that broken place I go [stare]

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florentine, d4b ❁
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that broken place I go [stare] May 13, 2012 4:36:54 GMT -5

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Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on May 13, 2012 4:36:54 GMT -5

ELVIRA DEMPSEY-FARLOW

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She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of the world that she’s left behind

Thinking
Emphasis
Talking
Normal

To me, the bare forest is as empty as my heart, and my heart is more barren a land than most. It reminds me of a graveyard, so elegant and majestic that it suggests some past grandeur that has already faded away completely. Only the shells of what was once a life remain, for this is a graveyard of tree's fallen. This is a graveyard of souls lost. And I fear that if I linger too long here, whatever is left of my soul will become discarded and forgotten, too. Only once have I visited a land of headstones and bodies buried six feet below myself. I remember that day as I remember almost every moment of my childhood - hauntingly crisp and clear. My bare feet crossed the path and ventured onto the grass. It was growing lushly over the freshly turned dirt that coated the grave of my father. I felt no sorrow, not really. He was a terrible, terrible man and he has done bad things. But then again, hadn't we all? Wasn't the very blood that ran through the Dempsey veins laced with the poison that Kae dished out upon others? Poison, or just our own family brand of crazy? It hardly matters now, anyway. By the time I reach the grave of my father the wind has stopped howling in my ears. The rain has stopped falling upon my face and forcing the mascara to treck down my cheeks as though I had been crying. Everything is still, so eerily still it is as though I can feel my brothers eyes upon my back. Those eyes that make me want to run and run and run forever without turning back. That feeling I have to fight back so I can smile in such a sickly sweet way and sweet with the sugary words that infuriate him. But this time nobody was watching me so I could. I fled from the graveyard and my fathers rotting body without another thought. It was as though time has been paused and as soon as I left the rocky gates of the graveyard time began again and the wind whirled the leaves on the sidewalk, and the rain poured. I did not cry that day, but I wanted to.

And now I stand here in the ashen forest that was blazing with violent flames just days before and wonder were the heat has gone. That pounding, swimming moving life of flames and tree's and fear. It was so alive and now it is but a graveyard. Smouldering remains of what was once a forest. I am not an arsonist. I do not burn things for pleasure - I have my own ways of finding true happiness in my barren heartless world. But I did burn this forest. If only to prove that there was some other life out here in the wilderness - that I did not leave the districts for nothing. And hopefully Kae would see the smoke blooming from the highest branches of the elm trees and fear me. As I have always feared him, I want him to feel that fear burning in his throat when he thinks that I am pursuing him. I found her body. I did and I know exactly who my brother is and I want to the world to know it. His world. I want his world to burn like the forest that surrounds me, an ashen graveyard deprived of life.

I used to wonder why I hate my brother so. Why, when I think of him, looking so much like me, slipping poison into the drinks of those too intoxicated to notice, I feel rage in my chest. It bubbles up like a volcano consuming me and then I realise that I only hate him because there is nobody else left to hate. I hated my father, but when he passed away every shred of resentment I held against him vanished. It was as though my pain was buried six feet beneath the ground, encased in his coffin. And so I began to hate others, but one by one my hate died for them too, and Kae was all I had left. It was easy, really, to hate my brother. I was so fearful of him, so jealous that he was the one with the family to begin with and I was the addition that everybody wished never happened. After all, it was always me who ruined it all, coming to his house when he was just a small boy and looking at Kendra with my eyes. My fathers eyes. Those Dempsey eyes which seem as unavoidable and recognisable as the bitter, ruthless blood that flashes when any one of us performs some unthinkable act. When I sit and watch a baby die of some terrible flu, and do not pray or shed a tear. When I waste every last wish I have left on hateful things. Those are the times when anybody looking at me would say - she must be a Dempsey. A bitter, heartless creature who never thought about anybody but herself. Twisted. Intent on ruining the lives of those around her, if not ending them. And you know what? They would be right, for that is who I am. As sickening and frightful as it is, I am a Dempsey and I will do whatever it takes to have revenge upon the cruel cruel world and every single person in it.

