[moira standalone] // rising from the depths afire

My entire life has been a series of carefully placed footsteps, movements I've taken time to plan. It's been a collection of moments that I'd worked so hard to perfect, so hard to do right the first time in order to avoid having to learn from my own careless mistakes. One must first learn from the foolish actions of those through history first. Only then, when you've taken all possible knowledge from history, is it acceptable to fail and rise from the ashes.

The rising comes harder than hoped for. Many have learned this time and time again after they've dug themselves into holes so deep that they cannot find a way out. For them, the rut they've dug themselves into is so dark that there is no light to behold, no possible hope for ascent after having descended so far. In that moment of despair, there is only loss. There is only the abyss that spreads forward and leaves you weightless in frailty. Weakness abounds within the confines of one's own heart, one's own recollection of failure, the deepest chamber that cannot be seen, but lives eternal within us all. There are very few who can rise from the depths of hell and return to pick up their lives from the hopeless nightmare that they create for themselves. The ashes of failure are a dark and murky place, filled with the sifted through dust of past endeavors gone wrong. However, the fire that comes with rebirth is worth the coating of death.

Here and now, I see no fire. I see no brilliant blaze of light to signify the coming glory of a goddess returning from the brink of being lost forever. I see no strength, no power, no life. I see nothing other than the weary bones of my sister. I see a sacrificial lamb reaching the altar of her death, her final resting grounds. She is pale and she is weak. I can see it in the way she stumbles and falls and cries and accuses and swings and breathes. I had seen the loss of her life long before she believed her glory days were over, long before she threw herself at a false god, long before she was torn apart piece by piece. She chose to throw herself down upon the table of her defeat, giving her life away for a girl who didn't deserve it. Her life was bartered for another, one soul for a more valuable one. Her fleece may be golden, but she is not resilient. No, not at all. She is slaughtered.

My baby sister looks so fragile upon the grey landscape, skin gone pale as her life pours out of her in red streams. She is dying and there is nothing in this world that I can do to save her. She is lying across the ground, in the arms of a false god of a boy, while a wolf braids her dark hair, and the other Adonis watches from a short distance away. They are just as powerless as we are, just as vulnerable and fragile and innocent, as blasphemous as it sounds. They are guilty murderers of children, my sister being one of them, but their hands had been forced. Their cards were dealt and their moves predetermined. Everything just had to play out according to the schedule of the higher being. Someone would always be calling the shots, someone that wasn't one of the contestants in search of fame, glory, wealth, and home.

Oh, she is supposed to be home... She's supposed to be sitting on the floor pressed against the wall by my side, whispering snide things about falling tributes and how weak they are. She's supposed to be holding Blair to her while pointing at a particular new mutt and explaining its every detail. She's supposed to be telling father he is far too pompous right now and that he could stand to get rid of some of his old phrases. She's supposed to be telling Cora to stop moping over an old lock of hair. She's supposed to be tell Aurora to calm down when a tribute says something nasty and she takes offense to it herself. She's supposed to be helping mom bring out some of the food to eat while we're huddled around the small TV screen. She's supposed to be alive. The river is dark, even darker still as they let her sink into its depths. The black of her sins fuses with the ink of the Styx until she is indiscernible, a fallen pawn in the blackest of night, the eternal darkness that would consume them all. No Victor would rise from these shadows of hell. Only a corpse.

The game continues on, as it always shall. Kiera was but one piece of their Games. We all are. We're all just pawns on this board, squares stained red with the loss of the lamb. The pawns around me are mourning, but I am still. No tears fall from my eyes; no words drip from my tongue; no sorrow clings to my heart. It seems I am to be the one to carry on her calm demeanor of callous heartlessness. She had been so good at it, oh so good. Not a trace of her true emotions would fall upon her face. So I would stand. The slight crease in my forehead is washed away as I left my eyebrows go slack. My lips remain sealed in a fine line across my face, teeth having stopped worrying at the sensitive skin long ago. My eyelids flutter in a moment of hesitation before blinking fully and seeing the world in new light.

It is dark here. The light from the TV is too dim to guide me from this, the darkest of all caves. This is no game to be played, no battle to be won. It is martyrdom in its sickest form, the forced sacrifice of thousands of innocents on the stage of Panem. The black king plays chess well, checking the white at every move before forcing yet another pawn into submission. He cuts us down piece by piece until there is no hope left but to fold. Match after match, we will lose this fight. My eyes flit to Kae for a slight moment, just enough to remember his words from so long ago. There are no unwinnable circumstances, he once said. What a lie. Our lives are unwinnable circumstances, small games on the grand scale of life that we will someday lose. Some just happen to lose earlier than others. Some just happen to play the wrong games.

