no touching the {artifacts}, please // kire
Jul 6, 2013 23:08:04 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 6, 2013 23:08:04 GMT -5
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We all spend hours and hours of our lives preparing: preparing for tests, tornadoes, the games. Those are easy things to prepare for. But have we ever prepared for the day the stars will stop shining?[/i] At least I have. When the velcro gives way and the tape stops sticking, won't the stars fall? Everyone will stumble to find the wishes they’d had stolen from them; but me, no -- I won’t lose any wishes to the stars. I owe nothing to the balls of heats the solar system decided to cut out and line across the sky, so that we can trick ourselves into thinking there is some sort of perfect reality full of "dreams that come true."[/i]
I sacrificed the stars for a better life where I don’t have to worry what people think, where I don’t want to worry what people think. At first, it was a mistake, a threat, a regret.[/i] I was fourteen years old and I was curious – curious enough to wander to the other side of the district, full of street rats, just to find the house where I was born. There was a small piece of me that wanted to know if my mother was still alive, still as drunk as always, waiting for the nothings that she had bound her life to. [/i]When I reached the small shack that was hers, I saw a light from inside and waited for a near seven minutes deciding whether or not to enter. In the end, I let my feet guide me towards the one person I owed not a second of my life to. [/i]The curiosity in my head was heavier than all else.
I opened the door intrusively and then shut it silently behind me. And there she was on the couch in front of the TV, a bottle in her hands and her back towards me. She was completely unaware of the recent invasion and I wasn’t at all surprised.[/i] I inched a bit closer but I didn’t reveal myself because this wasn’t my world at all. I was only here to take the museum tour of my history. “No touching the artifacts, please.”[/i] Feeling even emptier after having walked in, I exited the house and started walking home through the night’s drizzle of snow. My eyes watered, not for the things I missed, but for the things that will never change,[/i] but I didn’t let any tears fall to my cheeks, This was all such a ridiculous idea, really; what did I expect to accomplish by checking up on my old life? For a second, I wondered where Aaron might have gone and I just hoped with all my heart that he was dead. Dead, dead, dead. [/i]If he wasn’t dead, I promised myself I would kill him. I would. I’d kill him someday. But I wasted too many tears on the things that will never change, because in the end, it’s funny how it all does.[/i]
I felt as if somebody was following me from the moment I walked out of that house, but I didn’t want to look behind me, not at all the disgust that had clouded my childhood. [/i]I moved my feet a little faster, trying to ignore the false signals my head was giving me. “Emery,” I heard someone say distantly and stopped to look around. Nothing. It was just my head. I hugged myself tighter, matching my pace to the beat of my rapid heart. “Emery,” I heard again, a whisper this time. The voice sounded like Aaron and that’s when I knew it was all in my head. Go away, I told my thoughts.
But it wasn’t in my head because the next words I heard were, “Grab her,” and suddenly there were hands all over me. I kicked and thrashed and once my hands were free, threw some punches – did they think I was that weak?[/i] I got one guy right in the stomach and he fell to the streets. I got another in the mouth, quickly reaching for the knife in my bag; but one of them sent a punch right to my head before I had that chance, which allowed them to regain their hold. There were at least seven of them altogether. “Chill out, Emery. We’re not trying to hurt you,” said the boy who sent the punch that ended my dominance. Blood was flowing from my nose and down to my jaw. I looked up at the boy’s face and almost leaped out of my wits when I realized it was Aaron. “Let’s talk inside,” he said, so calm and composed.
They all shared a small house, only big enough to barely house them all. There was no doubt they were a gang, from the way they dressed to the way they walked those streets liked they owned them. [/i]There were a lot of gangs on this side of the district. “I’ve been following you,” Aaron said. “I know you’re a Moreno, I know about your boyfriend, so you’d be smart to quit fighting this. You help us and we won’t touch you or your boyfriend or your rich kid friends. And you stay away from them. You don’t help us, you’re all dead.” Years of being threatened by my brother, years of giving in, and nothing was going to change.[/i]
And nothing did, because in those next few months, I did everything my brother asked.[/i] He carried a long list in his pocket of people he was to seek revenge on, people he hated. It was my job to find those people, catch them when they were alone, and beat them up until they couldn’t fight back[/i]. Aaron didn’t care if I was strong enough to do what he asked; he knew I’d find a way.[/i] I stole things for him, I may have even killed. But I wasn’t doing it for him; was I even doing it for myself?[/i] My brother was using me but I was intelligent enough not to fight back. Instead, I played their scapegoat; I had to cover my tracks carefully or else take crap from the peacekeepers. It didn’t feel right at first, but then I’d come home to the gang of boys who looked upon me as a hero and I would feel at home. [/i]
For the first few weeks, I kept searching of ways to get out of this imprisoning deal but gradually, the threat aspect of it wore away and it became my purpose.[/i] It became my life. It became my home. After weeks of trying to get used to the gaps between my fingers, hands outstretched for the love that I thought I’d once held my hands finally learned the comfort loneliness had to offer.[/i] I started stealing things without being asked; the boys trusted me when I walked out of the house. I was one of them. I learned how to hurt people and not feel anything. I learned to shut out the romantic parts of my story and forget about Rolex,[/i] never daring to enter his side of the district. I didn’t have to come home and worry about being killed like in the Moreno household; we were all brothers. [/i]Still, there were many sleepless nights when I let silent tears fall down my face in memory of Rolex as I curled up on the couch, but I beat myself up for it in the end. I know I’ll be beating myself up for this too. [/i]
The sun is barely reaching over the horizon and I’m almost halfway there: halfway back to the place where I started.[/i] I bring the cigarette between my fingers to my lips and inhale; it’s a new addiction I’ve caught onto. I know I shouldn’t be going back but I’m curious, although if I remember correctly, curiosity isn’t such a great trait to have.[/i] Or maybe it is. It got me to where I am now. Last time I decided to let my curiosity get the best of me, there were a lot of endings and an enormous new beginning. However, I’ve promised myself that there will be no new beginnings, not this time, not when there are lives on the line:[/i] both mine and Rolex's.
