D4 ♒ { Icarus Falls } ♒ DONE

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seventeen | male | district four | The Fire and the Thud[/size][/font]

My hopes of being stolen
Might just ring true
Depends who you prefer
But if it's true you're gonna run away
Tell me where, I'll meet you there [/font][/size][/center]

r e v e a l s ♒ y o u r ♒ f a c e
appearance

Each tip of his slender fingers was blistered white from the kiss of a flame.

And he reveled in it. The flames made him blameless. They burnt off the swirling labyrinths etched unto his hands at birth into a literal raw slate of listless possibilities. Possibilities that should make one, especially one so young, to tremor in fear at the mere notion but simply carved a menacingly oblique grin unto his face. Possibilities that ignited his amber eyes in flames of the future. Possibilities that transformed his usual sulking tread into a cockily arrogant trot, that gave him a reason to rise from his bed.

Because without a fingerprint, your crimes cannot be traced.

Your sins are no longer your own.

But how could the town not have their suspicions? When the building, abandoned or not, finds itself the centerpiece of a performance by scarlet dancers and "that Falls boy"'s arms and neck are stained grey by the constant soot? When a car erupts in a supernova of gold and gears, "that Falls boy"'s wild mop of hair does seem rather singed at its ends, doesn't it? When we all awoke that morning, two summers ago, and found the blackened corpses of a hundred rodents strewn across Town Square? Remember what "that Falls boy" did? He laughed! He laughed!

But he's so charming! Smiling all the time, always willing to help out the town. Such a strapping boy too! Don't know where he found the time to get so muscled.... no, it couldn't possibly be "that Falls boy". He couldn't harm a fly.

i n ♒ m y ♒ e y e l i d s
personality

It got to me. When I last saw my mother, as she lay on the slate grey tray looking pure as a sleeping infant, slid into the cremator to be annihilated by flames. To have her very existence and proof of her suffering nothing more than an unclear divide between fiction and a memory. And the wisps of fire licked and kissed and nibbled at her skin, hissing sweet nothings to a woman whose own shrieks were the last thing she’d ever hear, until her tender flesh melted from her bones like water off a glacier. And they enveloped her in their lethal caress until she was reduced to the grey wilted petals of a rose who trusted the world to let her grow. Who blistered her own beautiful hands for a better tomorrow that would never come.

They never even found my father. Someone upstairs decided his life story was a failed manuscript unworthy of a definite end and discarded all he was beneath the starving waves.

But, ultimately, it was their own faults. Their unpoetic ends. In an unforgiving world of breathless waters and burning flames, they made the wrong friends.

Because where water lies in its babbling, broken tongue of promise and rebirth, flame cackles at its own power. Fire flirts with life and death and never apologizes, never regrets. I aspire to be fire. Fire who feels no remorse, fire who bows to no man or power. As I watched through the smoking glass window of the incinerator, watched the fires undo all the iniquity the sea committed against my mother, I, too, was consumed.

Consumed with a lust for invincibility. I wanted to be untouchable and uncontrollable. I wanted to be unbreakable and uncontainable. And more than anything I wanted to be nothing like her! And him! My mother and father! The two who held so much love and wonderlust for this big expansive world that they trusted every friendly face! The two who held so much love and compassion for one another they couldn't see the sky darken above and the tides rise around them! The two who held so much love in their eyes for everyone and everything they forgot about me! The two who left me alone! The two who didn't know I'd want nothing more than to spend my last two minutes on earth beside them!

I aspire to be fire. Detached and free of loyalties, because it's impeccably hard to drown without an anchor.

t e l l ♒ t h e ♒ t r u t h
history

And they looked at one another wearily, as one does as the waters stir and remind you of its notoriety; remind you that it does not embrace like the soft earth, but swallows. But erases your very skin and bones and soul from the eyes of the sun in one monstrous inhale without the slightest hint of remorse. They looked at one another like two lovers before Hell’s gates, bones fatigued from barren fighting in a war their fairytale true love just wasn’t enough to conquer. And they donned their armor respectively, feigning smiles to protect not their own hearts, but his.

But it was a struggle to not flinch painfully at the sight of the fair skin; unblemished by the sins and brutality of a world with more wrongs than rights. He was an image of his mother, their daughter, with cheeks that dimpled whenever he could find a flower in the rubble of their foul reality. With a smile that pulled up higher on one side than the other, giving the impression that he constantly knew a naughty secret, but disappeared altogether once they uttered those profane words. And they cursed God inside their hearts with every wicked obscenity as they watched his honeyed brown eyes, eyes that once only fed on sweetness, flood with tears and run bitter streams down his cheeks.

They looked down at him as he fell to the floor, the weight of his heart so burdensome he collapsed onto the ground in scratchy sobs. And he screeched painful, inaudible shrieks into the sky. They held unto one another like they did so many times before as they watched the world crumble into heaps of despondent wreckage at their feet.

Six years is too soon to take away a child’s innocence; too soon to dismantle the harmless world they knew and crucify their youth with ugly truths. Six years is too soon to lose the budding roses that bloom beneath the skin and tint it to match the infant morning. Six years is too soon for any form of finality, too soon to construct a definite goodbye with words that describe the undefinable. Because when you’re six years old, and you ask your grandparents “Where’s my mom and dad?”

”They’re gone, Icarus. Their boat was swallowed by a wave at sea,” are the most unwelcomed words.

The day after you stole my heart,
Everything I touched told me it would be better shared with you

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{ table by ya gurl chelsey }