puddles of gray [Jimmeh]
Jun 24, 2012 21:58:01 GMT -5
Post by Python on Jun 24, 2012 21:58:01 GMT -5
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Cage him in if you’d like, but there will always be a glimmer of hope dwelling within those copper irises. The thought of being treated like a zoo animal and a lone wolf with nothing but an instinct to kill did not bother him. After three years of the equivalent treatment it was normal, and to be expected. Expected, just like the torment. Just like the ruthless fighting and endless death. His home was thriving in hopeless dreams and despair, but this little creature would never squirm under their tyranny.In a world where black wires were boundaries and death was the only scent lingering, there was no reason to stir with a smile, and yet the beaten soldier that was Sonnet Prey - a nobody in the outside world, a feared prodigy within the Melnont household - still made the effort to. The corners of his lips reached for his ear lobes as the notches in his spine popped from hours of resting on a concrete floor. His quarters appeared bland and unchanged as usual, with its cold, grey floor, musty atmosphere, eerie silence, and wires strung tightly in woven patterns to surround him with hopelessness.
When one’s eyes are exposed to only the grays and blacks in Panem’s vibrant world, the idea of color burned holes into the boy’s poorly adjusted eyes. The brightest color we will ever see in this hell is the crimson crawling out of a child’s skin. So when he stared into the dimly-lit basement at the other miserable children covered in the grime of neglect and the blood of the fallen, the different shades of hair appeared bright to his curious gaze. Their empty eyes were even worse. Blues, greens, and caramels that pierced his eyes like miniature suns emitting light. It was easy for him to lose himself in their eyes, because behind every pupil was a story and a pulsating personality suppressed by abuse and imprisonment. As much as Sonnet wanted to hear every last story and discover each personality, there was a line he drew between himself and the others. He enjoyed interacting with his cellmates
Those who had endured Sonnet for an extended period of time knew that he was very predictable outside of the arena. He answered every comment with a smile too optimistic and a tone too joyful to be completely normal. He was also quite known for being the most talented conversation starter in the Melnont household, and when he turned to face one of the cells beside him he didn’t expect anything less than what behavior normally displayed itself in Miss Salt Rebio when he spoke to her. He spotted her head of hair, brown like the chocolate he once watched people eat in the streets of district two, and wrapped one of his scarred hands around a single wire. ”Salt.” The greeting came in a gentle whisper. The overwhelming silence lingering in the atmosphere warned him that using his usual volume would only upset the others who might’ve been slumbering. ”Are you up?”
With no exposure to the world outside of these basement walls, the concept of time was a misty blur that no longer held any importance. Dawn, dusk, daylight, moonlight - all were invisible, and all were no longer applied to the lives of these prisoners. It could be the early morning, the afternoon, sunset, or even the middle of the evening, and Sonnet would never know. That’s why it was in his character to greet his roommates with a "Good morning, good afternoon, and good evening to you.” followed by a ”How are you?”. He never realized how often he said these things or how obnoxious they could be, they were merely polite greetings he used to brighten someones day or spark a conversation. This was to be expected from the delightful boy - always so polite, even when he knew his spirit was slowly crumbling into small pieces and worthless stardust[/justify][/blockquote]
