned that the only way to survive like this is to not think about the future. Because that’s as good as thinking about death.[/color] Instead I let my hands claw their way through the clay. I strike at the ground as though I were digging my own grave, wanting it to be finished and tidy enough for me to curl down into forever. But it’s nothing like that—I shake off the thought and measure the thing against the barbed wire—and begin to shimmy my way underneath.

There’s nothing like this back… [/color] I stop for a moment, wanting to find that now all too peculiar word home, but can’t bring the word to my lips. I’ve never seen anything like this before,[/color] I think as I stand in front of the swaying stalks of cotton. They are white and fluffy and make me smile some as they sway in the afternoon breeze. The rains have yielded to remarkably pleasant day, one that finally doesn’t make the rags on my back hang down against my shriveled up frame. Nothing like this at all.[/color] It prickles my skin as I bat away a few stalks, careful not to scratch myself with the sharp thorns that dot the plants, and edge my way along. I can hear the hum of machines in the distance, and the steady hum of life taking to the day. There’s children in the street and a fit of laughter— is that what that is[/color] —that tell me to head east, and through the tall branches of cotton that block my vision.

The world opens up to a bustling dirt path, with men pulling carts and women hawking neatly spun, handmade clothes. I duck my head down and avoid contact from those rushing by, and nearly am trampled by a stampede of young children, either coming from school or rushing to work—perhaps both. I stop to admire the bits of finery at a stall along the road: a colorful shirt and a new pair of cotton pants. I dig in my knapsack for a stash of bills before handing them to the wiry woman at the stall. She stares at my muddy hands for a moment as I look down at the ground. In another moment I’m down an alleyway, stripping off the moldy old jumper and ripped pants for my new wares. I turn to throw the curdoroys down into a pile, but stop just before letting them go. They were your favorites.

They’re lucky. You’re certain of it.[/color] Whenever I wear them, good things always happen. You are sitting on the edge of your bed, with your hands against your thighs and on your pants.[/color] No one ever says anything to me when I wear them, and my teachers don’t make me get up in front of class, neither. Because not having bad things happen to you was the closest that you ever got to good luck.[/color] You’re silly Cyrus, pants can’t be lucky. No such thing. I liked to keep you on the ground, because your head was always up in the clouds.[/color] Well it just bothers me is all, when I don’t have them. I wish she hadn’t done the wash yesterday, of all days. Because it was the reaping, that day. It was the reaping and you didn’t have your lucky pants to wear. But it wasn’t as though that would’ve stopped you, right?[/color]

I’m dizzy again, just as I’ve been for days now, and lean against the wall. I feel the bile pushed to the edge of my throat and vomit some of the berries and roots I’d managed to find outside the wall. The brownish lump of yesterday’s meal splashes down between my legs, and I use the pants to clean up my face. There’s no such thing as f—king lucky pants.[/color] They’re in a pile behind me as I exit out onto the street to figure out just where I’ve wandered to. A whistle goes in the distance and I stop to hover in front of a general store window. There are images on a television screen of the games, a highlight of moments, and it catches my eye. The window display shows very clearly the district 8 tributes, Chole and Pandora, with their images plastered over kitschy merchandise. All of it now has the tag reduced[/color] over them, no doubt due to their deaths some time ago. Pandora Woodards.[/color]

I stop for a moment, thinking of the boy that had befriended my brother. The one that seemed so strong and everything that Cyrus was not—the one that genuinely protected him from harm. And the conversation—the moment on the beach when the two of them spoke to one another as though the games weren’t going on at all. That had been pure Cyrus, throwing away caution and getting to know Pandora, even when they both had to die for the other to live. And he had talked about me… and he was happy…[/color] I press my face closer against the glass and look at the face of one of the Pandora trinkets. He’d had a brother, too. Right? He’d had someone… someone that knew him…[/color] I feel the heaviness in my chest and my hand shakes against the glass.

I wasn’t looking for someone to understand. I wasn’t a weak, mewling little creature that cried because I’d lost… everything.[/color] I wasn’t… that just wasn’t me. But how I desperately wanted to find him, to know if there was anyone else that felt the same way that I did… that knew what it was like to lose a brother, to lose the love of my life.[/color] I back away from the wall and nearly bump into someone else on the street. I mutter a f—k off[/color] to him, but it’s half-hearted. Even now I think of you, rather than anything else, when it hurts. Even now I can’t get you out of my head for one minute.[/color]

It’s why I have to retreat into the darkness. Why I down a bit of morphling, the overpriced pills that I’d gotten from some old geezer that I’d shown a good time. It’s easier to do things in the dark, when you can’t see faces and the shame has somewhere else to hide. The taste of it on my tongue tingles, all the way down my throat, through my chest, and into my stomach. And the heaviness that was sitting on my chest? It dances in the air, out of my body, through my fingers and up into the sun. I smile—the only time that I seem to now—seeing the mix of colors of sunlight and clouds. They spin around above my head, and it’s hard to balance. But I like the little shapes that pop out of the ground and dance around my feet. The little creatures of nothing, mixtures of colors that radiate from my footsteps and guide me forward, they whisper to me to keep going[/color] . Their voices slice through my head and cut off my tongue—when I try to talk to someone—only the gurgle of my throat comes out, and the smile whips across my face.

They have to whisper for me, then. The little creatures that were buried inside of me, the ones weighing down my chest, haunting me—they cause me to stumble along. Find him then.[/color] The whisper brushes my cheek and I love the redness that circles around my ear. Find him and ask him, ask him… tell him you loved him, he’ll know.[/color] My eyes are wide as I wave at the swirl of colors, mixing in blue and green with my hand. I give a giggle, sounding like a child, and stop in front of a little stall of flowers. The whispers speak for me, my mouth hanging open and their voices coming out instead. Where is they—who they are, in what place…[/color] They start, a scary hollow sound. Woodards… woodards…[/color] And my ears spring off to listen, but the noise isn’t for me. I am just there to march my feet along the streets and find the [/color]where.[/color]

And there was the little tin roof, and the ramshackle, disgusting little hovel that shone silver and gold. The voices are fading now—the sun nearly setting—and I stand at what should be his doorstep. But how would he ever know? Did he love him? Did he love him like I did?[/color] I want it so badly, to know that pain is mutual and not such a lonely thing. It was outside of me now, a flow of colors and my childish self had gotten the best of me. And so my hand raps at the door, soft at first, but then quick and hard, not stopping. Desperate to know.[/color]
[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

Maybe This Time [Rook] Jul 30, 2012 16:34:25 GMT -5

Post by rook on Jul 30, 2012 16:34:25 GMT -5

r u b i k + w o o d a r d s

_{no warning sign, no alibi
we faded faster than the speed of light
took our chance, crashed and burned
no we'll never ever learn}

[/sub][/color]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

_{Our house is, needless to say, every bit as miserable as we are. The roof is leaking, even though it isn't raining, which can never be a good sign. I've been inspecting it for the past hour, whilst also trying to prepare an evening meal for us. It's no easy task, I have a chair propped up against the wall so I can stand and see the source of the leak. It appears to be the pipes above us, the ones that lead to our crappy sink, yet diverge to the boiler too. It's all a connected waterway, and now it's breaking down.

Gone are the days where I have an extra set of hands to help me with these sort of things. I have to do it all on my own. It kills me inside to think of it like that, but it's true. It's been three weeks since my brother died, and it's sure not getting any easier. No one said it would. There's not a minute goes by where I'm not thinking of him, where my chest isn't heavy and my brain isn't numb. I've adapted, learned to block it out so that I can get on with day to day stuff.

But my head is bruised. Even now, as I stand in the derelict section of the shanty house that we refer to as the Kitchen corner, I'm blocking memories of him, oppressing them, denying them. Why should I? I deserve to have what I have left of him, memories. Why should my conscience be a constant blockade from all I have left of Pandora?

Because it hurts

i fell apart
but got back up again
and then i fell apart
but got back up again

"So, I'm going out of town for a while..." The grin on Pandora's face is a thousand miles away, his arms fold into a stare of confidence. He's joking. He's joking at a time like this... I want to slap him in his stupid face. How is he so calm, so unbroken? I simply shake my head, he's going to die and I'm powerless to act otherwise. He has to leave me, maybe it's best, maybe not. All I know is that I'm losing my closest friend.

"You should have let me volunteer..." I say, my voice raspy and quiet. I'm the opposite of him, I'm already gone inside. He laughs, a giddy chuckle. I frown, what's so funny? Why is everything always so damn funny to him? This isn't a joke, this is life and death. This is why I need to step in his place, because I'm the only who can take it seriously!
"You and I know why that was never going to happen..." He states, his eyebrow raises confidently. Still confident. I admire him.

I say nothing, a strangeness overcomes me and before I know it, I'm hugging him tightly, never wanting to let go. He stands like a statue, like I'm not even touching him. Maybe he's trying to hold back any emotion, or maybe he's just heartless.
"Whatever happens in there, don't give up... Don't just die, Pan..."}

[/b] I say, my voice is cracking like a canyon floor. He smirks at this, "Because that would ruin Hope... You give up, she gives up..." I'm crying, Ripred damn it, I'm crying. I try to fight it back, my head tilts back and the tears pool in my eyes.

And then he's gone. My brother is gone. It's quick and brutal, but I'm escorted out the room by a large Peacekeeper. Pan shouts his last words to me, but I don't catch them. Yet I'm laughing. I don't know why but I have tears of laughter mixed in with the sorrow.[/color]

we both could see crystal clear
that the inevitable end was near
we made our choice
a trial by fire
to battle is the only way we feel alive

Still thinking of him. It's like a dagger in the heart every time I think of my last moments with him. There's so much I wish I had said to him, things I regret not asking him... I never even got to say 'Goodbye' or 'I love you'. It was rushed and horrible. A painful memory in more ways than possible.

"Thinking about Pan again?"
"Huh?" I turn to Hope, who stands there with her hands behind her back. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail, she wears a simple dress. So innocent, so young. To be that age again.
"You're crying..." She adds. I raise a hand to my face and wipe away a tear. My face is bright red, I cough and turn away from her, tending to the food again. I ignore this fact, as if I'm denying that I was thinking about him. Like it's a sin.
"It's okay, you know... It's okay to get upset..." She says, too maturely. I think of how much this whole thing has changed all of us, but Hope has changed the most. She's matured, become a young lady at the age of thirteen. She makes me look childish, and I'm proud of her for that. I respect her. She's not a kid anymore.

