once upon a {time} Rook

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rook
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last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

once upon a {time} Rook Aug 23, 2012 9:41:52 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 23, 2012 9:41:52 GMT -5

Reave McFallon

[/size]

_{it's empty in the valley of your heart
the sun it rises slowly as you walk
away from all the fears
and all the faults you left behind

A lone cloud drifts overhead, a wisp of white that flurries across the baron sky. It seems lost as it briefly touches the sun, giving us barely a few seconds of precious shade before it moves on. I stare at it, for it reminds me of myself. Alone, with one hand on glory, but not quite there yet. I need to be more robust than the cloud - Bigger so that I can get a firmer grip on my dreams and ambitions. To do that, I need to work, not play.

And so a secluded place is where I have asked to be taken. Somewhere private to push myself and continue my daily training, whilst still being able to socialize with Marina. I'd take her back to my place, but it's somewhat inhabitable. A dungeon, a chanber of pain... Oh, and I wouldn't want her to hear what I hear: The gears. If she hears them down in my cellar, if she even hears them for a second... If she goes down and sees them turning for all eternity in that dark, damp, wretched place... Then they become all too real.

And reality isn't something I want to get too familiar with.

I'm simple. I'm not smart, nor funny, nor overly attractive. All I have to go on is my physical shape. I have to cherish what little talent I have. I have to perfect it, for it is a gift bless to me by the divines. I'm not a strong believer in Ripred, but I do believe that I am here for a reason. My path, my destiny is set before me. I cannot stray from it, even if I have found someone I can relate to. Someone who's just as mad as me.

She suggests the graveyard, and I nod in approval. I care not for the dead, nor do I respect them. That much was beaten into me at a young age by my obsessive father. You can't have a Career who respects the dead. One who's scared of killing, or even fears death, to an extent. The psychological lengths that he went to in order to give me that mindset were unmentionable. Methods that shouldn't be used on a ten year old. Killing small animals at first, then stray dogs. Getting into the flow of murder. For a child, it's not right. It showed me the fire of homicide, what it would be like to kill a fellow human. It wasn't a crime, it was a neccessity. It taught me that no child should feel that pressure, and that the dead are lucky to be apart from it. They feel no burn. They feel no pain at all. No tear of lactic nor aching of limb. Nothing. I don't pity the dead, I envy them.

"Lead the way" I smile. She describes the Graveyard to be such a shrouded and forgotten place. I hope it is, because I don't like people watching me work out. Marina is an exception - I'm trying to show off. I feel I have a point to prove, and that throwing rocks isn't enough.

My bare feet meet softer earth as we walk. More damp and loose, it finds it's way between each of my toes. Dirt. I'm not a fan of dirt, so grimy and horrible. The stainer of skin. I've always hoped for a snowy arena for my reaping, if it ever comes. I wonder how I will react if it ever does happen. Will I be glorious, or in shock? I've always been against Volunteering. If I'm going to go in there, I want to be picked. Selected by the gods to do battle. My calling. I will never take second to some sniveling coward who stands crying on the stage. I will not be second choice.

I follow the dark haired girl, looking at her deep blue eyes. So lost. I have no idea where this Graveyard is, for I very rarely go out. Most my life I have been inside, like a hermit. This is so rare for me that I begin to get goosebumps. I need to start pumping again. I need the comfort of pain.
"You were saying how you've 'Seen better'... Who? Where?" I ask as we walk. I'm of course referring to my throw. Whoever threw a rock further than me must have been one hell of a guy. My throws are perfect, and there aren't many bigger than me.

the harvest left no food for you to eat
you cannibal you meat eater you see
but i have seen the same
i know the shame in your defeat

narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others

theme~ 'The Cave' by Mumford and Sons.
notes~ Sorry this took a while, my muse took a nosedive.}[/blockquote]

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

cass
Retired Staff

4,822 POSTS

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

once upon a {time} Rook Aug 27, 2012 6:51:27 GMT -5

Post by cass on Aug 27, 2012 6:51:27 GMT -5

MARINA GORAVICH.

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,
Just prayed to a god that I don't believe in
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
I'm falling to pieces, yeah
I'm falling to pieces .