I will begin with my brother. I am thinking of this as I sit surrounded by fallen, blackened branches. I never regret running away from District One. It limited me. And still I have not completed my mission. When I shook with anger and pain at the realisation of my brother's departure I promised myself one thing. That I would ruin my dear, dear brothers life in the same way I had always done. I am Elvira, after all. Nobody escapes me when I become intent upon discovering every last one of their filthy, filthy secrets and destroying every shred of happiness they still possessed. That was the one thing I knew how to do when I was simply a child, only just able to speak for myself. And in truth that is truly the only thing I know how to do now. I certainly do not know how to be happy myself, how to lace my life with the pleasant wonders that others do. I have my moments of gratification. Kendra's dead body lying on the floor and the look in Kae's eyes. Knowing that I physically did not kill his mother, but I delivered the secret that destroyed her.

I do not believe in suicide. Only murder. Is it suicide when one of Kae's victims lifts a glass to their lips and drinks deeply, because they have inflicted the poison upon themselves? No. It is murder. Is it suicide, then, when someone intentionally throws their crippled body from a cliff, slits their wrists, allows a gun to backfire into their brain? No. Because they did not come to that dark place alone. Someone led them there. Someone did not only show them the way, but they forced them deeper and deeper into nothingness until they were too numb to feel anymore. So when Kendra died, Kae hated me. Because I was the one holding the strings and I was the one who tipped her over the edge. So aware was I that I managed to smile in my childish, innocent way, so thick with cruelty and malice I am almost ashamed.

Almost.

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Last Edit: May 13, 2012 4:37:45 GMT -5 by florentine, d4b ❁

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and i will hold you tight / like the moon in the arms of the sky

that broken place I go [stare] May 29, 2012 20:07:29 GMT -5

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Post by Stare on May 29, 2012 20:07:29 GMT -5

I walk a lonely road,
The only one that I have ever known.
Don't know where it goes,
But it's home to me and I walk alone.

My footsteps are steady, treading up clouds of swirling silver in my wake as I drift over a road of ashes. The wind picks up, lifting bits of forgotten life off trees that once stood like monarchs, swirling the bits of white on its fingertips and letting them drift to the ground as quiet snow. The blackened stakes have no pattern, no beauty, no hope in their forgotten kingdom. Once great beings, they are now bent and broken, their souls lost forever to the air that still smells of smoke and death. My mind creates an image of what this place perhaps once was, and shimmers of green with beautiful sunlight hitting delicate golden petals hover in the corners of my vision. The birds sing in my head, distant and echoing off the empty voids while they desperately seek some kind of light in the endless dark. They will find none. I had only one light in my life, and he fled me a long, long time ago.

I see the silver, the onyx and the white, all blurred together and swirling apart like oil on water. The color has been leeched from the world and have left nothing but scars, a black and white photograph of pain and disaster with darkened corners, falling apart at the edges. Something beautiful immolated without reason, without regret. The achromic plague deepens and spreads, seeping into the cracks of the earth and the parts of fallen branches, strangling trees and reaching all the way out to the horizon, creating a waxen world. Lost and forgotten, the illness has spread. And I'm not talking about the forest. I'm talking about my soul.

Empty days smear together, laced with bits of hunger and mistrust. It isn’t often that I meet others in the woods, so hardly anything defines the weeks spent wandering with no hope or purpose in this dull, empty world. Everything hurts and yet I feel nothing at all – just numbness and terrible sorrow, like I am lost, searching for what can never be found. It’s easy to think back on kinder days, with a little boy who couldn’t remember the right words, and a family that argued and rushed but never stopped loving each other.

Do you remember the sunshine, Gage? I turn my head up to the tumbling clouds, none of which hold promise of rain. An ashen sky hangs above my head, reflecting the lack of life found in the earth below. There is not a place in the sky where the sun could burn through. Do you remember the sunshine, Gage? I can taste it on my lips, rich and alive, but I cannot remember the true warmth of the sun's gentle rays. I can picture it's radiance in my mind, all yellow and white and glowing against the different colors, bringing the world to life with its fallen beauty, but I cannot remember the feel of it as it fell across the pads of my fingertips and pooled in the palms of my hands. No. I cannot remember the sunshine. Not truly.