"I know..." I force a smile and reach out to stroke her cheek. She smiles back, but hers is a smile of doubt. She's worrying about me, worried that I'll break down. That smile alone is enough to make me stay strong. In one movement I turn away and walk into my Father's bedroom. He's in a drunken sleep, loud snores resonate from his overweight body. How can he eat so much and leave so little for the rest of us? It's not like he needs the nutrition like Hope does, he's a walking corpse.

so here we are
the witching hour
the quickest tongue to divide and devour
divide and devour

I shake him lightly to wake him up, he grunts loudly and demands to know the time. He gets up, seeing that it's almost evening, slipping into clothes that are now too small for him. His decline in recent years is no surprise, he's gotten worse ever since Pandora and I could fight back. He's lost power and authority in this house, I'm the man now, I make the rules.

He drags himself out of the house and goes to the same place he goes most nights, the watering hole. A place where people wash away their sorrows in alcohol. I don't blame him, he's a lost soul that's lost more than I have. I knew Mom for a short time before she died giving birth to Hope, but she was something special. She must have meant a lot to him for him to break down like he did all those years ago.

My days are empty. I occupy myself with little nothings. Odd jobs that don't need doing. Days like today, where we have a leak in the ceiling, are special. Days where I'm actually needed to do something. I have a purpose today... But tomorrow? I'll be a ghost once more. I'll be a shell of my former self. I'll push on with my life but see the pointlessness of my existence.

I live as the shadow of you

And it eats away at my insides. The pain of knowing that Pandora's death has changed me. How I used to be a hardworking, clever, loving person who cared for everyone but himself... Now I've become my brother in his death, I've flipped into this depressing, snappy, egotistical demon that I hate. Why do I care so much, yet get so little from life? Is there no hope left for me? What do I have to live for besides my little sister? I can't even protect her! She has six more Reapings to get through, what if she goes in too?! I'll have NOTHING. I'll BE nothing.

I remember the day we lost Pan. Seeing him standing on that beach of blood. The grains soaked in the death of others. He killed the Wiggens boy, sliced his leg and cut a main artery. So ruthless and brutal. Pandora was a talented fighter, judging by his artistry upon taking on three of the Career pack and coming out unscathed, he could have made it to the end. He could have survived had he not put his faith in the wrong people. Had he not have had his ally run at him like a walking time bomb. Had he made the right decisions, they would be in Victor Village smiling and eating a feast of kings.

But things did not turn out like that. They never did.

You can't change the past, Rubie...

All we can do is shape the future. I'm aware of that. That's what's been keeping me going; the future. If I can figure out a way to get over this emotional roadblock in my life, maybe I can get somewhere. Just maybe.

if i could end the quest for fire
for truth
for love
and my desire

If I could find a game-changer, I would grasp it with both hands. Something that would stumble into my life and make me realize what it is that I'm doing wrong, and how to move on. Unfortunately things like that don't happen every day.

Knock-knock

Who's at our door? We rarely get visitors. We did a few weeks ago, when Pan passed away. People paying their respects and offering us food. None of which we turned away, because we're on our toes in terms of staying well-fed. It's a little easier without Pan to feel, but... You get the idea. We don't get visitors anymore.

I walk slowly to the door, almost wary. Hope asks me who it is, to which I yell at her for being impatient. She sticks her tongue out at me and storms over to her bed. I shrug and press on to the door. She can be funny sometimes, but she can be really annoying and inappropriate at other times. It just reminds me how normal we can be: annoying sisters and angry brothers. Maybe we can play Happy Families later... Not.

I open the door, staring at the boy in front of me. He's about my age with a flurry of hair that you'd usually have if you've just woken up. Judging by the circles under his eyes, he has just woken up, or hasn't been sleeping well. His face is drained, his skin shows signs of malnutrition. The only thing that makes this guy look presentable are his clothes, which look new and clean. I recognize the clothes, but not the person. He must be from nearby.

"Can I help you?" I ask, my eyes are awake and alert. There's definitely something familiar about this guy, I'm sure I know him. He has to live round the corner or something, one of those people you see yet don't register. If so, what does he want? Probably paying his condolences a little later than most... But he's not holding any gifts. Whatever, maybe he's just lost or something.

[/color][/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote]

_{narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others
singing

notes: Rubik's redemption.
theme: 30 Second to Mars - "Alibi"}

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

cyrus
Seam Resident

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last seen Jan 31, 2013 5:26:13 GMT -5

Maybe This Time [Rook] Jul 31, 2012 17:05:48 GMT -5

Post by cyrus on Jul 31, 2012 17:05:48 GMT -5

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

The door opened to another flurry of colors, red, blue, green. My eyelids hang down, almost touching closed but still enough for me to see the boy standing in front of me. I lick my lips, impossibly dry and chapped, and let my mouth hang open. I take a few breaths and marvel at the silver that comes out of my mouth, and I blink, staring at the swirl of colors. Tell him, tell him why you are here.

[/color] They command me, these little voices that come up from the ground and into my ears. I stare down at the ground, now moving in a spiral around my feet, with visions of little monsters—blurry little things with sets of teeth like snakes—hover between the two of us. I’m lost then, staring at the vision of a ghost in front of me, with nothing to say.

He’s Pandora’s brother. I know that voice. I know that f—king voice.[/color] You’re standing next to me, clear as day. Even in the coming twilight, you’re golden, with light streaming down your shoulders and giving you a healthy glow, more beautiful than you’ve ever been. I can’t believe you’re real, but my glance toward your spot on the porch yields no shift in perception. He had a twin—he had someone who loved him very much. But is love ever the same, between two people?[/color] I blink as I look at Cyrus. Is love that’s been broken ever the same? Is it okay to ask him to share in what I’m feeling?[/color] But you stand there, clad in your overalls and nothing else. There’s a smile on your face—I want to ask you, I want to know what brought you here, now—but I can’t say anything. I turn back to the boy at the door and my mouth continues to hang open like I’m some sort of retard.

“Woodards…” The voices speak for me, still hollow and scratching the back of my throat. They know what to say, they can speak for me. Because there’s nothing more that I have in me now that I’ve see you, standing at my side. I have so little focus left; it’s too hard for me to grasp at the straws that are swirling around me. “You’re his brother…” The sound comes out again—really brilliant, considering he looks exactly as Pandora did[/color] —and I lick my lips once more. “I was his brother… Cyrus… I…” I cough again and turn my head to the side. My stomach rumbles and I feel sick. The whole world is spinning, and I can barely hold myself up. I reach out to steady myself and claw at Rubik’s shirt to gain some balance. I don’t mean to touch him, but I there is nothing so close that will help me keep my balance. I close my eyes for a moment, hoping that the world will stop spinning. Instead I see a swirl of colors, circling round and around.

Our love was a precious and holy thing.[/color] It’s what I tell myself, when I think about seeing you again. When I think about the moments where we held hands and whispered about things that didn’t matter much at all. But in those moments where we could just look at one another… when I could hold you and touch you and breath in your scent…[/color] The colors dazzle me. I can see you again, and me, on our porch watching the stars. A quiet, tender moment where I kiss you on the cheek and ruffle your hair. The first moment when I realize that you are too special, too good for what District Six has in store for you. The first time I see you as mine and no one else’s, to protect. To love. And you so much older, should know so much better. You should’ve known so much f—king better.[/color]

He was the one that helped me. He made me brave. There is nothingness surrounding us, just a blackness between two boys facing one another. Because no one else would.[/color] He was the one that made me think I could do it, that I could survive. That not everyone was bad or evil, even after what we saw. But you were a coward.[/color] I had no choice. You gave me no choice. They didn’t… You’re upset now, and the golden light surrounding you seems to fade.You were a coward, a coward, a f—king no good, lazy, leave-me-for-nothing…[/color] My voice carries in my own head, and you start to fade. The vision of you starts to leave me and I’m clawing at you not to go. It suddenly feels much colder, much darker, and… lonely. But you would leave me, when I need you most.[/color] It was just your way—as if you were going to keep teaching me a lesson, even after you’d passed on. Because you were enough of a bastard to taunt me, even in my dreams.[/color]

I look up at the boy. My teeth are chattering now and I push off, feeling like a complete fool. The voices are gone, replaced with the icy feeling in my veins that causes my whole body to shake and shiver. I draw my arms across my chest and try to hide the sudden quakes I’m having. I don’t need him thinking that I’m a crazy person.[/color] As if anyone was ever completely sane. Still, I draw in a few breaths and look in at this boy’s home. I want to say something about how sorry I am—that I understand, that he should understand—but I’m distracted at the shithole I’ve come to. They were not a wealthy district at all, and how could I ever expect that he would have anything to offer me if I asked? Not that I was looking for charity, other than an ear to listen. But it wouldn’t hurt if he at least had a spot for me to sleep and some real food to eat.[/color]

“I’m Naif Malloc…” I chatter out, unafraid of telling him the truth. So many other times I had feared telling people just who I was. But with this boy, surely, surely he wouldn’t turn me over to the peacekeepers or toss me out like yesterday’s garbage. No, he would be proud to meet the kin of Cyrus, the boy that had worked to save his brother’s life. He would have to know how much I loved my own brother—he must’ve loved his own deeply—and I could find some respite. “Cyrus was my brother… I came here because… I know it sounds stupid… I’ve been traveling for so long, but when I saw your brother’s face… I… I just knew I had to see you. Cyrus told me… well, I felt like Cyrus… he would’ve wanted me to…” Because they would’ve been friends, if they had the chance. Because I could never be jealous of Pandora, the boy that had taken care of Cyrus as he should have been.[/color]
[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 2, 2012 8:01:28 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 2, 2012 8:01:28 GMT -5

r u b i k + w o o d a r d s

_{no warning sign, no alibi
we faded faster than the speed of light
took our chance, crashed and burned
no we'll never ever learn}

[/sub][/color]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

_{The words escape the strangers mouth after a tense pause between the two of us. This pause is mimicked pretty much straight after he has told me who he is. I feel like I'm outside my body, like his words have made my body cold. He's the brother of Cyrus Malloc. He's traveled all the way from District Six to be here. My whole body is a cauldron of emotions.