”My brother. He could throw it as far; you might like to meet him one day. I don’t really much like him he likes to be rather mean to me. He often hits me and tells me that my best friend isn’t real and that I don’t have any and she is only my imagination. I’ve kinda started to believe him now, cos like I mean look at me? I’m still in my PJ’s” I let out a giggle as I walk forward, still holding his hand. When we get to the graveyard I tug him over to the one that I often stood at.

I loved it when I was at the graveyard, the way that the stones raised from the grounds in neat rows; they stood tall, with small bits of writing on them. They spoke of people and lives that had been happy; there was always sorrow and pain, and the words of the ones that had loved them. All of them spoke of the good, none of them ever whispered even a breathe of bad. It was as if while I was there I could imagine these people and a world that was only filled with people who were friendly, loved, the best, one of a kind and unique. It would be an amazing place, to have such dreams and joy in the world. A world with no bad, no peacekeepers, no murderers and no division between people was I world I dreamed of, it was a place where people like me would be treated with kindness, and not teased, bullied and bashed on a day to day basis.

I wanted it not for myself, I did not mind those bashings, they reminded me of reality and the truth of the world that I did live in, but a life like that for others like me? That would be amazing, others don’t think like I do, they don’t see pain as cheerful and the lust and love in life as a miracle and a realisation of the sadness of this world. They beg and even kill themselves to find the joy that is written on those headstones that mark each and every soul that has suffered. That was not only one of the reasons why I found myself at the graveyard all the time. I always wondered through the rows, my eyes searching each stone, looking for anything that would hint a world, a person a place that was not like how we pictured it, these stones paint a rosy picture of joy and happiness, it makes you feel blissful and smile. All these people had a family, people who truly cared for them, or so they said.

And then as the last row ended there was one grave, one stone that held, but a name. A single name that headed it and that was it. That was the grave I spent my days at, it was the one grave I could never work out. Every day I came and every day I would sit on the grave and stare at it, picturing a new story and life for the man that had been buried beneath it. All the other people they had lovers stories and dreams on theirs they had family, mourners and sorrow written all over their graves, but this person had nothing, just a single name. I would always ponder the story beneath that name, was it like that because he had done wrong? Or had been simply forgotten? I did not know, and I was positive that I would never know what had happened to this man, what his life had been like and the suffering he had probably faced. I could only guess, and so it was what I did.

I never did turn him into a hero; I never made him out to be some amazing super person that everyone would love. I told a story of a person someone that was real, he had ups and downs, he had good and bad, he held secrets and ideas, memories and wishes like any normal person. He was far more normal then me and any other person, he had the life that so many wished they had, but I never felt any inclination to have it that why, I liked my life no matter how messed up it was.

”Look here. See this grave; see how it is different to them all? It has, but a single name, to me it is forgotten, the person buried here has no one and nothing, they only have a mere title a name and nothing else. I usually come and sit here and just sit on his grave, right there,” I say, pointing to the spot where I sit, with a delicate finger. I wanted to tell reave what I thought and what I knew about this grave, I wanted to tell someone about this man, I didn’t want him to be forgotten, I wanted some people to remember him. I wanted him to tell me I wasn’t crazy. “I can sit here all day and stare at his name, I often tell myself a story about his life and who he could have been. I never make him out to be some sort of hero, because you see heroes aren’t good. They aren’t amazing and special, they are ordinary people, and they just have had better lives than everyone else. You see I like to think that if I made him into someone than maybe he would be up there and he would see that he isn’t forgotten and he does have someone here. Everyone has a story, and because no one has written down his or told his I am telling his.”

”Do you think I’m crazy?”

ooc -- Take your time, it is an amazing post <333 ahahaha omg she talked a lot, i have never seen her tlak so much xD

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
'Coz she's moved on while I'm still grieving
And when a heart breaks
no it don't break even, even no.

Last Edit: Aug 28, 2012 3:18:41 GMT -5 by cass

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?

once upon a {time} Rook Sept 2, 2012 9:54:25 GMT -5

Post by rook on Sept 2, 2012 9:54:25 GMT -5

Reave McFallon

[/size]

_{it's empty in the valley of your heart
the sun it rises slowly as you walk
away from all the fears
and all the faults you left behind

Cornrows of headstones protrude from the soil, serving as a constant reminder that we stand on a mass nexus of the dead. Their bodies dwell beneath us, all staring skyward in hope that they will find utopia in rest. In death. Do they cling to the essence that their life beyond death will be of a significantly greater standard than the struggle that they forced during their time in Panem? I hope that their lives were not wasted on such illusions.