Are you alive, Gage Hanlon? Sometimes I wonder. But then I reach up to feel the hollow heartbeat in my chest, and I know. I'm still alive, but just barely. And it is not hunger or thirst or injury that threaten my existence in the world. No, it is despair, a cold thing that slips frost into my gaze and ice into my veins. It weighs down my shoulders, as heavy as lead, and pulls at me until I am drowning in it, unable to breathe in the joy and love everyone else seems to know so well. Are you alive, Gage Hanlon? No. I am not alive. Not really.

Are you alone? I think of long nights spent in my cold sleeping bag, tossing and turning while their laughter turns to screams in my head. Bang. Bang, bang. Bang. Gone. All of them gone. The majority buried in the earth, with the one exception in an unknown location, perhaps dead, perhaps not. All I know is that wherever he is, he probably hates me more than I could ever imagine. That thought stings me, for while I know how he must despise me, I never stopped loving him. Are you alone, Gage? Yes. Yes, I am –

But no, I’m not. Squinting through the gray haze, I see a figure, an outline of dark against the swirling light. On silent feet I approach, cautiously, pulling out my dagger and watching through narrow eyes. Upon closer inspection, I see it is a girl. I lower my blade, if only slightly, but my muscles remain tight and tense, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. “Now who,” I say in a low, careful voice, “might you be?”

I walk this empty street,
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams,
Don't know where it leads,
But it's home to me and I walk alone.

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that broken place I go [stare] Jun 24, 2012 19:41:46 GMT -5

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Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on Jun 24, 2012 19:41:46 GMT -5

ELVIRA DEMPSEY-FARLOW

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She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of the world that she’s left behind

Thinking
Emphasis
Talking
Normal

The blackened forest spins a web of lies to my windswept mind. It whispers to me, telling me that it is safe. It does not speak the truth, for even beneath the blanket of exhaustion I remember enough to know that nowhere is safe. Not in this forest, not in Panem, not when the Dempsey blood runs through your veins like stars in the sky. Blinking, shining, attracting danger from across the night. Nowhere is safe for me in this world - but at the same time the world is not safe with me in it. I believe that that in itself is a fair enough compromise. I don't mind hurting, as long as the rest of the world hunts with me. I don't care about burning like the forest surrounding me as long as my brother burns too. I have never told anyone, but when I was really very young, I used to look up to my brother. Adore him, even. Envy the way he existed. I would aim to mimic him, in that way only little sisters can do. He was my vision of greatness. I don't remember the day when he became something to destroy, to crush beneath my patent, child-sized shoes. I just remember loathing him for what he had - a mother and a father and a house and web of lies that would support him for evermore. I knew what I had, too. The ability to break the web and send all those good things he had and I didn't tumbling down toward the ground. It was that simple to me. So I did just that, snapped everything he had in one glace at his mother, one fleeting smile toward my brother. Easy as one, two, three. I didn't have to think too much about it - I just had to walk through the rain in my yellow wellington boots and gaze through my long eyelashes. It doesn't take much to burn eternal hate in your half-brothers heart.

My footsteps are silent, but my mind is growing so weary as the sun begins to set that I think I could easily be followed and never know. This is not the alert, ever-watching Elvira I was. This is a girl with ash smeared on her cheeks, a girl who hasn't slept for days but needs to reach District Thirteen before night falls again. I am a girl on a mission. Elvira Dempsey, following her brother at all costs. I found that body, and it made me realise something about myself. I thought I was fearless, willing to do anything to anyone if it meant I was better off. Apparently this ruthlessness does not apply when it comes to stealing what is left of your brothers dead girlfriends belongings. I stared at her body for ages, trying to demand that my fingers reach out to her. It couldn't have been more than a couple of days old, perhaps a week in the cold. But there was something about it, so wrong. It made me want to run and run and run. I am ashamed to admit that after much deliberation I was weak. I gave into my human desire (and human desires are something I have always claimed not to possess) and let my legs carry me far far away. I did not stop moving until night had fallen thoroughly and my legs threatened to give way completely beneath me. Only then did I allow myself to take a sip from the bottle I carried. I did not light a fire that night, but I allowed myself to eat a little from the warm thermos flask I discarded a couple of miles back. And now I am walking through the forest. Alone. Perhaps.