My assumption that he hadn't been getting enough sleep was accurate. If anything, this guy's been sleeping rough, on the streets, in the woods, whatever. I doubt he's been eating well either, I suppose we have some food to give him... What am I saying? Am I really going to show hospitality to a complete stranger who turns up at my door and claims to be the brother of Cyrus Malloc? How do I even know that what he is saying is true? This could just be a ploy...

But he does look a lot like Cyrus...

His facial features, his jawline and lips in particular are very similar to his so-called older brother. His eyes look the same, even his hairstyle resembles the District Six tribute - Rough. I can smell him from where I stand, sweat and general lack of hygiene almost makes me want to turn my nose up at him, but the living conditions of our family doesn't exactly make me hygienic either.

i fell apart
but got back up again
and then i fell apart
but got back up again

Trust is a funny thing. Sometimes you have to trust people, because they've all you've got. Pandora was one person I had to trust, and in the end I'm glad I did trust him. He stopped me from volunteering for him, he took his death so that I could keep the rest of the family going. In the long run, it's better for all of us that it ended up like this, even if we lost the person closest to us.

Yet I've never had to put my faith into someone I've never met before. Strangers are hard to trust, because you don't know anything about them. If this guy is who he says he is, then he's Cyrus' brother - But that doesn't necessarily mean that I should trust him. Cyrus wasn't exactly trustworthy, he ran into my brother with a bomb attached to his leg. Besides, this guy could be nothing like Cyrus, or he could be worse than him.

Life's about taking risks...

That was what Pan always said. He based his life on that motto, for risk-takers reaped the highest rewards of all. Yet that worked out great for him didn't it? Should I really be taking the example of my lazy brother who's greatest success was dying? Part of me says no, but there's something about this guy that makes me want to know more.

we both could see crystal clear
that the inevitable end was near
we made our choice
a trial by fire
to battle is the only way we feel alive

"I'm Rubik... Come on inside..." I say after what has been a long pause between the two of us. I gesture for him to follow me into the house. I'm naturally a caring guy, it's not like me to turn away someone who's been traveling rough and just needs a place to crash. Even if I don't know him, he's still lost his brother, just like I've lost mine. We're similar in that aspect. I have to at least hear him out, take his side of the story.

I walk inside, Hope stands in the Kitchen corner with cautious eyes. Did she hear him speak? The stunned expression on her face tells me yes, she knows that this guy is Naif Malloc, and judging by her rigid stance, she has seen the striking resemblance.

I offer Naif a seat on our tattered couch, whilst I sit on the wicker chair opposite. I allow him time to settle before speaking.
"You look like you've seen a ghost!" I joke, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. I want him to know he's welcome in my house. I trust him for now, and I hope he'll return the hospitality I'm showing him. I can turn him over to the Peacekeepers at any moment. But he knows that.
"What brings you to District Six, Naif? What's your story?" I'm interested to know.}

_{narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others
singing

notes: Rubik's hospitality.
theme: 30 Second to Mars - "Alibi"}

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

cyrus
Seam Resident

0 POSTS
last seen Jan 31, 2013 5:26:13 GMT -5

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 3, 2012 13:08:50 GMT -5

Post by cyrus on Aug 3, 2012 13:08:50 GMT -5

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

I want you to tell me that I should trust him. I want to know that this isn’t as crazy as it seems—me tracking down a stranger and forcing him to open up his door to me—because I know what I would have done, if the situation was reversed. I’d have told him that there was no grieving the dead—that it was foolish for him to even think that I was going to feel something that he felt. Because no one would ever feel the pain I had losing my brother, ~~my lover~~, the one that I had wanted to grow and protect. It would seem so selfish for him to ask to share the pain, and I would say there is nothing here for you

[/color] because I wouldn’t want him to be able to take that away from me. I wouldn’t want him to be able to feel like I felt because I am selfish, I’m a rotten prick, yes, I don’t let anyone have what I have because…[/color] I stop to look at him while he ponders what I’ve said.

“I’m Rubik… come inside…” I peer past him into the darkness and can’t help but manage a smirk. People have continued to surprise me, after this short while, that they’re not all necessarily the assholes I imagine them to be. Maybe it was still from the wooziness of coming down—my stomach felt as though shards of glass were scraping its sides—but I hadn’t quite thought he would take me at my word. But here he is, inviting me inside as though we are friends. But I owe it to you, really, don’t I? All the kindness I’ve found since leaving district six has been in your name[/color] . Has any of it really been because of me? It’s pity. Foul and discussing, sickening pity. I feel a little flushed in the face, and take a few more steps inside. I see the face of girl, younger than me, and she says nothing. Well don’t just f—king stare at me, you c—t. I scrunch up my face at her and open my mouth, but Rubik speaks before I can. “You look like you've seen a ghost!”

“What brings you to District Six, Naif? What's your story?” I look around at the inside of his home for a moment, pondering the question. Everything here looks like it should’ve been thrown out years ago.[/color] I suppose it’s a far cry from what I’ve seen in the lower districts, but it’s no worse than the cave or the thickets I’ve been sleeping in. I look from Rubik to his sister and let out a little sigh. What do I tell him, about all of this? What do I f—king say, that I’ve been beaten up, that I’ve been chased, that nothing has been so terrible as when you left me, that nothing feels as achingly bad as when I was forced to say goodbye to you? Would they even care enough for me to feel as though this had been… useful? Maybe this was a mistake.[/color] I lick my lips and fold my arms across my chest. My ribs still hurt, but I’ve learned to ignore the pain for now.

“Accident… really,” I admit as I think about how I’d gone south instead of west, thinking that I was heading towards one of the upper districts. If I had believed in fate or any of that useless garbage I would’ve said that— maybe you lead me here[/color] —but it was my own inability to navigate that had done it. I cleared my throat and looked down at the ground. “But when I got on this side of the fence… I just… I saw your brother’s face in a window… I felt like… I wanted to see you? I guess it sounds stupid but… I just… when I was looking at Pandora’s face it made me think of my brother… it… it made me…”

My voice shakes and I can feel my glottal locking up and it gets harder to talk. Here we fucking go.[/color] I hated the tears, but I couldn’t stop them now. I couldn’t f—king stop showing how weak I was in front of people whenever I talked about Cyrus. I thought that I had learned to control it, that I wasn’t just going to spout off and lose control every time that I had to talk about it. But I was tired, and it meant so much—I would start thinking about you, seeing you, wanting you to be here—then they’d just spout out and I’d be sniveling like a baby. It was disgusting, the way that you made me feel. I covered my mouth and looked away again, bringing my elbow up to my nose as though I had to sneeze but really burrowed my face into it.

Stop crying. He was sitting on the floor in our room, face red as a tomato, mucus dripping out of his nose and mouth when he talked. They called me a retard because I couldn’t stop flapping my arms. I was sitting in front of him, arms crossed, legs folded. You do this every time, you do it and you make yourself worse. I brushed away a few of his tears and shook my head. And they pushed me, and no one did anything. Maybe if you didn’t show them how much it bothered you they wouldn’t do itBut I can’t help it, I can’t help it! I shake my head again, and move to wrap my arms around his muscled frame. You can always help it. You’re not a kid anymore Cyrus, you’re f—king sixteen, act like it! I pulled back to shake him a little. You don’t understand, you’ve never had to… But I cut him off. Everyone gets upset Cyrus. It’s just not all of us are f—king babies about it. Be a man. He gives me a look to break my heart. I don’t… He whispers into my shoulder and wraps his arms around me tight. Be a man Cyrus, come on…

“Ripred, I don’t even f—king know what to say… I’m sorry… I’m really sorry I just… Pandora was so good to my brother…” I say this and look to Rubik, still awed by the resemblance. “He was so good to my brother and I miss him so much… I just… I thought if I came here I could… I don’t know… I… I’ve been wandering without him… my parents… they…” I stop again to give a little laugh. As though it was f—king funny that they had died… because I did.[/color] “They killed themselves… the lucky bastards… they just… they couldn’t take him being gone and I… now I’m wondering if I can take it, either.”

“Ripred…” I mutter again looking from Hope to Rubik. “I’m f—king sorry… I shouldn’t be here… I shouldn’t have…” I turn to go back the way I came. I’m a f—king idiot. [/color]
[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 5, 2012 12:34:04 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 5, 2012 12:34:04 GMT -5

r u b i k + w o o d a r d s

_{no warning sign, no alibi
we faded faster than the speed of light
took our chance, crashed and burned
no we'll never ever learn}

[/sub][/color]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

_{He sits down eventually, after giving Hope an odd glare. It was the exact place that Pan used to sit all day, he'd watch the Games for hours on end whilst the rest of us slaved away. Now a stranger fills the hole of Pandora Woodards. He crosses his arms and licks his dry lips, he probably wants a drink and knows that I can provide. I want to hear his story first.

"Accident… really," He says, pausing to think about something. An accident? He must have strayed this way, I know little about Wanderers except that they usually have no specific destination in mind. It seems likely that he had come this way by accident and taken advantage of the fact that his brother was a Saint in District Eight for all he did for Pandora.
"But when I got on this side of the fence… I just… I saw your brother’s face in a window… I felt like… I wanted to see you? I guess it sounds stupid but… I just… when I was looking at Pandora’s face it made me think of my brother… it… it made me…" He stops, his voice shaking. He starts to well up, I know the exact feeling. He's thinking about his dead brother and I can relate entirely. He must be talking about the crappy Games merchandise that's plastered in all the shops. It's sick, really. Pan's face on shopping bags and t-shirts. Most of it isn't to District Eight's tastes, thus most of it is Capitol bound. I imagine supporters or sponsors of my brother wearing the shirts, it makes me sick to my stomach. I bet they're on sale now.

