Post by Deleted on Feb 2, 2014 22:18:40 GMT -5
Thistle Cardo
Seventeen
District Ten
Text
Speaking
Thoughts
"Do you know how little of a chance you have for that to happen? Anna, none of us will be reaped."
Oh, what a liar I was.
The stained and dirtied walls of the Justice Building taunt me as i'm forced through them, herded by the peacekeepers like cattle is herded together to be slaughtered. Maybe thats all I was, a piece of meat, still living and breathing but just waiting for my life to be cut short.
But some cattle had escaped from the butcher's axe. They had kept their lives and escaped, into the open, into the freedom. Zoe, Mace, every single victor from ten had escaped. They had kept their lives. But was I going to be able to keep mine? The reaping had ushered confidence into me, mixing with adrenaline to create one giant cocky tribute.
But what were my real chances in these games? Had I trained all my life for these games like the career districts? No. Did I have a lovable and likable personality that would get me sponsors? Far from it. Everyone was stacked against me, as it was for a lot of the tributes from ten.
I wonder how they felt standing here, in the room full of worn out riches, desperately yearning to impress the Capitolites that visited ten. And by the looks of it, that wasn't often. For good reason as well.
The door swings open and my oldest sister rushes in, weakly attempting to stay brave until the door closes and the tears rush down her face. "Anna won't stop crying Thistle. She keeps saying you lied to her." I don't say anything, I can't say anything. I had lied to her. Instead I wrap my arms around my sister and hug her, rocking back and forth until the peacekeeper's dragged her away from me. The second oldest's last goodbye goes the same way, and I had expected my youngest sister's to be like theirs, no words, just a silent goodbye.
I was wrong.
She storms in with a seething anger and balled fists, contrasted only by the fact that her face showed all the sadness and grief she'd been letting out since my name had been called. Her finger points at me, and although I don't see it a tear slides off her cheek, hitting the ground before she speaks. "You told me none of us were gonna be reaped Thistle. You lied. You... you"
I don't know what to say. Her personality had just completely changed and honestly, I was shocked. I'd always looked at her as still fragile, still young and reckless and blind and oblivious. Not angry, not mature and not accusing her brother of lying to her. She was only eight, for christ's sake. I step forward and grab her wrist, softly pulling it down before I go to embrace her.
Instead, she fights back.
She pushes me away and for the second time i'm shocked. Doesn't she realize this is the last time? The last words that we'll get to say to each other? That is, unless I come back. But that confidence was fading fast. "No! You lied Thistle! You lied... You lied to me." A frown dances across my faces as I realize that she's not actually angry with me. She's not accusing me of anything. In fact, I don't really know what she is. Shock? Maybe. Grief? Grief can do weird things to you. I'd seen my mother after my father's death. My sister's head droops down and she sobs, her arms by her side. She's so young, full of beauty and youth, immaturity and obliviousness. I could see it crashing down, reality barreling towards her like it had to me when my father had died. She didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve to stand here and cry because she's realizing she may not see her brother again. Hesitantly I step forward again and pull her into a hug, planting a kiss on the top of her head. My eyes blink rapidly as I struggle to fight tears, tears for my father, tears for my sisters, tears for Aurora and her family, the tears that had been dormant and building up all my life.
I manage to fight them back yet again, saved for another time. Another time that may not come.
The door swings open and the peacekeepers come in. I tighten my embrace of my sister before the peacekeepers wrench her away, a fighting eight year old giving them a run for their money as she fights back. "No! Thistle no! Please! NO!" She manages to break free and again runs to me. How was she suddenly so strong? So full of strength and rebelliousness?
In the few fleeting moments before the peacekeepers grab her again her immaturity shows again. She asks me for a promise. "Please, Thistle. Promise me you'll come back. Thistle. Thistle! Please!"
I can't promise her anything. I can only stare and let a tear run down my cheek, my eyes following her as she's dragged out of the room, her eyes showing betrayal and grief.
My mother and father rush into the room next, my mother immediately rushing to embrace me, a weak hug that she refuses to break. I play the role of peacekeeper now, pushing her off of me gently so I can look her in the eyes. "Mom...Anna.. She..." Again the tears come, pushing out towards my tear ducts in a desperate attempt to break free. No. I wasn't going to cry right now, I couldn't let myself do that. Not in front of my mother. Not in this room. Don't let yourself cry Thistle. Keep that outer shell.
"I know, Thistle. I know." She says it with a weak and unstable voice, shaky and distant, as if she doesn't want to be here. Of course she doesn't, why would she want to be here? To say goodbye to her only son of the man that she had had to say goodbye to so many years ago. I was the last image of my father to her. And I was being sent away.
"Thistle. You can do this. You can win. You're fast, your strong. You can beat them Thistle. I know you can." Her voice suddenly seems present again, but it seems desperate, as if she's trying to convince herself that I can really do it. Her soft yet oddly rough hand rests on my cheek and she again pulls me forward, kissing me on the cheek before she pulls my hound out and opens it, placing a small golden necklace in it, it's golden and shiny color dulled by the years. On it is my name, not written but instead in a picture, a Thistle plant.
"Believe it or not Thistle, you're father stole this for me before we had you." A small chuckle escapes her lips, a sad one. "I should have known it would be in your blood. Please, take it. And make sure you bring it back. Please, Thistle." Again she pulls me into a hug, standing on her toes and whispering in my ear. "Show them you can steal more than just apples Thistle. Steal your life back."
With that she breaks the hug, turning and wiping tears from her eyes as my step-father steps forwards, putting a hand on my shoulder. I don't know what to say, i'm assuming he doesn't either. We never grew close. We never grew close even after he'd taught me to read and write, to crave literature.
"Go in there and show them what you're made of Thistle, come back for your mother and sisters, please. ...Good luck." An awkward hug follows his voice and i'm hardly able to mutter a single "Thank you." Awkwardness is prevalent in that interaction.
The peacekeepers come in with full force, expecting a fight but instead getting silence, my parents walking out without a word, a single glance from my Mother reaching me before she leaves. That was it, they were gone. No friends had come for me. Then again, did I have many friends? I didn't think so, my personality didn't really allow me to. I close my eyes and sit down on the couch, waiting to be whisked away towards my death, or my survival.
The necklace my mom had placed in my hand is only squeezed harder as I tighten my grip. I was ready for this. I was ready to gain my freedom back.