I let the light swirl around me for a moment, and I can see everything floating in the air. Perhaps one day I can be translucent and weightless one day, too. Like the tiny specs of dust and hair and everything else that you can only see when you gaze toward a beam of sunlight. "Now who," the voice is dark and dangerous to my vulnerable ears and as I spin around to face the speaker. Suddenly my legs are tense, my light body and frenzied mind pulling itself together to run and run and never look back. Or perhaps pull the knife from my side and plunge it into whoever is threatening me out here in the woods. I wait. "Might you be?" I calm myself before the figure can work out how afraid I really am. I fix my features to how they always are - cool, calculating, dangerous, knowing. Then I look the stranger right in the eye. I do not cross the small clearing to meet him; I simply stand my ground.

Who am I? This is a question I am surprised to find I cannot answer. Who is Elvira Dempsey? The sister of a murderer who hates her more than anything else, out to seek revenge for his existence. A sixteen year old; no more than a child, really, who has run away from her pathetic excuse of a family? An empty, cold person who has never felt happiness, or love? "Elvira." I do not drop my gaze, not even for a second. I can intimidate people, I know. Look deep into their souls. "I won't ask who you are. I don't care. But I'll ask why you're here." My words are slow, steady, crisp as the cool night air.

I do believe I have missed humans. They are so easy to tame, so easy to build up and destroy. But some are different. Some, like me, are worth something, they know something. From the look in his eyes, I believe this boy can help me. Perhaps.

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that broken place I go [stare] Jul 24, 2012 17:20:43 GMT -5

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Post by Stare on Jul 24, 2012 17:20:43 GMT -5

My shadow's the only one who walks beside me.
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating.
Sometimes I wish someone out there would find me.
'til then, I walk alone.

She is a ghost. That is the first thing that comes to my mind after the initial threat wears off. She's so slight that I think I could perhaps snap one of her bones in two if I really wanted to - (I don't. I swear to Ripred, I don't, but the rage is a kind of poison lapping away at my heels. Not harmful at the moment, but always tauntingly close.) - and her skin is ashen, so that she could perhaps be the queen of the dead forest, or perhaps a spirit who roams here. I watch as she twists around to face me, dancing on her toes a moment before relaxing backward and locking eyes with me. They are piercing things, as frostbitten and harsh as the soul I try to hide, so full of something mesmerizingly wicked. We harbor darkness in two different ways - while she is positively brimming with it, it only occupies my heart to fill in the space the light left behind.

Her voice carries a cautious tone but even beneath it I recognize the cruelty - this is a girl who wants power and control, this is a girl who makes threats, this is a girl who is dangerous - and I know that the figure in front of me is no ghost or queen or spirit. She is something far more... complex. My eyebrows draw even further together, because the more complex the enemy the harder it is to locate weaknesses. I've dealt with the tall, muscular type who have the brain the size of a peanut; they're tough, sure, but easily outwitted. This girl, however, is different, Just by looking at her I can tell she's the intellegent. I might as well try to get along with her for the time being instead of causing trouble.

What am I doing out here? I glance at the achromic world that surrounds us, burned by fire long ago, and then reflect on endless days before it filled with rolling hills and verdure. One would think that someone who runs as much as I do would have some sort of purpose, a method to my madness, but the truth is I only stay moving in order to stay ahead of the regret that threatens to consume me. On occasion I'll go into one of the districts to resupply myself and perhaps gamble a bit, but those or the only times that I break from my constant fleeing, and ususally I never stay more than I night. I've heard rumors of a place beyond the districts, of course - there's hardly a wanderer who hasn't. But those are no more than silly fantasies formed in all too hopeful minds.