My bare feet feel unwelcome in the death soil. The dirt is colder, damper... I feel the void where a heartbeat used to be, but magnified in the mass of nonliving. A network of nothings that send an icy sensation from the tips of my toes, right up my spine in shivers, before freezing my brain over. I guess that's why they call places like this chilling.

Scared? I am not scared. Fear was removed from me long ago, leaving an hollow, but sturdy shell that could walk through anything. I am not afraid, I am awed. The graveyard haunts me, just knowing that we stand over the catacombs of the dead, but I cannot be harmed by that which is not living. I am here to feel alive, not be drained by the presence of those who no longer walk with us. So I smile, walking forward with just that little bit more confidence, making that void seem the tiniest bit warmer.

Marina leads me weaving through this dysfunctional maze. It is not neat, for graves vary in size and condition. Some miss large chunks of stone, whilst others are lopsided or even no longer stand. Do not pity the dead, envy them. I follow her trail like a child follows a mother - Without question, like coding programmed upon creation - Instinct. She tugs at my hand, leading me to a specific gravestone, one she knows and recognizes. I wonder, does she come here a lot?

"My brother. He could throw it as far; you might like to meet him one day. I don’t really much like him he likes to be rather mean to me. He often hits me and tells me that my best friend isn’t real and that I don’t have any and she is only my imagination. I’ve kinda started to believe him now, cos like I mean look at me? I’m still in my PJ’s" She had said, and I have not stop pondering over her words since she spoke them several minutes ago. I care not for her unusual dress code or imaginary friends... I have both, because who walks around bare-footed and finds comfort in the sound of gears that don't exist? We are not so different. What bothers me is that she talks of her brother's throw. I watched Klaus carefully and I know for a fact that he is not stronger than me. She can't be talking about him. I don't know a database about the Goravich's, but I suppose that her brother in question is another one of her Quintuplets.

But which one?

I have an urge to know more, but I have since been hesitant to intrude on her private life. Her brother is a Victor, so I don't want to poke around her family too much.
"Look here. See this grave; see how it is different to them all? It has, but a single name, to me it is forgotten, the person buried here has no one and nothing, they only have a mere title a name and nothing else. I usually come and sit here and just sit on his grave, right there," She begins, I am only half listening as I stare at the tombstone. The name means nothing to me, I don't recognize it, but then again I don't know a lot of people. Barely any.

"I can sit here all day and stare at his name, I often tell myself a story about his life and who he could have been. I never make him out to be some sort of hero, because you see heroes aren’t good. They aren’t amazing and special, they are ordinary people, and they just have had better lives than everyone else. You see I like to think that if I made him into someone than maybe he would be up there and he would see that he isn’t forgotten and he does have someone here. Everyone has a story, and because no one has written down his or told his I am telling his." Again her voice drones and all the while I stare at the reality of this man's death. Who was he? Does he even matter?

"Do you think I'm crazy?" She asks, reiterating on her story of the dead man. Her made up reality that no one else could think of.
"Don't talk to me about crazy..." I sigh, sitting on the nearest gravestone with no consideration for who is buried where I slouch. My muscles twitch as my palms make contact with the cold rock, so smooth and real. Her insanity is on a different wavelength to mine. Whilst she sees the world in different ways and doesn't understand, I have been driven to the edge of what can be considered sane by constant and unrelenting punishment. Punishment that has given me one reward in that I am a monster.

"You're as sane as I am..." I say with a wicked smile. Because side by side, we are the same, even if we look so different, "Which, in case you hadn't guessed, isn't sane at all..."}[/b] I say, my face stretching to a more serious tone. A lone worm wriggles between my toes.

the harvest left no food for you to eat
you cannibal you meat eater you see
but i have seen the same
i know the shame in your defeat

narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others

theme~ 'The Cave' by Mumford and Sons.
notes~ again, sorry for the delay - I was working on a oneshot and it needed pretty much every drop of muse I had o-o[/color][/sub][/blockquote]

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

cass
Retired Staff

4,822 POSTS

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

once upon a {time} Rook Sept 6, 2012 3:16:20 GMT -5

Post by cass on Sept 6, 2012 3:16:20 GMT -5

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,
Just prayed to a god that I don't believe in
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
I'm falling to pieces, yeah
I'm falling to pieces .

