Ewe & Eye Are Brothers//JBblitz;
Oct 14, 2013 16:14:15 GMT -5
Post by gamemaker kelsier on Oct 14, 2013 16:14:15 GMT -5
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"You're not supposed to look back,
you're supposed to keep going." ;[/b][/size][/color][/font][/center]
I've never stood on the side like this before. This area has always been reserved for the parents, and suddenly I can say that I know how hopelessness can entangle you like the net we use to fish. Where before I could protect my brother by having my name in the pot more than his, or always being there to volunteer in case his name is called, I am useless. This time, I can only watch and hope. I stand between my mother and father and I can see the tension in their shoulders. I wonder if it is like this every time for them, or if it's only this year because I am not there to protect Ewe.
I told myself he'll be fine, there are plenty of careers here, even at fourteen they are ready to volunteer. He'll be okay, I have to believe that. Last night I took him aside and told him that if he gets reaped, he's to let someone else take the spot, forget his chivalry and conscience, let someone else die. I could see it in his eyes though, the little speech was hopeless. Who am I to tell him what to do when I'll get myself into terrible situation after terrible situation. I know that he'll take the spot when his name is called, he's my little brother. A hint of pride stirs behind my chest at the knowledge, even as I try to quell it. I'm not supposed to be proud of his stupidity.
I could feel the storm brewing in the back of the escort's throat even before his hand pulled up the slip of paper with my brother's name on it. I couldn't be here this year so of course our luck would call out Ewe's name. When it does, my mother lets out the tiniest of sobs and my father tenses beside me, as if to run to the stage and take Ewe away. We should have taken our house and sailed off into the waters, never to return. We should have live doff fish and seaweed, we shouldn't be here. A general sense of wrongness overtakes me and my shoulders loosen. I open my mouth as if to shout, but nothing emerges, "I volunteer," I say weakly, but it will have no effect. I cannot save him, not this time.
When they push me inside the wood paneled room and tell me two minutes, my arms instantly wrap around my little brother's tiny frame. He is no warrior, I cannot teach him in the two minutes I have left with him, I cannot say goodbye either. There is not enough time for this, for emotion. I wish I could be his token and be a fighting robot for him, to protect him from all of this. I cannot. I pull him close to me, rest my chin on his head. "I told you not to accept, didn't I?" my question is weak, rhetorical. We both knew he would. "What am I going to do with you, Ewe?"
[/blockquote][/justify][/size][/td][/tr][/table][/center]I told myself he'll be fine, there are plenty of careers here, even at fourteen they are ready to volunteer. He'll be okay, I have to believe that. Last night I took him aside and told him that if he gets reaped, he's to let someone else take the spot, forget his chivalry and conscience, let someone else die. I could see it in his eyes though, the little speech was hopeless. Who am I to tell him what to do when I'll get myself into terrible situation after terrible situation. I know that he'll take the spot when his name is called, he's my little brother. A hint of pride stirs behind my chest at the knowledge, even as I try to quell it. I'm not supposed to be proud of his stupidity.
I could feel the storm brewing in the back of the escort's throat even before his hand pulled up the slip of paper with my brother's name on it. I couldn't be here this year so of course our luck would call out Ewe's name. When it does, my mother lets out the tiniest of sobs and my father tenses beside me, as if to run to the stage and take Ewe away. We should have taken our house and sailed off into the waters, never to return. We should have live doff fish and seaweed, we shouldn't be here. A general sense of wrongness overtakes me and my shoulders loosen. I open my mouth as if to shout, but nothing emerges, "I volunteer," I say weakly, but it will have no effect. I cannot save him, not this time.
When they push me inside the wood paneled room and tell me two minutes, my arms instantly wrap around my little brother's tiny frame. He is no warrior, I cannot teach him in the two minutes I have left with him, I cannot say goodbye either. There is not enough time for this, for emotion. I wish I could be his token and be a fighting robot for him, to protect him from all of this. I cannot. I pull him close to me, rest my chin on his head. "I told you not to accept, didn't I?" my question is weak, rhetorical. We both knew he would. "What am I going to do with you, Ewe?"