It's hard to remember a time before all the blur when my life actually had a direction in which it was heading. I vaguely recall sneaking up behind my little brother in the sunlit shop and wrapping my arms around him, laughing as I lifted him up and spun him round and round while our mother beamed from behind the counter. Sometimes, when I was running errands in town, I would stop by his favorite shop and purchase some random little trinket - an old fashioned deck of cards, a comic book, a random poster. And I always, always bought him a caramel apple, no matter what. He was the sunlight in my day, my compass, and now I'm lost without him. I'll never forgive myself for what I did that day.

"I'm a wanderer. I don't have any specific reason for being here or anywhere, for that matter," I say, keeping my knife pointed at her. "What are you doing here? I won't flatter myself by thinking you've come just to give me such a warm welcoming."

I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone

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that broken place I go [stare] Aug 16, 2012 5:43:07 GMT -5

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Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on Aug 16, 2012 5:43:07 GMT -5

ELVIRA DEMPSEY-FARLOW

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She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of the world that she’s left behind

I travel alone for a reason. There is evidence of why the Dempsey children should never have companions on their journeys - and that evidence lies in the form of a body in the snow. She was stripped of all her belongings, I believe. Kaelen is not, perhaps, as cold-blooded and merciless as I thought. There is logic to his insanity, a code of conduct. He takes what he needs and he leaves what he does not. Her body was no use to him; and I have seen his prying eyes when he believes nobody is watching. I am sure he does not know it himself, but I do. She was never the one he loved. If a person like my brother is capable of love, that is. And this, of course, is how I operate. While he steals lives with poison and disposes of every scrap of evidence he is not the perfect criminal. I am. Because while he ends lives, I slowly but surely unwind them. The things I take, I take silently. They never know, never realise, and all at once they are under my control. It's Kaelen's turn now. His turn for a taste of the good old Dempsey poison. Bitter medicine for all he has done.

Right from the beginning of my nightmare, his eyes have been hard and cold upon mine. I remember those wellington boots, the rain upon my jacket, the innocent, wide eyed toddler who gave away the secret. His hatred burned me. I am Elvira Dempsey, so I swore that one day, I would burn brighter. There are three things that scarred my mind and stayed with me from my childhood. The first: you will never beat your brother. Kaelen Dempsey will always be better than you. You will always look up to him, aspire to be like him, worship him. Until you don't anymore. Until year and years of downcast glances and glares and rejection and threats turn your admiration to hatred. Lesson two: a lie is always better than the truth. Because the truth hurts, the truth burns. The truth breaks families apart and shatters hearts and burns bridges. The truth corrupts the minds of tiny children and sends previously stable wives on suicide missions. The truth led me here. Finally, my childhood taught me to wait. Because if there is one thing I have over my darling brother, it's patience. I have waited all my life for the right time to strike. I'm ready to take him down. Calculated, collected, misunderstood and underestimated little Elvira Dempsey. "She plays with her food before she eats it."

There is something about being the little sister of a manic that gives you an edge. When you look at someone, really look at them, you see so much more. Life, after all, is so fickle. Death is just another adventure, just another sleepless night. The boy standing before me is looking at me in much the same way. He can see me. Others do not; to many I am innocent, sweet, hiding my secrets so well they cannot detect them. But the way his eyes bore into my soul tell me at once that there is no use pretending. Crazy? No. Determined, motivated? Perhaps. Vengeful, bloodthirsty? Sometimes I have to lie to myself. "I'm a wanderer. I don't have any specific reason for being here or anywhere, for that matter." He's lying, of course. I can tell this much with ease. Only because nobody ever has no reason for being somewhere. Legs do not move without direction, fires do not spread without incentive."What are you doing here? I won't flatter myself by thinking you've come just to give me such a warm welcoming."

I bite back the hundred biting comments that spring to my lips. They are automatic, responses ready after years of playing the underdog. No, I must stay polite. I like this boy, with his cold, calculating eyes. He is a challenge, empty, and yet secure. I've always liked a bit of a game - I make guesses in my mind at how long it will take me to crack him. For now, though, perhaps he can help me. I smile at him, although my eyes remain as dead as a starless night. "There's always a reason, I know that much." I try to shake the poison from my voice, but my words come across just a little too smooth. "I like you, so I'll tell you why I'm here." I gesture about myself, to the burned forest, the ashen remains. Charred trees litter this graveyard. It turns out I can cover up tracks, too. Hide those clues my brother carelessly left behind him. After all, I would never start a fire in a forest for a reason. In truth I had two reasons - to dispose of her body and to attract the attention of anybody else who might happen to be near. What I would give, who I would kill to see fear in my fearless brothers eyes when he sees me again. Patience, darling.