He puts his hands to his face to bury the shame of his tears. I give him time, obviously he's been through a lot.
Haven't we all?
The tears are plentiful, I tell Hope to get a rag or something for him to clean his face and a glass of water. Begrudgingly she sets off to find a rag. We don't live in paradise, so luxuries like toilet paper are a rarity. Eventually, Naif seems to have calmed down. Hope returns at a slow pace, holding a glass of water and a relatively clean rag. She lays the grubby glass down on our badly crafted wooden table and throws the rag onto Naif's lap. Her face is one of doubt and uncertainty. She forces a smile as she looks at me and I shoot her a wink, before she walks back to the kitchen corner to resume cleaning up. She knows I have to deal with Naif, so I'm exempt from washing up duties.

For once this isn't about Pandora and Cyrus. For once the focus isn't on them. This is about grief. This is about Naif and I sharing the loss of our brothers. Albeit he's a long way from home, and he's traveled a long way on his own... But at least he can share his feelings with me. Because I can relate. I understand what he's been through, because I've been there myself. I know how bad things are for him, and although I'm not breaking the law to travel the world, I understand his loss.

so here we are
the witching hour
the quickest tongue to divide and devour
divide and devour

"Ripred, I don’t even fucking know what to say… I’m sorry… I’m really sorry I just… Pandora was so good to my brother…"}

[/b] He says. It makes me smile, for it was Cyrus who ended my brother's life. Sure, they were allies, but in the end collateral damage ended my brother, due to Cyrus' stupidity and lack of judgement. Had he have avoided Pandora completely, he would still be out there fighting.

"He was so good to my brother and I miss him so much… I just… I thought if I came here I could… I don’t know… I… I’ve been wandering without him… my parents… they…" He pauses, catching his breath, "They killed themselves… the lucky bastards… they just… they couldn’t take him being gone and I… now I’m wondering if I can take it, either." He finishes. Jesus. His parents killed themselves? Was it that bad in District Six? Sure, I contemplated suicide a few times, but was never convinced that it was the logical solution. They actually took their own lives because of their loss? The Games killed not only Tributes, it seemed.

"Ripred… I’m fucking sorry… I shouldn’t be here… I shouldn’t have…" He gets up in a hurry, convinced that coming here was the wrong choice. Hope screws her noise up at his bad language and I stand up to follow him. I rush to put myself between him and the door. My arms spread wide as I block him in.
"Hey! We're not done here!" I snap. Hope's eyebrows shoot up too, shocked at my aggression. I'm surprised at my own outburst, but I control myself. I have someone who's incredibly like me in terms of what he's been through, and I'm not about to let him walk out...

if i could end the quest for fire
for truth
for love
and my desire

"Your brother killed my brother by running into him with a mine strapped to his leg..." I say accusingly, knowing it to be true. I saw the ally of my twin run and scream in a fireball of madness, "And now you dare to come into my house, and expect hospitality?" I point, poking him in the chest.
"Just who do you think you are?"

That was a change of heart... A minute ago you were all for welcoming him...

I-I... I just snapped. His brother is a traitor to our family, I don't know what I was thinking by letting him in here. Hope was right to throw the rag at him and shoot him devilish glares. Not only should he not have come here, I should never have let him in. And now I'm telling him he can't leave? I'm mad. What do I expect? I don't know what to expect. I look to Hope, who's folded her arms and seems equally as angry at Naif as I do, she's practically seething.

"You owe our family a debt... An apology..." I demand, poking him in the chest again.

And once again I feel oh-so Pandora.[/color][/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote]

_{narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others
singing

notes: Rubik's retaliation.
theme: 30 Second to Mars - "Alibi"}

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

cyrus
Seam Resident

0 POSTS
last seen Jan 31, 2013 5:26:13 GMT -5

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 6, 2012 21:36:33 GMT -5

Post by cyrus on Aug 6, 2012 21:36:33 GMT -5

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

I want to turn and run because I know that there is nothing about either of them, the boy or the girl, that will bring my brother back from oblivion. In their sorry little house in their shitty little district, the neither of them offered anything other than ugly reminders of the 61st Hunger Games. Just let me get away from here so I can just f—king disappear.

[/color] Yet I hunger for one of them to stop me, to say that I’d made the right choice and something they would say would make the grief more bearable. Even if we could just wallow in it together for a little while, it would be better than feeling the heavy weight upon my shoulders, day in and day out[/color], hanging over me as I was marching towards sweet death in the muddy ground. I’m already towards the door before I hear his voice, call out for me to stop.

"Hey! We're not done here!" I swivel around. His voice is harsher than I expected, as though something I’ve said upsets him. The girl is giving me another one of those looks[/color] that I despise, and I raise my eyebrows as he moves to continue. What gives her the right to f—king judge me, anyway?[/color]. His voice is shrill and strikes me again at just how much he reminds me of the boy that I had watched on the television. But he goes on and says something that makes me want to slit his throat.[/color] “Your brother killed my brother by running into him with a mine strapped to his leg... And now you dare to come into my house, and expect hospitality? Just who do you think you are? You owe our family a debt... An apology..."”

An Apology?

When you were confronted by the kids in the arena, you had fought with every ounce you’d had. You’d taken them under your wing and protected them. Perhaps you weren’t always flawless, but you had done your best. And no one could ever fault you, not now, not ever. Not when you were underground, when you were so far from this place that you could never defend yourself. For when your honor was challenged, I would defend you[/color]. I would do it until my dying breath[/color], because no one could ever compare to you. Even with my own anger, even with the grief of you having chosen to leave rather than to be with me[/color], I would never shake you. That much was clear.

“You watch your f—king mouth,” I whip around as I charge toward Rubik. I stop a few feet from him, snarling like an animal cornered. You want to fucking go? You want to try me?[/color] “You better watch your f—king mouth before I cut out your tongue and shove it down your f—king throat.” I’m angry, my mood whipping from the edge of despair back up to heated range in an instant. And all I can imagine is how you were tormented, how you were there for five long days without me, and how much I wish I could’ve said something to you. And here, the boy that was supposed to know my grief was telling me that you were not worth crying over. That you were to blame for his brother’s foolish mistakes. If it had been me, I wouldn’t have carried him to the sea. I would’ve left his smoldering body on the sand and found my own way out.[/color]

“You’re right about one thing—my brother was an idiot to take on a damn liability like Pandora.” I look from Hope to Rubik and grit my teeth. You shouldn’t do this.[/color] There would have been a time when I would’ve known better, but the pangs of hunger and the bags under my eyes should be enough to tell anyone that I am more animal than boy. The voice is a quiet little call from inside of me, and I ignore it. I can’t let anyone destroy you like this. I can’t let anyone say that you’re anything less than wonderful.[/color] And just then I want to hold onto you and collapse into a ball. I just want to have my brother back, in my arms, so that I don’t have to deal with the constant back and forth. So that I don’t have to feel the anger and rage, the deluded visions, the hunger and the fear. Because life just doesn’t seem to mean anything much since you went away, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep fighting when all I have left is a memory.

“What the f—k did he even fight for? All he did was lay over and die. You must have been—you must have been real proud of him. You must have been so proud of your Pandora f—king Woodards, right?” I’m looking to Hope now, shaking, fists up and ready to strike. I want to draw blood. I want to have my words cut into them and ruin them. Because if he had wanted to hurt me, if he was going to make me feel responsible and blame Cyrus, then I would make them pay.[/color] “Right, you little b—tch? Right? Oh, yeah, I said he was so wonderful—but only because of Cyrus. Only because he helped him… without him your brother was nothing. He was a waste… a f—king waste… of… space…”

I’d do anything for you. It scares me, I think, how much I would have done for you. I had no choice—unlike this one—to take your place. I could only stand back and watch as you were whisked away, all of us watching then, wondering. The whispers of that Malloc boy[/color] having volunteered himself for certain death. For that Malloc boy[/color] , the odd one[/color] , the one that still held hands with his brother[/color], what was he doing? And I stood there, with the rest of the fourteen year olds, stunned as though I couldn’t have done anything to change your mind. And my voice had not crept out of my throat. I had not rushed forward from my line to try and stop you, however futile that would have been. I watched you march bravely towards your death because I have only wanted what you wanted. I have only loved you and will never let you go.[/color]

“My brother would have been a lot better off without a bastard like Pandora…” I’m crying now, the high pitch of my voice, raised past breaking, my eyes read and throat sore. There is nothing but hate in my voice because—because I can’t muster anything else. Because hate was easier to have for Rubik Woodards than understanding. And for now, I was tired of doing things the hard way. I was so very tired.
[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

Last Edit: Aug 6, 2012 21:42:10 GMT -5 by cyrus

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 7, 2012 8:40:43 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 7, 2012 8:40:43 GMT -5

r u b i k + w o o d a r d s

_{no warning sign, no alibi
we faded faster than the speed of light
took our chance, crashed and burned
no we'll never ever learn}

[/sub][/color]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

_{Just as I turned my attitudes, Naif shows his true colors. His entire body language turns from desperate to hostile. He snarls like a rabid dog, because that's what he is, stray.
"You watch your fucking mouth," He snaps, charging up to me and stopping a few inches away. I stand my ground firmly. He's one to talk, swearing like a sailor.
"You better watch your fucking mouth before I cut out your tongue and shove it down your fucking throat." I hold my ground still, biting my tongue. Here's where I'm different to Pandora, because by now my twin would have buried this guy into the ground with his left hook. Me? I'm not really a violent guy.

I use words as weapons.
"You’re right about one thing—my brother was an idiot to take on a damn liability like Pandora."
But so does he. The words twist my insides. A liability? Pandora may not have been resourceful, but he killed to keep them alive. He was the only one with the guts to finish Walker off, he was an artist of war... If anything, he was a godsend to a coward like Cyrus, who hid behind his religion.

My fists clench as I remember Pandora's raw attitude. He didn't take shit from anyone, especially not people who tried to talk their way into hospitality whilst hiding their true selves. Pandora would have hit this guy, he would have laid him out and thrown him into the rain to die.

But I'm not Pandora

Yeah. So what? So, I'm not Pandora... I can never be Pandora, I can't match his swagger, his edge... Yet that doesn't mean that I can't have my own. It doesn't mean that I can't have a dark side. I've been through a lot this past month, I won't deny that I've changed, so when people push me, I'm a lot less tolerant than I used to be. Sweat trickles from my brow, I see Hope's shocked face in the corner of my eye.

