fall back {down} to where you're {from} // [Chaos]

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wimdy
Capitol Resident

1,014 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Feb 14, 2021 19:20:55 GMT -5

(While On a Horse) I Met a Hot Girl Who Reminded Me of a Plant

fall back {down} to where you're {from} // [Chaos] Jan 5, 2013 23:10:33 GMT -5

Post by wimdy on Jan 5, 2013 23:10:33 GMT -5

There is a numbness settled deep in the marrow of my bones, wrapped around the sinewy stretch of my muscles, swirled in the pit of my stomach. It has encased me in a fog of unresponsiveness, my every sense dulled to perceive only a small amount of the world around me. My vision is fuzzy and dark, the colors of the night swirling together to create a pit of bleak barriers. My hearing is distant, the sounds an inseparable twist of noise swirling in my head. My everything feels wrong. The world turns and I am spun backwards, twirling in contrast and becoming unstable twice as fast. I feel as if my world has been warped beyond recognition.

It is late and the streets are dark as the depths from whence I came. Shadows cling to the walls, beckoning me closer with whispered promises and wispy curls of their fingers. Glowing eyes are settled withing the deep winding alleys before me, searching for something, anything, to feed from. The sheer depravity here is hard to ignore, just like the weight settled in my chest, the sloshing in my lungs that sets me on edge. The river swims in me with every move I make, water spewing from my mouth in waves of illness, spilling black with the sins of those cleansed in its depths. The world purges itself of sin continually, but perhaps I am to keep the cycle flowing, littering the streets with the very sickness it so fought to destroy. The world cannot function properly without the corruption it despises, without the stain of society blossoming thick and dark upon the fabric of life like a pattern. We are all destined for darkness and I am no different, merging with the shadows around me.

Water sprays across my feet and legs with every step, my dress soaked thoroughly from my cleansing. Each move I make send a shiver up my spine, lodging in bones and making my skin crawl with sickly bumps. One of my shoes is gone, lost to the water and her secrets. Dirt clings to the soggy sock that's left, turning it brown and ripping at it the longer and farther I walk. My hair has fallen from the neat bun on the back of my head to frame my face, spindling down like icicles and stabbing across my upper back with the chill of the night. It sticks to my face and neck, weaves into knots when I try to pull it away. In my hands is my chess board, dry and army-less. I left the house looking for a fight, but there are no warriors to hold the charge, no bodies to cause the war. Kiera is already gone, not dead, she can never be dead to me, no. She is no captain any longer.

My shoulders feel heavy, sagging as my body moves ever forward, following the stray bits of light that the darkness of my eyes chooses to see. The meandering paths of the city are littered with dead souls, but not a single one looks upon me. Their eyes are trained ever forward, for once. I am no longer a child of life as they envied. I have fallen down to my place, stepped down from the mighty podium I had taken up, and crawled into the wretched bleakness of Tartarus, my heart gone to the water. I can feel their pain now, feel the ache of life like a wound in my side, dug deep and unbearable. My eyes stay fixed upon the broken ground below me, ready to swallow me whole with its hellfire and brimstone. There is a fiery pit waiting for me somewhere, waiting for all of us, and it taunts me with it's crowing barks of damnation. I can feel my gut boil from the heat of it, my eyes watering in desperation, and I struggle to stay upright. My body falls heavy upon the wall beside me as I stumble, my sock tearing completely and hanging uselessly around my foot. I rip my eyes from the ground at the sound that resonates from the black alley I lean on the mouth of, a faint light at the end just illuminating a small figure.

My steps are unsteady and unstable as I toe my way down the alley, staring forward at the figure that kneels half in my view, half behind a dumpster. A little girl, life shining dimly in the starless night. I see as the lowlifes do now, see the sliver of life she clings to. An iron smell is rotting the air, getting stronger the farther forward I creep. My breathing is shallow, but my heart hammers faster and faster until it stops. Blair. Oh Blair, what have I done to you? There is a man bathed in crimson just under her, his life seeping out of him in rhythmic waves of cardiac effort. Oh, if only he knew it was just killing him faster, the more he tried to stay alive. It's only seconds before he's gone altogether and then it is just her. Just her.