"I don't often tell the truth, and yet here it is. I'm searching for my brother. I think he's headed for District Thirteen, and I'm trying to follow him there. He's done a lot of terrible things, and I really need to talk to him again." I said the truth, not all of the truth. But I almost spit the word brother and anybody could tell that we are not the closest of siblings. He is my weak point, the chink in my armour, the only thing that ever changes my calm, constant manner. What is there to do other than destroy him?

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that broken place I go [stare] Sept 4, 2012 21:26:25 GMT -5

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Post by Stare on Sept 4, 2012 21:26:25 GMT -5

Lost and insecure
You found me, you found me
Lyin' on the floor
Surrounded, surrounded

"District Thirteen?" The bark of laughter escapes me before I can stop it, the sound snapping through the air like a whip. Something inside of me murmurs quietly, rising up to the cruel pleasure I get in trying to belittle another person. It hums and buzzes and burns when I have to swallow it back down, feeling the containment ebb away at my delicate concentration. It's strange, how easily it is set off these days, pulling forward and then away as quietly as the tide, tendrils of something even darker than blood curling through my being when I send it back down into the voids of my mind where it belongs. It's hard, sometimes, but then I remember. Bang bang bang, went the gun. Bang bang bang.

Never again.

"I hate to break it to you, dear," I say, not bothering to use her name. The use of the name describes an attachment, which I do not feel. I could throw the knife now and walk away still feeling the achining numbness that occupies my hollow chest. "But District Thirteen is a pile of rubble and ruins." I give an insincere smile of regret. Maybe toying with people is what I've really been missing. Love has lost its hold on me, and I am too far gone for it to ever have me again. But when I feel bigger, better, more powerful, with my blood running like icy cyanide and my eyes crackling with a hardness no one will ever, ever understand, I'm suddenly alive again. I suppose that when all is said and done, I am just this lost, broken thing searching for anything to make me feel.

I may not be the brightest when it comes to textbooks and equations, but I'm smart in all other ways. And only the thickest of people would not realize that Elvira is not expecting to find her brother in a pile of ruins. No, when she finds the lost district, she expects there will be much... more. I've heard the rumors, of course, but never even thought twice about believing them. Honestly, I've been disappointed too many times to believe in the silly fairytale of a secret civilization, a buzzing district plotting against those who had believed them dead. Someday, the world will understand - we cannot keep clinging to hope. It is too fickle a thing. "You seem like a... smart girl. You should know that District Thirteen is a lie. A myth. Certainly not something worth risking your neck to try and find."

At last, I drop my arm, taking a step forward quietly and watching her closely. A loud wind suddenly whistles, blowing through the trees, and I hear the ashes clinging to what's left of the trees. A sudden shower of feather light curls fall between us like snow, quiet and gentle, but bringing the quiet sense of something deadened decending along with them. I reach my free hand out and let one drop into my palm, a pale spiral of the crumbling remains of life, before crushing it quietly and taking satisfaction in the dust that slips into the creases of my palm as a result. I gravitate toward dead and broken things, the magnetic pull sick but oh so powerful as it wraps around me.

"What horrible things could your brother have done, anyway?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. While my expression does not change (not even my eyes. My eyes are dead), an entire rush of emotions surges through me, tangled and messy and utterly disgusting as I feel the present slip away. Bang bang bang. Too much scarlet. Too many unseeing eyes. Such a broken hearted, terrified stare. I taught the only person who I ever really loved how to fear me. I remember back when my parents would tuck me and my brother into bed, and wish us goodnight, and I always said the same thing. "I love you Mama. I love you Papa."

Lives of horror always build themselves off of innocence.

In the end everyone ends up alone
Losing the only one who's ever known
Who I am
Who I'm not, who I wanna be

((OOC: Will code later, I promise<3))

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