"What the fuck did he even fight for? All he did was lay over and die. You must have been—you must have been real proud of him. You must have been so proud of your Pandora fucking Woodards, right?” He continues, I feel something brewing inside me. Like a fire it rages and grows, it's tendrils creep up my chest in a warm, tingling sensation. My heart beats through my chest. What did he fight for? He fought to survive, to get back to those he loved. I don't have to feel like I'm the only half, because he was out there, suffering every day knowing that he was half of a whole. He knew that he'd die and leave me feeling this way - Because he felt it too. That's what he fought for. He fought because he had no other choice.

i fell apart
but got back up again
and then i fell apart
but got back up again

"Right, you little bitch?" He continues, turning to hope with his blind fury. She gasps and takes a step back, but she's cornered. I sidestep to put myself between Naif and Hope, Right? Oh, yeah, I said he was so wonderful—but only because of Cyrus. Only because he helped him… without him your brother was nothing. He was a waste… a fucking waste… of… space…"

And the fire brews out, my face red. My eyes red. Every part of me is screaming, pain and anger and gah. My eyes well up as I do everything I can not to lash out. Instead of a physical outburst, my voice comes shrill and harsh.
"How dare you talk to my sister like that? How dare you talk about my brother in front of her?!" I say, but he cuts me off, like he's not even listening.
"My brother would have been a lot better off without a bastard like Pandora…" He mutters, tears in his eyes now. Hope grabs my arms and I turn to her.

"Wait out back, Hope..." I demand, more than say.
"But-"
"DO AS I SAY!" I yell, not meaning to. She takes a startled step back, before running out the back door. I'm left with Naif. The boy who has lost as much as me. Maybe more? I can't gauge that. All I know is that he has disrespected not only me, but my dead brother. A complete violation. My breathing slows, his words have rooted into me like thorns, wrapping their malice around my insides until I nearly scream.

I hear the door close, signalling that Hope is out of the way. I don't want her to see what happens next. More importantly, she's safe. Safe from this lunatic. I've never hit anyone before. Maybe Pandora, maybe in play-fighting I might have accidentally retaliated from my twin's rough love. I don't remember, the memory is foggy and all I can think about is how Naif called my brother a waste of space. The only waste of space around here is him.

"You come into my house, you disrespect my dead brother and you threaten my little sister..." I say, my words are full of emotion, shaky with what I suspect to be fear, "Let me tell you something... I muster up, "My brother may not have been productive in his life... But in his last days, he changed... He became a better person because he regretted every decision he ever made..." I think of how Pan learned to love, learned to fight not just for himself, but for others too.
"And that's what made him so dangerous... Your brother wouldn't have lasted a day without him..." I say confidently, my voice becoming less shaky as I go on.

we both could see crystal clear
that the inevitable end was near
we made our choice
a trial by fire
to battle is the only way we feel alive

I'm not Pandora. That doesn't mean that I can't have a dark side

"You're fucking scum. You're dirt under my boot, that's what you are. Don't you realize that I could turn you over to the law, right here and right now. My sister is probably already on her way the the nearest Peacekeeper as we speak... And y'know what? They probably wouldn't even bother prosecuting you, they'd just leave you out in the wild to die, because you're nothing... NOTHING!" I say, my frown is alien to me, I've never felt anger like this, "Your brother left you, your parents left you... No one wants you, Naif Malloc... No one loves you, no one cares if you die... How does that feel? HOW DOES THAT FUCKING FEEL?"

I'm ready, I'm ready for whatever he throws at me. I don't even care if he kills me, because I've been dead for a long time.}

[/color][/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote]

_{narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others
singing

notes: Rubik's rage.
theme: 30 Second to Mars - "Alibi"}

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

cyrus
Seam Resident

0 POSTS
last seen Jan 31, 2013 5:26:13 GMT -5

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 8, 2012 1:22:51 GMT -5

Post by cyrus on Aug 8, 2012 1:22:51 GMT -5

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

———
I feel numb most of the time
The lower I get the higher I'll climb
And I will wonder why
I got dark only to shine
Looking for the golden light
Oh it's a reasonable sacrifice
———

[/color]
It scares me some, the way that I think about what I would do to this boy after what he’s said about you. Just the mention of your imperfections is enough to send me over the edge, far past the point of return. Because I can’t handle the confusion that I have inside—the want and need of you here, to hold and caress—so I decide that it is better to burn the fire out and destroy anyone that gets in its way. I snarl as Rubik pushes his sister to leave, the little t—t barreling out the door, and am left with only him, the brother, the ghost, the twin. It’s not safe for her here, not when two ~~men~~ boys that have lost so much come face to face, with nothing to really lose.

"Let me tell you something... My brother may not have been productive in his life... But in his last days, he changed... He became a better person because he regretted every decision he ever made…” His voice is broken now, I can feel that he’s been broken by my words. It thrills me that I have control, that I can hurt someone and make them feel, because I want him to hurt and hurt badly[/color] so that I am not the only one in pain. Because he doesn’t understand, he would never understand what it meant to me. His brother had been broken before going into the arena. He had never been like Cyrus—there was no regret in my brother. There could be nothing for him to regret. Only… I blink a moment, fists still raised up to my face, ready to strike at Rubik. Only could he have regret not coming home? Could he regret, in those last moments, that he would never get to see me again?[/color]

“And that's what made him so dangerous... Your brother wouldn't have lasted a day without him...” There is the twist of the knife, and I can feel my stomach flare. The anger inside of me burns and I flex my fingers, tightening them against my palms. Cyrus had proven his worth in the arena, lasting so long, fighting so hard. He hadn’t needed Pandora or anyone—they needed him—and it was all lies. All of it. All of it was just his attempt to explain away his failure. Because Cyrus sacrificed himself, in the end. He sacrificed himself because he didn’t want to have to face the rest of them. So they didn’t have the chance to get his blood on their hands.[/color] But he’s not finished then. His voice raises and I hear it boom out like a cannon shot.

“You're fucking scum. You're dirt under my boot, that's what you are. Don't you realize that I could turn you over to the law, right here and right now. My sister is probably already on her way the the nearest Peacekeeper as we speak... And y'know what? They probably wouldn't even bother prosecuting you, they'd just leave you out in the wild to die, because you're nothing... NOTHING!” I stand back some, as though I’ve been struck already. My arms shake as I hold them up to my face. I want to kill him. I want to hit him until he isn’t moving anymore. I want to make him just like the kids in that arena, I want to hit him, slit his throat, leave him a bloody pile in this little s—t can of a house. Because that is all that he is worth. He’s worth nothing, not me. I still have… I still have something to believe in, don’t I? I still have something to love, even through it all. I have someone[/color]. ~~At least I pray that I do.~~

“Your brother left you, your parents left you... No one wants you, Naif Malloc... No one loves you, no one cares if you die... How does that feel? HOW DOES THAT FUCKING FEEL?”

I remember it. I remember your run into the sea, and standing from my chair in the hot and sticky auditorium. I remember pushing my way up to the front of the screen to watch you tumble into the waves. And your body rolling in the water as the horrible beast struck at you, over and over. And the gasps of everyone as they watched and prayed that you would prevail. The look on your face when it was all over, when you’d had too much. The camera focusing on your eyes as you mouthed something—was it a goodbye to us, or just blood filling your lungs—before slipping into a smile and disappearing beneath the waves. And the rest of us, left to hear the cannon shot, the shot that I did not hear because I had already fallen to my knees and begun weeping. Because I had lost the only thing that had ever mattered the moment you stepped on stage.[/color]

“I loved him… I loved him and he loved me… he loved me…” I mutter out, my voice soft. “He kissed me, he held me, he f—ked me… he loved me, he loved me so many times… He loved me…”

And it was pain, it was hurt. It was buried deep down because I had not been good enough for you, I would never have been good enough for you to stay. It was the way with everyone in my life—my whole f—king life, that was just one piss-poor goodbye after another. You’d promised me that you’d come back.[/color] And I had to be the strong one. I had to f—king keep myself from thinking about it because it was all my parents had ever thought. But there was a the swinging feet, the body wrapped in a sheet… the marks of others that wanted nothing to do with me. Because I was broken, I was a disfigured and ugly thing. It was why I’d been touched; it was me as the serpent that had struck you, that had touched you and made you love me. Because I was no good.[/color]

I struck out at his face first with all of my might. In the nose or the teeth, I didn’t even care when I felt my own fingers pop[/color] because I heard the mash of bone. Because I’m no one.[/color] I bring my other fist across his face and cry out. Because I’ll never know that love.[/color] I grab onto his shoulders and bring a knee up into his stomach. Because I feel it less if I can destroy, if I can break, if I can be mean and terrible enough for anyone else to feel this way, too.[/color] And then again into his crotch. Because I will never fit into their rules, I will always be different. I’ll always be outside. I’ll always be outside of them.[/color]

“You don’t… you don’t f—king… know me… you piece of s—t. I’m going to f—k you up and then I’m going to f—k you,” I say as I stand back, fists shaking, tears streaming down my face. I’m pathetic and useless and damaged ~~and unlovable~~. And I would kill him, I would kill him because I was alone. Because it was his fault, his family, Pandora—it was anyone’s fault but my own. “And then I’ll f—k your sister and then—burn your f—king house down to the ground so you can be just like… your f—king precious Pandora. Just some charred skin and bones…”

I move in to lay another blow upward, a half-punch, something to knock him over so I can start kicking him. I will humiliate him. I’ll humiliate him and I’ll destroy him and I’ll f—k him, and I’ll make him cry, I’m going to make him cry and beg and plead for mercy… and then I’ll kill him, I’ll f—king kill him…[/color]. My eyes are blurry and my nose is running, and I know that there is nothing left to lose. I’m in a shitty district and I’m tired, so very tired[/color] , with nothing left to lose. Because I’ve lost everything that mattered already.
[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

Last Edit: Aug 8, 2012 1:25:53 GMT -5 by cyrus

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 8, 2012 17:58:02 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 8, 2012 17:58:02 GMT -5

r u b i k + w o o d a r d s

_{no warning sign, no alibi
we faded faster than the speed of light
took our chance, crashed and burned
no we'll never ever learn}

[/sub][/color]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

_{He starts moping, droning on about Cyrus being the only one he loved or whatever. He's a blubbering mess and I have no sympathy. I'm so full of this rage, this tumbling fire in my chest, so consumed and fueled by it that his words are a blur. Having breathed my toxic remarks at him, I see that he has become poisoned, enraged like I. Together we are like charging bulls, ready to collide.