She looks so fragile, so defeated, even though her form is distorted and her words are unclear. Her knife strikes blow by blow, settling deep within him before ripping out. It's as if she's searching, trying to take back something lost that she cannot live without. I feel as if I'm suffocating again, the water too deep and the blood too thick to run cleanly. She is so broken, baby Blair, and what have I done? She is broken because of me, because of us, because of everything. What kind of sister am I to not see her pain, so clear now in the mixture of agony and death upon her hands? How could I let it get this far? I was supposed to protect them, all of them, but Kiera is lost to the water and Cora to her obsession and Aurora to her rage and Siberia to the quake and now Blair to her pain. How can I fix her now when she is stained, just as I am?

"Blair?" I croak, stepping out from the shadows and into the flickering light. She is so close, but she feels farther than I've ever felt her. Blair has always been distant, but now she feels gone. I just want her back. I just want everything back. One of my hands is clasped to my chest, sandwiching my chessboard against me. The other reaches out to her, offering a life raft in the water. Please, swim closer. Don't be lost to the water too.

Last Edit: Jan 5, 2013 23:12:33 GMT -5 by wimdy

sadniss everdeen
Retired Staff

1,207 POSTS
Pronouns: they/them
last seen Mar 14, 2023 11:31:04 GMT -5

nyte: date fossils? is that some kind of fetish?

fall back {down} to where you're {from} // [Chaos] Jan 27, 2013 22:44:41 GMT -5

Post by sadniss everdeen on Jan 27, 2013 22:44:41 GMT -5

[img src="http://i49.tinypic.com/2uf64ao.png

.{and oh I wish to God the Earth would turn cold}.

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98 hours awake

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You slip out into the night with nary a sound nor sight in mind, nothing but the goal of silencing your roaring thoughts. Your life has been dictated by the distinct lack of noise as you spent so many hours wrapped up in the prison of your own mind, watching the sun bloom and die without moving. This hurricane disorients you, casts shadows where there should be light, distorts the laughter of others until it is nothing but a mocking scream in your nubile ears. (But there is nothing, the streets are silent, and the whispers are of your own betrayal.) Your feet stumble on themselves until you lean against a lamppost, salty tears dripping down the slender arch of your nose and off your trembling lips. Everybody always said you got your features from her, so apart from the other sisters they never understood how you were part of the family. Despite all the dark secrets that linger under the rotting surface, you wonder this too.

The knife handle is scalding in your little palm and you've cut yourself some how, blood dripping out of the gash in your thigh. Shallow, it stings. Pain has the ability to bring you back to yourself, but no... not now. It's too big for something like this. There's only one... only one thing... Your eyes cast about the deserted autumn streets, drawn like a slinking predator to the lights and the noise of the deeper District. It's here that you can release yourself amongst them, you in your little nice shoes and threadbare dress and blank expression twisted into cruelty. They never believe the heart you possess until you show it to them by pulling their own from their mouths (you wish you could hear them scream like you have screamed, but such noise will only worsen your storm that rages still in the depths of you). They never understand because they don't know, they don't understand. Nobody did.

Only she did, but now she's gone and you're left to wander the wasteland of a world left behind.

The murmurs are quiet and you can hardly hear it over the pounding that has taken over the essence of you, but your head tilts regardless to spot the two lovers in the alleyway. They smile - sickly-sweet - at each other and the lamp forces the light to flow over them until mere shadows are left in space of their faces. Even from here, you see their eyes soften with kindness. It disgusts you, pains you. Happiness has long been lost and along with it your caution - your strides towards them are purposeful even with the pain that claims your leg with every step, the tracks on your face wet and stark in the light. She sees you first.

Her face twists with concern a moment before the blade sinks itself into her thigh in a broad sweep that sprays your chest with blood, her artery sputtering its discontent as the metal glides through her soft flesh. Your face twists into something unkind as she falls, turning to the man who thinks he has a chance. He catches the blade with his hand as you swing, crying out as it separates deep to the bone. Your teeth shine, feral in the moonlight, as you wrench it away from him - one of what you assume to be a finger falls to the ground, and his horror is swift enough that you plunge it into his neck, the crunch of cartilage the sweetest sound. His noise will not trouble you again. Your little body falls next to the woman as your hands play in the pool of blood she has left behind , wetting your skirts and invading your scent. The fear in her eyes momentarily dulls the storm within you but it's not enough, it fades from her as her life seeps and slows to a trickle, escaping her in a soft shudder of a sigh. A tortured sound comes from you of a person denied, head swinging sideways to see the man choking and grasping at his broken airway.