The coldness races through my skin like a blazing fire, it consumes me and my hands begin to shake as the darkness of the cold shadows seeps into my skin, drilling into my bones like they are nothing more than clay, easily accessible. And it makes me shiver, goose bumps litter my skin as my body vainly tries to keep my warm, but I already know that those pockets of air that make my hairs rise will do nothing, as the shivering passes turning into the beginnings of the numbness that often follows your body’s pathetic fight against the cold. A slight tingle that sits on my skin and makes me want to rub it until the tingling grows and pins and needles fill the place which had been numb. The rough stone beneath me was as cold as the dead body beneath it, there was no warmth in a graveyard, no life and joy. It was just dark. It was as if the grim reaper stalked these very lands and with every step he took the land turned to ice.

That was how I felt, I felt as if the warmth had fled this realm escaping into the next where the grim reaper could not follow as he was destined to stalk this world, half of his mind in our world, while part of him balance in the next.

It was why he was the grim reaper; he chose death, because he was the gate way between this world and the next. He haunted these stones searching for people to kill. I believed it was because he was trying to find the right person to send to the world that would break the gateway ~~maybe he could take me with him and we could both find out peace out worlds, the place we belonged~~, which would allow him to find peace and not be split between the two worlds. He wanted to find freedom and he killed people searching for the right person, the one life that would save him. I often thought about death and the grim reaper. I held so much spare time on my hands that I did not mind, I had nothing else to occupy my mind and send me thinking into the depth that would send so many crazy.

A pale hand reaches forward and gently strokes the rough stone, dirt clung to my skin, staining it in all sorts of patterns. A small grin crosses my lips as I look down at the stone. Reave answered my question with a few simple words that meant more to me than anyone could imagine. He told me that I was only as insane as he was. My grin slowly transforms itself into a fully-fledged smile as I turn my eyes up to him. The curvature of my lips feels foreign for it is something that I have not managed to do for a very long time. For a moment I feel warm. I feel the coldness of the world around me leave me as my mind fills with his words. My grey eyes stare at him as he looks down at a worm that had made an appearance between his toes. I was sure that if he was to look up he wouldn’t see the same eyes as he had seen before, eyes that had been dead, lifeless and full of nothing but the insanity that clawed hungrily at me. For a moment I felt… happy.

I felt as though someone understood me. When a person comes along and can say words that reach me and draw a smile from my lips I know they are special. Understanding the person I am is not easy, I have yet to see into my full personality and swallow the person I am. I haven’t yet accepted the person I am, I want to be different from this, I want to be able to go to school and not have eyes glaring at me, people haunting me with their sharp tongues ready to throw any comment at me to send me into the spiral of misery that I try to escape. And now there is Reave and it is as if I wasn’t the only truly crazy person in this world and that there were other people out there just as sane as I was and there were people who saw this place as I did.

The tall muscular boy in front of me looked more like the rest of them. His big frame, towering figure and general appearance reminded me of Jamarion, he was normal, he wasn’t like me. But when Reave spoke he spoke words that I would never imagine coming from Jamarion’s mouth, they weren’t harsh, stinging and malicious, his were only tainted with his own insanity and his belief that he was insane, but yet as normal as I was. I loved it. I truly did.

I had not smiled for over ten years. I had not allowed myself to feel the joy that most others do that bliss that males you want to smile and laugh and be happy. I have smiled before I have laughed before, but it never has had real joy in it.

The hop off of the grave that I was perched on and delicately I walk over to Reave, my feet stepping onto a land that was forgotten and I stop in front of Reave. “You’re different… But not in a bad way.” I mumble. I look into his bright eyes and I can’t help myself. I had never felt the way I did before ~~and I don’t know what to do about it~~ so I lean forward and give him a kiss on the cheek. His skin feels cold under my lips ~~and I hope mine aren’t cold, but warm~~. With a stunned blink I lean back and look at him in shock. “I’m happy you are as sane as I am.” I reply with a shy smile.

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
'Coz she's moved on while I'm still grieving
And when a heart breaks
no it don't break even, even no.

Last Edit: Sept 13, 2012 22:11:44 GMT -5 by cass