And collide we do. Without warning, the taller boy lashes out, striking me in the mouth with a perfect punch. I instantly feel the inside of my mouth rattle and I taste blood. It's a sharp, searing pain that I don't have time to register before he strikes me again. This time, his other hand hits the side of my head with a glancing blow. I lift my hands to block my face from any more head-shots, the second hit makes me dizzy. Yet I let my guard down my blocking my face. He grabs my shoulders and brings his knee to my gut, completely taking the wind out of me.

I groan, keeling over in pain. He doesn't stop, he's ruthless. His knee comes up again, this time he gets me where no guy wants to be hit. My mouth gapes open, no sound escapes me, nothing does. What am I doing? Why aren't I fighting. Because I'm not a fighter. That's why. I've only ever hit Pandora, that was once.

so here we are
the witching hour
the quickest tongue to divide and devour
divide and devour

"You don’t… you don’t fucking… know me… you piece of shit. I’m going to fuck you up and then I’m going to fuck you,"}

[/i] He says, I almost laugh, but it hurts too much. Because I do know you, Naif Malloc. I know you inside out, because I am you. I am every bit you. I have lost just as much as you have. I lost my mother, giving birth to Hope... I lost my Father to alcohol, he's been dead for years... I lost my brother, the one friend I ever had. Yeah pal, I even lost myself, just like you did. Don't tell me I don't know you, because I can read right through you.

He continues, I lean over, frozen like a statue, the only movement in my body is the controlled rise and fall of my heavy chest. I try to keep my pulse down, try to calm down, even though pain racks my face and stomach. Yet I still don't muster up the anger inside me to fight back. I'm not a violent person, nothing he can say will make me aggressive in that way... I don't even know if I've ever had the urge to hit someone. All I want to do is erase him from my life, but do I have the courage? Do I have an excuse? I don't know if I can do this...

"And then I’ll fuck your sister and then—burn your fucking house down to the ground so you can be just like… your fucking precious Pandora. Just some charred skin and bones…"

Yeah, I can do this[/color]

He comes at me with another fist, ready to bury me into the ground. The rage comes out of me like a dragon, like I'm possessed or something. The pain goes, replaced now with a spur of violence. I grab the oncoming fist and push back, coming to my feet. I break the stalemate by lashing out with my other hand, aiming my fist at his nose. I go for the nose again, this time my forehead makes contact with his face, it feels good. I place both hands on his chest and push him back, away from me.

if i could end the quest for fire
for truth
for love
and my desire

Panting, I catch my breath. Rubik Woodards can be violent after all.
"You think you can run away from your life? You think you deserve to desert all your problems? You're a coward! You took the easy way out!!" I say, turning to the side and spitting out what I think is one of my teeth. Oh god. What have I gotten myself into?

It's just a tooth...

Don't tell me it's just a tooth, I've lost enough already... My appearance is all I've got! I run my tongue along my teeth and I'm more relieved to find it's a molar, one of the back teeth came out from his glancing side blow. Maybe the headbutt shook it loose or something. The ecstasy of rage is too much of a painkiller for me to tell.[/color][/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote]

_{narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others
singing

notes: Rubik's lost a tooth.
theme: 30 Second to Mars - "Alibi"}

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

cyrus
Seam Resident

0 POSTS
last seen Jan 31, 2013 5:26:13 GMT -5

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 9, 2012 1:21:15 GMT -5

Post by cyrus on Aug 9, 2012 1:21:15 GMT -5

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

------
I feel numb most of the time
The lower I get the higher I'll climb
And I will wonder why
I got dark only to shine
Looking for the golden light
Oh it's a reasonable sacrifice
-----

[/color]
I’m gleeful to bring my fists against his f—king face. To watch him twitch in pain is ecstacy for me, it is the relief that I’ve been waiting for all this time. I can’t describe the momentary bliss of getting out this rage, of being able to channel it into something other than the night air. The only time I’d felt this good was when I’d had morphling flowing through my veins.[/color] And I just let go, then—it’s like stepping outside of my body and watching someone else—because I don’t have the control I thought I did. I could’ve stopped when I’d kneed him in the groin and that would’ve been enough to teach him a lesson. But I’m watching myself now—what have I become—and a small smirk crosses my face. My fist rears up to smack him once again, but he catches me. I’m too slow. I’m too proud.[/color]

It’s because you never fought back.[/color] There were times when I would push you, I would hound you because I wanted[/color] you. Wanted to feel so good.[/color] Because I could feel this same burning sensation in my chest as now—a devouring anger that made me want to scratch the skin off of my body. And it was only soothed in one way, in a way that was unspeakable to most. But daddy had taught me, Cyrus. Oh the old man, the one that called me his favorite.[/color] You had thought him not loving you was a terrible thing. Oh, he taught me all about love! It’s that it doesn’t exist, not the way that it’s supposed to. Only in the darkest places, where you can’t move, you can’t do what you want. And I had to be real quiet about it, just like you were. Because you never know what happens when that twisted, damaged creature that’s shown you so much love[/color] doesn’t get his way. You knew something about that, didn’t you? You knew something about when you said I’m too tired[/color] or that this doesn’t feel good.[/color] And I would feel the fire inside of me, I would watch myself, with you. And I’d hold you down, I’d make you scream. And then you’d never say it again. You’d never fight back, because I could hurt you so badly.[/color]

My eyes are wide when I feel Rubik twist me, and the house of cards feels as though it’s tumbled out from underneath of me. In another moment he’s slammed his face into my own, and I can see stars everywhere. I let out a yelp, knowing that I’d overplayed my hand. He was the twin of Pandora Woodards, after all. For all that I might have begrudged him, for all the rage I’d shown, he’d been a superior warrior. But this boy wasn’t Pandora—he was a pale imitation. He was a f—king bitch that thought one little hit on the head was going to make me go quietly. And while I was woozy from it, there was too much brewing inside of me to step aside now.

"You think you can run away from your life? You think you deserve to desert all your problems? You're a coward! You took the easy way out!!" As his voice comes across the room I let out another yell. I’m off and running towards him, bringing both arms around his chest, forcing my full weight onto his body. I throw him down to the ground, and the two of us crash down together in a heap. I bring my fists up and together, before bringing them down hard onto his stomach. I do it again, right over his nose, hoping to break it. I grind my teeth as I heave, wanting to beat Rubik into a bloody pulp. Because I can feel it—the same feeling I’ve always had—bubbling to the surface. The itch that I should never scratch, the one that leaves me worse each time.

If it had been clearer, maybe I could’ve left you.[/color] I could never escape the circular nature of it all. The pain, the desire, the guilt, all of it swirling around and mixing over and over again. All of it pulling me this way and that-a-way, as though my little body could take it. I was fourteen fucking years old[/color], why couldn’t I have just been a kid? When was it my turn to live, to fall asleep under the stars and dream about growing up to be a doctor? When was it my turn to play army men, to hold hands with girls, to watch the games and fear for death rather than wish I’d been taken instead? And every time I tried to pull away from it, it just kept f—cking coming back. All of you kept coming back.[/color]

“I didn’t run away from… them… I… was the only thing… that kept them… together!” I struggle on top of him, and bring another fist down into his face. He’s stronger than me and it won’t be long before the battle shifts again. “I f—king loved them, I loved them even when I didn’t have to. I didn’t run away… they did… they left me… they chose to die… I don’t… I don’t want to die… I don’t…”[/color] I hold my fists up again, not wanting to stop hitting him but overcome again. I see a glint of gold in the corner of the little s—thole, and for a second believe you’re there, in the corner, watching me. Watching me be myself, the whirlwind of destruction, your brother,[/color] and I am lost.

[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 9, 2012 11:42:52 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 9, 2012 11:42:52 GMT -5

r u b i k + w o o d a r d s

_{no warning sign, no alibi
we faded faster than the speed of light
took our chance, crashed and burned
no we'll never ever learn}

[/sub][/color]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

_{My words offend him, like I don't understand him. I already made it clear that I know him better than I know myself. I'm exactly like him, been through what he's been through. He lets rip a roar that almost shakes the house - It certainly shakes me as he charges. I don't move, but stand my ground, tensing my body and preparing to take his weight. He collides into my and we both hit the ground, I take most of the impact as my spine hits concrete and again the wind is knocked out of me. I can't take many more knockdowns like that. He combines his hands into a brute force of a weapon and brings them down together onto my chest. I grunt as he strikes me, my arms pinned by his weight. Again he brings his fists to my face, clubbing at my nose.

Pain. I'm so inexperienced at fighting, that when pitted against someone who has only known violence, I don't stand a chance. I'm helpless. It'd be an even fight if I were Pandora, who had his fair share of bar-fights and scraps with the Fathers of the girls he wasn't allowed to be with. He took care of himself, that showed in the arena, whereas I've got nothing. I have no idea how to defend myself of how to get out of situations.

I've lost this. I've lost and we're all going to suffer. He'll wreck our house, I fear he'll go after Hope once he's done with me. No. Hope's outside, she's safe in public, there are always people willing to protect a little girl in public. Me? I'm alone and helpless. Is this guy really going to kill me? Will he end my life over this argument? Maybe it's best. I'd get to see Pandora again. I'd not have to worry anymore.

Get a hold of yourself

i fell apart
but got back up again
and then i fell apart
but got back up again

My mouth feels raw, the missing tooth feels alien and strange. A sore, gooey warmth replaces what was once tooth, throbbing with more intensity as time goes by. My nose is numb, I suspect broken, he's hit me there three times, each with more malice. It's bleeding now, all down my face and mixes with the bloody bile from my mouth, frothy and red. He's hurt me so much, and what have I done to him? Barely a scratch.

Pinned and helpless, I can only listen to his yells of anger. He hits my again and my head rings, my vision blurs and his voice becomes a muffled rage. I see him over me, his shadow is a golem, I am an ant. All he needs to do is step on me to end all of this.

