Gone {Henry's JB thread}
Feb 2, 2014 16:29:10 GMT -5
Post by Gone5eva on Feb 2, 2014 16:29:10 GMT -5
And there’s more to life than taking this pain and
There’s more to gain when you’re out there being insane.
Being sane, that’s another thing.
That’s another thing baby.
The initial wave of guilt rushes over me as I sit carefully in the leather chair provided to me by the District courthouse. I honestly cannot remember how I ended up here, or what I did to be placed in such a spacious room- though it has the feel of a broken jailhouse. A hand rises to my face, and I feel the wetness of saltwater pouring from my eyes. A rock had formed in the pit of my stomach during the time I was... Unconscious? During that time the world was black.
Had one of my brother's names been called? Had I thrown aside bodies like they were nothing? Trembling, I stood- if one could call it that. My form swayed from side to side as I staggered to the singular mahogany door, fingers resting upon the bronze door handle. I exhumed a sigh, and attempted to turn it- though it was fastened tightly, locked from the other side.
I recall the phrase- 'One Hour.' One hour until what? Did I have to wait a singular hour, sixty minutes until my death, my execution? Carefully, I sink into the deep leather chair, tugging on Albany's bracelet. Before I can think about anything else, I pushed the heart charm against my lips, warming the brass. I wait for what feels like an eternity. For whatever reason, this room lacks a clock. I suppose I'm thankful, after all, the constant tick, tick, tick would drive me insane if I was not already.
I think somehow, I ended up as a tribute for District Seven. The though sends my stomach into overdrive, and it growls and moans at me. Anxiety builds within me, and adrenaline shoots through my veins at the slightest sounds. This must be it then, the final viewing for the tributes to see their families. I wonder if my mother and father will pop in to say goodbye to their firstborn child?
The doorknob shifts, and I am suddenly moved to the edge of my seat. "Mother!" I cry out like a small child, and in an instant, I have flown to push myself against her chest. Her heartbeat pounds loudly in my ear, and I hear the echo of a wail building within her. My Father's strong arms envelope us, and we are gently rocked back and forth while my mother sobs. A slender hand seizes my hair, and I can feel the wetness of my mother's cheeks pouring atop my head.
I say nothing, simply letting her wail and say her goodbyes. Father is the one who pulls my mother together. He stands taller than any of my brothers or I, at nearly six foot seven. He is a giant. One of his dinner plate sized hands lowers to my chin, forcing me to meet his deep brown gaze. "Be good boy." he announced, with the slightest shake to his voice. "Take care of Peter."
My mother screams as the door opens behind them, and two white-clad Peacekeepers drag them away. Father turns to look back at me, and my heart rises into my throat as I finally take notice of the tears splashing into his black beard.
I have never seen that man cry, even at Peter's funeral.
The sight is enough to send me into a flurry of panic. My arms reach for my parents, and a shriek erupts from my throat, louder than any Banshee in the night. The door slams in my face, and as I struggle with the doorknob, my vision blurs.
My defeated form slinks to the ground, skull pushing against the mahogany as my jaws part and fat tears slide from my eyes. "I-I-I don't want to d-d-die." I stutter, my hands forming into tightly balled fists. They pound at the marble ground, at the thick door. Decades pass until I am able to control myself, and I somehow manage my way to the singular leather chair. My dripping wet, bloodshot eyes push into the palms of my gloved hands, and I begin to repair the damage.
Lanky legs rise, heavy boots pushing into the leather as I wrap my arms around my knees. This was not supposed to happen- I'm eighteen for fuck's sake. I should be exempt from the Capitol's horrific games.
My breathing finally slows, and my heart sinks from my throat. The burning pit of my stomach still aches, though... It is lessened as I think about those who are not visiting me for their own sake. At least they are smart enough to avoid identifying with me.
I just pray someone other than my parents come to visit, though I know the chances of this are slim.