"Blair? Blair dear, where are you? Did she step outside? Blair?" My eyes drift up to my father for a moment before sweeping across the room at the distraught faces of my family and Colt. Blair isn't there. Her ruddy face is missing from the collage of despair, her wild-eyed anxiety long since left. She'd always been good at slipping from our grasp with every step."Letty! Letty, Blair has run off! See to the girls. I've got to find her!" Father is out the door before anyone can get a word in edgewise. I don't stick around to see my family fall to pieces any farther.

I slip out through the kitchen as my mother stands teary-eyed in the living room, having gone in under the pretense of getting tissues. I'm pretty sure we don't even have tissues, nor would I need to bring my chess set with me even if I was getting them. It's all the same. I'm gone, just as Blair is gone, off to the waters in search of retribution. Every trickle of pain burns through my skin, the red scratches of angry itching showing under the pale light of the moon. I feel as if my skin is crawling from my body, begging to get away from the bag of rolling waves of nausea and panic that is my being. Every step I take carries me farther and farther from my family. I don't know if my heart will ever be back there, the place of haunted melodies strung together from the anguished cries of gods and goddesses alike.

The water is right where she left it, a cool river of black night and captured sighs and mysterious death. A spike shoots through my back as I step in, feeling the chill curl over my toes and swirl up my calves and thighs until I can feel it encasing my heart in its stony grip. It stabs through every fiber of my being until all I am is numb, my limbs moving to settle me within the inviting dark. I dip under the water and then everything is alright. My breathing cannot be labored for I cannot breathe. My tears cannot fall for there is weightlessness. My screams cannot be heard for there is silence. There is peace here in this world beyond cruelty and doubt. With resolution, I breathe out. The bubbles swirl around my face, catching against my eyelids before slowly spiraling up to the surface above me. I can feel everything. My heart speeds up slightly, working harder to compensate for my lack of oxygen, but I remain under, clinging to the hope that there is something more to be found, something more waiting just beyond what is here. My lungs prickle in agitation as I plant myself against the wall of the water and push myself down farther. Ears pop with the increase of pressure, but I block everything out as my head begins to swim in exhaustion. I feel light, my eyes fluttering shut as my body begins to fight my will to stay submerged, to stay out of the game. Oh, how I want these games to be over. My lungs shove at my chest in defiance and I feel the water pour into me, coiling through my system and collecting within the cavity of my chest. I jolt in shock, absolute cold pouring from my lungs to the rest of my system as the panic builds in my stomach and bursts, limbs thrashing wildly in a desperate attempt to cling to the game, but I curl into myself resolutely, letting my tears mix with everything around me.

"You know, for being the oldest, you're certainly not the smartest. I thought you were into those logic games, but you're obviously stupid." My eyes flash open, trying to lock onto the blurry figure within the murky water. I can't hold it in my panic, trying to suck in a breath but inhaling water again instead. "You know, breathing in water kills you. It's called drowning. It's actually quite beautiful, losing all qualms to the water and cleansing you of your sins." I catch the remnants of a watery smirk, all knowing eyes. Hair swirls around the formless face and against formless shoulders. I cannot make the image clear no matter how hard I try. "If you don't watch out for them, who will? You think dad can handle them all? Or mom? If you do, stop lying to yourself. You know they can't control Cora's obsessive behavior or Aurora's anger or Blair's contempt." The fuzziness is getting thicker despite my attempts to focus, my limbs losing weight. My body is sinking of its own accord now, drawing me deeper into the darkness and away from the pale light. The farther I go, the less I can see of it, my eyes slipping shut with every inch.

"Stop fucking playing, Moira."

My eyes snap open at the command, locking onto where the form had just been but drifts no longer. She was there. I know she was. I feel heavy as I struggle to the surface, trying to climb my way back up through the darkness. I feel the steps against my hands before I emerge from the pit. My body convulses in shock as I let the sins pour from my lungs, spewing my faults across the steps and laying bonelessly across the rock. The water continues to lap across my feet and lower legs for the time I let myself recover. My body is on fire, every inch alight as I suck in greedy breaths of the air I had so rejected just moments before. I force my way up the steps and onto the land again, rising shakily to my feet.

As my wobbly legs lead me away, I can't help but turn back again to look out upon the water for one last time. I don't think I'll ever come back here, to the water and what it holds. She lives, somewhere out there. She isn't dead; at least, not yet.