I assess. I assess because it's all I've even been good at. I was blessed with the brains of the family, whilst my twin got the physical genes. Who's to say brains are no good in a fight, right? Thing is, my brain's in the wrong place right now. He's landed a few blows to my head and I can't think straight. If I had taken initiative earlier, I probably could have figured out a weakness.

Isn't that it, though?

His weakness is that he's weak. I'm bigger than him, I'm probably stronger than him. Yet he has gravity on his side, plus his own weight. I don't think I can lift him, at least, not without him being distracted. Somehow I don't think he'd fall for the old 'Look over there!', thing.

What would Pandora do?

The prankster, the joker, the sleazebag. The rough and the ready, the confident, the cocky, the arrogant. The charmer, the harmer, the reject farmer. The twin, the brother, the son, the lover. The dead, the alive, the only thing I ever cared about. The winner, the artist, the deadly, the cheater.

Cheater.

we both could see crystal clear
that the inevitable end was near
we made our choice
a trial by fire
to battle is the only way we feel alive

There are no rules in fighting. So I muster up a frown and tilt my head back, swirling the blood and snot around my mouth until I form a vile ball of bloody mucus. I spit directly in his face, the splat is very satisfying. I then lean backwards, bringing my knees up to his chest and using my leg muscles to push him back.

Free. I am free from his grasp. I take advantage and kip up to my feet. The blood rushes to my head as I do so and I need to take a step back to regain my vision, which has fogged up and gone creamy. I focus on my target, the shadowy silhouette of Naif Malloc.
"My brother is smiling at me from the afterlife... Can you say the same about yours?" I grin, oozing confidence as I imagine that somewhere, somehow, Pandora is proud of me.

He's too quick for me, he's already shifted and I prepare myself for another beat-down. This is not going well.}

[/color][/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote]

_{narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others
lyrics

notes: Rubik's losing it.
theme: 30 Second to Mars - "Alibi"}

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

cyrus
Seam Resident

0 POSTS
last seen Jan 31, 2013 5:26:13 GMT -5

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 10, 2012 12:49:56 GMT -5

Post by cyrus on Aug 10, 2012 12:49:56 GMT -5

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

-----
I feel numb most of the time
The lower I get the higher I'll climb
And I will wonder why
I got dark only to shine
-----

[/color]
I want to tear him apart. My body shakes on top of him as he struggles, and I can see that he’s no fighter. He’s pathetic, he’s broken, and he’s all mine.[/color] And I want to hear him scream, I want to make him pay for the words he’s saying to hurt me. It’s a drive that creeps up through my feet and into my fingertips, one that consumes me. There’s nothing to stop me now, and why should there be? No one gave me anything, ever. No one ever did anything for me, no one gave me a chance. This world is hell.[/color] But there is no after.[/color] Which means that this is all we’ve got. And taking that away is the worst thing that I can do, it’s foul and reprehensible—but he hurt me so badly, he drudged up something that was never supposed to see the surface. I hunger for something to settle it, something that will let me put it down and walk away.

He’s not completely finished, though. Rubik wiggles in my grasp and in another moment hawks a snotty red mess on my face, blinding me. I try to wipe it away with both hands, and in the second that I lean back, he strikes, knocking me off of him and onto my ass. I expect more blows from him but none come—I’ve hit him too hard already for him to do much more damage. He doesn’t have the fire that I have.[/color] No. He’s not me. He’s not like me.[/color] Even though we are both missing pieces, he knows nothing of what I’ve been through to get to his doorstep. And he has the nerve to drag Cyrus through the mud. I’m back on my feet in another moment, and I turn to face him. We’ve everything to lose, the both of us. Me, my life—to get cast away into the detention center or worse, to keep fighting until he killed me. And him, his life, his little sister, the shithole that he calls home.

"My brother is smiling at me from the afterlife... Can you say the same about yours?" He has s—t eating grin on his face as he says it. It’s bulls—t.[/color] It’s not true. There’s no such thing… there’s no such thing as an afterlife. Nothing but a waste of breath, one that helped lead my brother to his death. He could’ve fought on, could’ve gone after the other kids rather than throwing himself at death’s door. I open my mouth to speak but I’m struck, I can’t get a f—king word out. I can feel the back of my throat tighten and I ball my fists. No such thing. There’s not a place for us after this. We get one f—king shot. He got one f—king shot.[/color] It’s worse than any of his blows. It’s worse than I felt getting roughed up and left for dead. Worse than all the nights I spent s—ting my brains out from bad water or rotten food. He’s cut me deeper than I imagined.

You’d never liked violence. You were gentle and peaceful… you’d never struck anyone first, not even in the games. Not even in the place where you were f—king supposed[/color] to, where they gave you a free pass. And I remember at home, when we would lock the door and I would come to you. Even when you told me no,[/color] you wouldn’t stop me. I’d throw you down on the bed and push you, hold you, tell you that you just needed to relax. When you’d lie on your back and close your eyes you wouldn’t say a word, you’d just let it all pass like a bad dream. Because you were too good.[/color] And then you’d hold me afterward—all you ever really wanted—because you were afraid that I’d throw you away just like everyone else had. Because you loved me no matter what I did.[/color] You’d always love me. Always.

“There’s no such F—king thing… you really believe in something so stupid… you probably think he’s up there having the time of his life… well you know what? Even if there was such a place he’d be in HELL where he belongs…” I sneer out, and I want to end him. I want to smash him to bits. I want to humiliate him. I want him to feel absolute terror while I stand over him in his last few moments of life. I shake my head and step forward, swinging a punch across his face that goes a little wide. I step again and I charge toward him one more time, burying my shoulder into his stomach and pressing upward. Even though he’s bigger than me I can still get some heft behind me. I feel the two of us go forward and I launch him as hard as I can into the wall behind us.
[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 10, 2012 15:54:24 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 10, 2012 15:54:24 GMT -5

r u b i k + w o o d a r d s

_{no warning sign, no alibi
we faded faster than the speed of light
took our chance, crashed and burned
no we'll never ever learn}

[/sub][/color]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

_{I hate that I've shown my own weakness to him. Not attacking is pretty much inviting him to finish me off. I'm not surprised that he doesn't attack sooner. His face is a beetroot, red and full of emotion. I can't read him, I can barely hear him from the ringing of my head. I've cooled down, losing the will to fight back. I no longer want to rip his head off, instead I just want to get away from him. But there is no getting away. This is my house, and if I run I'll be leaving everything.

I can't leave. I lift my hands to shield my face, protecting what I see as most valuable. I stand panting like a stray dog, like each breath will be my last. I vaguely hear his cries.
"There’s no such fucking thing… you really believe in something so stupid… you probably think he’s up there having the time of his life… well you know what? Even if there was such a place he’d be in HELL where he belongs..." I hear his muffled voice ring, louder than the resonating hum inside my head. My brains aren't scrambled enough for me to ignore him. His words are harsh. I've never believed in a deity, I said it figuratively. Pandora would be proud of the fight I've shown, whereas I'm pretty sure Cyrus would be disgusted with Naif.

He charges at me, I stumble backwards before his shoulder wrenches my gut and he lifts me, stepping forward and carrying my defeated body through the air. In those seconds I know that I've lost. I know that I was never meant to be a fighter, only a pathetic runt that couldn't stick up for himself.

I fly backwards, Naif driving me all the way. My back slams hard into the shoddy brickwork that we call a chimney. He releases me as I crash through the poorly constructed ventilation, each brick falling and crushing my arms and legs. It all caves in, blacking out my vision. As if things couldn't get worse, one then hits me square on the head, and I slip into a scary unconsciousness.

As it happens, unconsciousness isn't a nice place. It's pretty dark, for one, and the dark is rather scary. It represents the unknown, the abyss, all fears originate from the dark. So, the wall of blackness in front of me is certainly not welcoming.

I stand up-
Wait.
I stand up? So, I can move about? What is this? Oh god... I'm in a Coma, aren't I? No... No, I've been unconscious before, I saw visions and had some kind of real life experience. No, this is normal. I'm perfectly fine under that mountain of bricks. Oh god, what is Naif doing up there? What if he's abusing my nearly-dead body? Would he do that? He seems insane enough. I feel awful that I couldn't even defend myself against a guy smaller than me.

But he has had a lot more fighting experience.

I stand up. Beneath my feet is nothing, yet it's solid. Everywhere is three dimensions of blackness. This is so weird, yet it feels so familiar. This is how my dreams start.
No.
This is how my nightmares start... Which means...

I'm in a nightmare.

"RUUUBBIIIKKK!!" Comes a shrill voice, a voice that I've heard many times. Her angelic tone is now a harsh scream that cuts the blackness. I turn and see my little sister in the distance, her hands over her face. I break into a run, doing everything I can to get to her, to make sure she's okay. But the closer I'm getting, the further away she slips, like I'm running backwards. She gets smaller and smaller, but her screams get louder.
"I'm coming Hope!!"}

[/b] I say more than shout, out of breath. My eyes are tiny and desperate. She's gone. I've lost her. I've lost all that I have left.

"Forgive me, Hope..." I have failed again. Is it real? Is any of this real? It seems and feels so real. I hate it, I hate it a thousand times. I put my hands over my face, more specifically over my eyes. I don't want to see any more, I don't have to see anymore. My face feels strangely wet. I take my hands away and see the blood that they are covered in. I shriek and feel my face for any cuts, but it feels fine. This blood, it's not real, it can't have come from nowhere. I look around me and freeze in terror as I see the cold, dead, bloodstained body of Pandora.

The blood is on my hands.[/color]

On the outside, my body is covered in dust and brick. My head is the only thing visible, half poking-out from the rubble. Naif had hit me hard, pretty much destroying our chimney. The rest of the house is wrecked, but it still stands. The table is overturned and the sofa is muddy. Glass has somehow smashed all over the floor.

And in the corner of the house, there is a hole. Naif was right to see a glimmer of an eye, but not the eye of who he expected. No, not Cyrus looking in. Cyrus is dead. The girl who watches her brother crash through the chimney is most certainly alive, and definitely wants to keep it that way.