(His eyes are already that of an animal, full of frenzy and incomprehension. He has nothing to offer you.)

You leave him to die in the backalley and stalk forward, blood hot and wet over your bare skin and through your clothes. If you could coat yourself in it you would, mat your hair and redden your mouth until you could no longer distinguish yourself, take away this human aspect that seethes and cries and mourns. Pain has never touched you in the way that it brushes others - Siberia's death was an inconvenience but not a burden for you were never close - for you can see them after their bodies are buried, but this is different. She was a... not a friend. The word does her poor justice. Your solace, your companion, your mind. She did her best to guide you through the world even as you struggled to comprehend how much you loved to see other people cry from the things that have done - did - and held you when you could hardly stand, teasing the weapons from your hands and laying you down to drift in and out of that place forever held from you. Your sleep is dreamless, while it should be haunted by the ghosts of destruction past. (You're afraid to close your eyes lest she follow you, her face pale and drawn in death.)

You don't notice when you find him. Your body reacts automatically and you hide the knife behind you when he sees you, his brows furrowing worriedly at the crimson dug deep under your fingernails and into the roots of your hair. He opens his arms to you and you go, your head landing on his shoulder but denying a reply when he asks you what happened. How does one admit their reason for living has been extinguished, the last candle blown out to be covered by darkness? Your knife finds his abdomen instead; once, twice, three times. He falls and you follow, straddling his heaving chest as you drive it into his sternum in a flurry of blows, uncaring of the way he drenches you. The blade sticks in his breastbone and you strain to pull it out, sending it clattering to the other side of the alley when you do. The echo of your voice startles you. Had you been screaming? It seems so, with the way your throat has gone harsh and ragged, the fresh tears brimming. He looks up at you the way a mortal looks up at the devil, full of incomprehension and fear.

That same blooming completion fills you, but it fades so quickly you have no time to cherish it.

"No..." you whisper quietly, both of your hands cupping his cheeks. "No no no! Why isn't it working?! Give it to me!" You demand him as if he holds it from you, your frantic fingers shaking the lapels of his jacket. "Give it back! Why won't you let me-- stop, let me forget! I want to feel good again! There's nothing left, don't take this from me! Please."

His breath bubbles from him and the light about him dies, vanishing without a trace. A broken sob is torn from you as you drop your head to his ruined sternum, fisting your tiny fingers into his shirt. Why now? Why this? You don't have anything left that makes you feel good anymore. Is this the end?

A shuffle from the entryway and you whip your head around, but the light blinds and you see nothing. The knife is across from you, and you lunge for it at the same time the figure calls out. "Blair?" You frown, eyes wild and untrusting. Why... why is she here? Did she follow you? What did she see?

"Moira..." You hiss in a low murmur, leveling the blade between the two of you. She look stricken, distraught. Less intact than you've seen her in a while... but then again, so do you. The blood makes the handle slippery as you crouch down, ignoring the way the light shines upon her to give her an angel's halo. She doesn't deserve it. None of you do, not anymore. "What do you want?"

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Last Edit: Jan 27, 2013 22:51:59 GMT -5 by sadniss everdeen

wimdy
Capitol Resident

1,014 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Feb 14, 2021 19:20:55 GMT -5