I want to see him. I want to see him. I want to see him.
But he can’t see me.[/i]
The last time I saw Rolex was the five-minute meeting at his house that started with making out and ended with angry me running out because he was getting involved with my family. I chuckle quietly at my past self. I never was a good girlfriend, was I? [/i]I broke his heart. I broke his heart and walked away and here I am now, looking for some way to look back at it all. There was also the time when I punched a hole through the wall and he washed my hands off;[/i] and the time when I couldn’t wield a sword and he tried to help me; and when he lent me his clothes because I’d fallen into the mud -- (I’m pretty sure those are still sitting in my dresser at the Moreno’s, which may or may not have been moved once they realized I was gone, although there’s a good chance they never even noticed). Either way, I owe him so much more than he will ever owe me.[/i]
Finally, I reach the front of the training gym, still the same old building. I smash my cigarette against a brick and toss it into the trash before getting any closer. I don’t know what I’m expecting from walking in, but I do it anyways.[/i] I remember that I don’t actually have a membership pass here, but luckily there’s no one near the door to scold me for it. The air smells different than it did the last time I was here, and it puts an unsettling feeling in my stomach. The air smells like melancholy.
Melancholy.[/i]
Whatever that smells like.
I feel like I’ve just entered my elementary school, little desks and little chairs and chalk boards along the walls. This is where I learned to “read.”[/i] This is where I made my first friends, where I had my first crush. I had thought it to be love, but looking back, it must’ve only been a childish infatuation. We all grow out of elementary school; I know I have.[/i] You can tell by how out of place I look , with my dirt-caked hands and my worn clothes. I’m no rich kid anymore. But I like who I am now.[/i]
I walk past the swords and the spears, past the entrance to the locker rooms, the archery sets. I make my way to the back of the gym, soaking in all the melancholy, nostalgia finding its way into the little piece of my heart that isn’t quite hardened.[/i] There are not many people in the gym. Even though the gym is almost always open, most people don’t get up to train quite this early, especially on a Saturday. However, the door opens and I panic and let a wave of relief pass over me all in the same second.
That face.
I love that face.
I miss that face.[/i]
I quickly take cover at the fencing station, slipping the uniform over my clothes and covering my face with the mask. I stuff my hair down my shirt so that it isn’t hanging loose where Rolex can see. Hopefully this will do me enough good. “Oh, good,” says the nearest trainer. “It’s nice to see that someone’s decided to pick of the fencing equipment. It’s good practice before you get started with some heavy sword fighting. If you use swords too often, you’ll end up…” He continues with his speech but I tune it out. I wish he could see my face so he could know just how much I don’t care. “Young man over here needs a fencing partner,” the trainer says, his voice reverberating across the gym. I don’t care to correct him on the fact that I am in fact female. Instead, I just pray that Rolex won’t volunteer. I just pray that he won’t find me. Most of all, I just pray that I’ll walk away the same person I came.[/i]
There’s a drum inside my chest and I can’t make it stop beating. Accompanying it is this wonderful music in my head, because all I want to do is kiss those lips and let those hands fill in the gaps between my fingers which have long stuck together. [/i]Then I remind myself that that portion of my life is over, that piece of me is gone, and that this place I’m standing in is history.[/i]
And I’m just taking the museum tour.
“No touching the artifacts, please.”[/i]
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind all this music
And it breaks my heart
[/i]All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind all this music
And it breaks my heart
ooc; hey so I tried to make this as short as possible because I didn't want this to turn into a 4k post about everything Emery's been doing, so there's a little too much telling and not enough showing, sorry, but w/e. I'm a little rusty with Emery but she's comin' back a changed girl.[/color][/size][/blockquote][/justify][/td][/tr][/table][/center]