[/color][/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote]

_{narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others
singing

notes: Rubik's dream world.
theme: 30 Second to Mars - "Alibi"}

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

cyrus
Seam Resident

0 POSTS
last seen Jan 31, 2013 5:26:13 GMT -5

Maybe This Time [Rook] Aug 11, 2012 19:37:58 GMT -5

Post by cyrus on Aug 11, 2012 19:37:58 GMT -5

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

-----
I feel numb most of the time
The lower I get the higher I'll climb
And I will wonder why
I got dark only to shine
-----

[/color]
Rubik’s body crashes into the chimney with a horrible CRACK[/color] and I know immediately I’ve done it. My stuttered step halts me from joining him in the collapse of bricks and I stand a few feet from its entranceway. Like a blast the flue collapses and there’s ash and dust everywhere. I’m coughing, and the ash gets into my eyes, burning like a b—h as I try my best to wipe them clean. The fire and brimstone inside of me hasn’t petered off just yet, but I crack a smile when my eyes, gushing tears from the haze and scratched clean with my ruddy fingers, come into focus. His body is covered in the ash and soot, and a few bricks have fallen to ensure more than enough damage has been done. Blood oozes out of different places—his head, in particular—and I stand over him to survey my handiwork.

For a moment I wonder if I’ve killed him, but the slow rise and fall of his chest alerts me that deed is yet to be finished. The drops of blood collect at my feet and I kneel down to place a finger into the red now staining the floor. I smile again as I rub it between my fingers. It was one thing to win a battle, it was another to demolish him. And there he was, his broken but still beautiful[/color] face marked with blood and black, waiting to be taken.[/color] It twists my stomach and makes me snarl. I move forward towards him on my hands and knees, pushing away a few of the loose bricks. Now you’ve gotten what you asked for… what you deserve…[/color] It’s a slow march to death for him now—or so I believe—with the shitty conditions of this place and his weak constitution I wouldn’t doubt he’d be dead soon enough. And yet I’m not satisfied by this.[/color]

I could have it all, I could take him to a dark place before all is said and done. It would leave me marked, of course. I’d be one of those dark figures that they whispered about to children in the night for some time to come—the boy that had come and killed, murdered, ~~even darker things, things that could not be spoken of~~[/s][/color]—and I sit there, watching his chest rise and fall. Never had I felt the thrill of such power, this was a high unlike any other. His whole world could be ended with just one more blow, his whole fate directed and extinguished at my hands alone. It mixed with my anger and coagulated; it made me feel ten times the size I was then, ready to squish him like the measly little worm he’d been. Because how dare he… how dare he challenge me and say such things about Cyrus? How dare he stand tall and proud, and act as though he knew who the f—k I was, what I had been through? How dare he refuse my request to share this pain… how dare he…?[/color]

I grabbed a loose brick and held the thing in my hand. Just one good crack against the skull, and the world will be rid of him forever.[/color] And I stare at the blood as it mixes with his tangled hair. I watch his eye lids flutter in his unconsciousness—if only he were away so I could make him struggle and scream[/color]—and I stare down his body, seeing how handsome, strong, and proud he truly was. Ready to defend his brother’s honor, ready to challenge ~~a foolish mistake~~ decision my brother had made to separate them. The two of them. Two halves of a whole. Two that meant everything to one another.[/color] My stomach is sick, and my hand shakes. My arm becomes heavy and it lowers before dropping the brick completely against the ground. I can feel my breath grow hurried and I turn from my spot next to him. I need to be stronger. I need to find strength. I’ve come too far.[/color] And so I stand and rummage through my pockets for a tab of morphling and pop it into my mouth.

I can feel it through my veins as I pace around their home. I grab a chair and hurl it against the wall, shattering one of the legs. I break a picture frame into pieces on the floor. I grab a dish and crash it against the floor. But all of it is nothing, it doesn’t let the rage and anguish subside, it only makes me numb. Numb that any of this will ever matter—that either of us matter, in the grand scheme of things. No, the boy whose heart is about to give and the boy whose life hangs on a wire, neither of them matter. We’re just a product of this f—ked up world, one in which the neither of us can win. So why not just finish it? Why not just put him out of his misery?[/color] The voices are back again. The little pinpricks that raise the hair on my neck and blur my vision if I move too quickly, they tell me that I’m being a coward.

Because he doesn’t deserve any of this. He lost his brother. His twin. He lost something that is irreplaceable—and for what? To a monstrous world where he lives in a shithole with barely enough to get by. And he’ll be waiting for all of it to end, so one day he can die alone and with nothing.[/color] It was all becoming so clear, that this was out of mercy as much of it was out of anger. Oh, but the anger. And he is a fool. He is a disgusting, pitiful fool for thinking the he could ever deal with you. That you were anything but a whirlwind, a destructive force that cannot be stopped. That everything you touch turns to rubble. He did it because he thought you were weak. He thought that you were broken. That your brother, your mother, your father—that all of them broke you. You can’t let him get away with that. You can’t let him win. Finish him. Take away his chances… take them all away…[/color]

I stand. My steps are slow, and my body sways from side to side as I move forward. “You… you thought I was weak…” I say this as though you can hear me. But the morphling has its hold, and there’s no rationality. “You thought I was a coward… but I’m not… I can win… I can face you… I can kill… I can kill… I can kill you.” I’m over his body now, and I reach down slowly to grab one of the bricks. It scrapes against the floor and the sound rings out in the emptiness. Slowly, I raise the thing above my head, my jaw slack, my eyelids half open, my breathing slow. There is nothing else now—just me and him—and I bring the thing down towards his head with a sickening force, wanting to shatter his skull and spill out his brains everywhere. I close my eyes now, a part of me still afraid to see his end.

But there is no CRACK.[/color] There is no stead ooze of blood and brains out onto the floor. Instead, I find my arm caught and the brick just inches away from Rubik’s face. I try to move my arm but a hand twists it, and I turn to see Cyrus’ face next to mine. My lower lip shakes and I let out a yelp, not sure what I’m supposed to say—and he stares at me for a moment before shaking my wrist and causing me to fling the brick down onto the ground next to Rubik. I let out a yell and fall over onto my ass, shuffling backwards from this apparition. I stare up at my brother, looking like himself the day of the reaping, now with his arms folded across his chest. But he’s not real. He’s not real. He can’t be—even if I—he can’t.[/color] I can’t manage a word, and he doesn’t speak. He leans down onto his knees and whispers something to Rubik before brushing his hair. He gives a sad smile and stands up again.

“Na… what’ve you done…?” He stares into me and I turn from his glance. He’s not f—king real. None of this is real. He can’t be back from the dead. I’m going insane.[/color] But how desperately I want it to be him, I’m willing to suspend my disbelief. I want to hold him so badly that I will believe anything I will say anything just to make sure that this lasts a little longer. Even if it’s only in my head, to see him again jolts me from my stupor and I’m on my hands and knees in front of him, the saint.[/color]

“Cyrus… cyrus please… I… did it for you I… please…” I shake underneath of him. Has he come here to judge me? Has he come here to take me—is this to be my end, did I get a bad stash of morphling?[/color] My stomach twists and turns and I practically wretch at his feet. All of them were wrong—all of the voices, they were the ones telling me. It’s not my fault. Surely he understands?[/color]

“You almost killed him…” He isn’t looking at me now, but Rubik. I sit on my knees and stare up at him, at his beautiful body. He’s bathed in the pale fluorescent light that runs along their roof overhead.

“He didn’t understand… he didn’t understand—that I love you… I miss you…” None of them would ever understand. I had to fight him. I had to make him hurt. I had to make him understand that your legacy is a noble one, that you’re my brother and I would always love you. I would never give my heart to another.[/color]

“But you don’t—you don’t if you need to do this to love me…” My heart sinks as I stare at him, and it’s as if the bottom has dropped out from underneath of me. He is disappointed in me. The dopey older brother—now sounding so different, so calm, so collected—he[/color] is lecturing me[/color] on what to do? How could he know—how could he ever know what I have been through, what I will go through for him?

“And what? Do you know what I’ve seen? I can’t do this on my own anymore… not one person in this world cares if I live or die… you didn’t either… you left me… mom and dad left me…” I sputter out and I realize... it’s a farce. I’m a sniveling child. I’m a coward. I’ve nearly killed a boy over someone six feet under. And as deep as the pain is inside of me—I haven’t done anything for Cyrus. I’ve done it for me.[/color]

“You never gave me a reason to stay…” My fingers twitch against my palms and I stare up at him, still on my knees. The anger is there again. The pain and the anger, all from you.[/color] You and your stupid decision to leave. To be a part of a terrible game,[/color] one in which the odds of you ever having escaped were so small—even if I had believed for one brief instant you had a chance—I was a fool to ever think you could come out alive.

“How was I supposed to know?! How was I supposed to know that you didn’t love me…” I’m trying to cling to a reason for my mistake. This isn’t my fault. None of this is my fault. None of them know what dwells inside, none of them have seen my scars or understand how I’ve been touched and hurt and beaten. If they did they would understand… but I had to show them… I had to…[/color]

“You don’t know what that means, Na…” But wasn’t it my touch? Wasn’t it my hands against you, feeling you and inside of you and the reverse? The silences we shared, the secrets, all of it, wasn’t that love? Isn’t that what I could give others? Isn’t love a silly thing—a physical, revolting thing?

“I need you… I’ve always needed you… and you needed me! You did… you always needed me! You couldn’t make it without me…” I just hadn’t shown him enough—he just hadn’t understood. That’s why he left me. Not because I didn’t show him he was loved… I didn’t show him enough… he just didn’t understand…

“You’ll make your own choices. I made mine. But know this: I would never have killed for you.”

My eyes are clouded with tears as I feel my stomach churn. I reach out to him, I try to get to my feet by I trip over myself and land on my side. I’m crying out to him like a child for him, please don’t go but in another instant whatever he was, is gone. I’m left only with the mess I’ve created. And my stomach churns again and my breath is hurried, and I start to vomit all over the floor in front of me. The minutes pass as I vomit more and more, and just when I think I’ve emptied, a batch of foam spews out of my mouth and I’m on my side, kneeling not far from Rubik. I clutch my stomach and stand. The world is spinning around me and I rush a few steps towards the front door before slamming hard over another chair and tumbling to the ground. In another instant I stand and bolt through the door, disappearing out onto the street, blacking out into the night.
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