(While On a Horse) I Met a Hot Girl Who Reminded Me of a Plant

fall back {down} to where you're {from} // [Chaos] Aug 12, 2013 23:52:46 GMT -5

Post by wimdy on Aug 12, 2013 23:52:46 GMT -5

There’s a chill that settles deep in my bones as I look at Blair. It’s been so long since we had talked, really talked. That’s just it, though. ~~Had we ever really talked? No.~~ Blair kept to herself more often than not growing up. Her eyes were always darker and her skin always paler and her smiles always dimmer. For as long as I can remember, Blair has always seemed like a child who had lost an essential spark of life early on and was struggling to regain it at all costs. It used to be that she would try to find it in the facades of others. I would watch her quietly as she peered past all the walls that people built up around themselves and saw them for what they truly were. She could see into someone more easily than I could imagine. Then, she had her bond with Kiera. Kiera was a rare creature. Her smile could inspire angels to sing or the devil to burst into the world; her laugh could create faeries and demons alike. There was something strangely entrancing about her precise footwork when sparring with Kae and her witty retorts when fighting with our parents. She could make laughter bubble from Blair with the flick of her finger. It was never difficult for her to speak to our youngest sister. I don’t know why it was always a battle for me. The obligatory conversations of an older sister are easy to maintain, but the personal connections of friendship are something else entirely. Kiera inspired her camaraderie so easily and I envy it, especially now as I’m staring down the barrel of a gun at a little girl covered in blood.

This isn’t the first time that my sister has seen the blood of another covering her own hands and knife and soul. There’s an understanding in her eyes, a comfort in knowing she has just ripped the life from a man’s chest, that should not be there at her age. It shouldn’t be in my little sister’s eyes ever. I feel my world twist again as I stare at her and take in everything that she has become. When? When had this become her life? When had she resorted to cutting out the little twinkling lights of others to find the one that went missing in her long, long ago? Blair has always been strange, a girl I couldn’t understand, but not once did I think this is what she turned to in her sleepless nights. Some days, when the sun drops low and hides beneath the curtain of the horizon, the night is so dark and full of terrors that I feel my own heart thumping wildly in my chest and my eyes stay glued to the ceiling for hours. The creaking of wood and moaning of wind lulls me into an uneasy rest, but in the morning it is evident that Blair finds no such reprieve, no matter how little. I don’t understand how her fingers curl so easily around the knife in her hands, or how she isn’t trying to rub the filth from her skin. Was her first kill like mine, a panic-induced attack from a plan gone wrong? I can feel my stomach twist at the mere thought. Where had we all gone wrong?

Kiera’s body lies lifeless in a Capitol morgue by now. She was gone from the moment she stepped apart from the crowd and believed herself a goddess among ants to be praised and worshiped. I felt her slip away the minute she called forth. There was no getting my sister back from the depths of hell that the Capitol would, and did, throw her to. The confidence in her own gait and stance made it all too clear she had not been as inexperienced as we all thought. She had trained and there were no guesses as to who had been her mentor and taught her all she knew about how to pierce the skin of a child and strike the heart. She was so sure she was purifying the world. That’s not an ideology that takes root within a matter of days. That is something nurtured and grown carefully with time. Kiera hadn’t just trained, but practiced in our own district. She was no stranger to death. I wish I had been able to hold her back from that now. The first taste of blood, of power, is the one that gets you hooked. My first game was a messily botched job on a boy in a bar and his girlfriend. Neither met the end I intended. Instead of it being a game, it was murder in cold blood. It wasn’t so different from Blair’s frenzied stabbing. I could feel them seep away from beneath my fingers and there’s something undeniably alluring in having enough power to take the light you see and put it out.

”Moira… What do you want?” The words are quiet, a hiss of air between them that curls menacingly around the knife she holds between us. It points squarely at my chest. The blood beneath my skin rushes through my system, nerves on fire as they never have been before. Nothing quite prepares you for your sister to level a knife at you after killing a man in a dark alley. I can feel my hand shaking as it drops slowly to my side. My mouth feels like lead as I try to find the words to say that will make this all better, but they’re nowhere in sight. I’m not sure they even exist. How can one mend her broken little sister with just words when it’s clear she’s searching for her light that she lost? I sniffle quietly as I reach out to her again, my other arm lowering to drop my chessboard against the ground by my bare foot.

“Blair, honey, c-c’mere. We’ll get you cleaned up. We’ll get you all cleaned up and you’ll be alright. It’ll be-“ I stutter, my lips feeling too numb around the words as my tears drip silently through the grime on my face. The cold of the river is still deep in my bones and I shake harder as I try to force out the words I’m not quite sure are true, but pray for anyway. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be alright. Please, just… Please, come here.”