Ashen Freedom // Thistle's DP
Feb 16, 2014 14:03:33 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 16, 2014 14:03:33 GMT -5
Death, Colors, and Survival. Those are the last three things that brim my thoughts as I rush around in this hellhole Bloodbath, desperately fighting, killing in order to stay alive. The sweet irony, I can almost taste it in the situation i'm in, surrounded by red and death. Yet, what colors would Death have seen for all of this bloodshed? I had predicted black and red when I had stood on the podium, desperately trying to prepare myself for something I could have never hoped to be prepared for. I had predicted black and red, but my mind was capable of so much more. Blue. The color of sorrow and anguish. Green. The color of life and everlasting serenity as tributes escaped this place. Brown. The color of the dirt that smears tributes faces as they fall to the ground, brought down by the cold hands of Death and it's everlasting torment. And yet, Death had come for me almost as quickly as it had come for Keanu, slicing down in perfect unison with Laila and slicing through not my neck, No, body parts meant nothing to Death. Slicing through my life. I had no idea yet, but Death had claimed me as his own, slinging my soul across his shoulders and carrying me away to some sacred place. I didn't know it yet, but my mind had carried on, spinning a web of false reality and happiness in a desperate attempt to keep life. To put happiness into my life one last time.
One moment, my hands are reaching for the bag thats landed at my feet, an incredible stroke of luck in a time like this. The next, a slightly audible gasp as my head is ripped from my shoulders, sliced through as easily as a knife through better and landing on the ground with a small thud.
And then, white.
Completely white, silky and smooth and never ending all around me as my eyes slowly blink open. Nothing in my mind, no memories, no pain, nothing. Was I dead? No, that wasn't possible. I would know if I was dead. I would have memories of my death, pain and sorrow and regrets. I would have had something in my mind, something to confirm that I had in fact died, that I had failed. That I had broken a promise i'd never even made.
But there was nothing. Nothing but the white that surrounded me and my body, somehow supporting me yet there was no floor, no dust covered ground that held my weight. My mind was spinning, unable to focus on anything at all and yet I still managed to push myself up, standing on nothing but endless white and looking, desperately searching for something, anything that could provide me with some insight into this place I was in. This unknown place that scared me, scared me more than the arena and all the tributes themselves, than dying.
A table, wooden and sturdy, and a book, closed but easily recognizable.
It sits in front of me, held up by nothing and yet it commands my attention, pulling my mind into focusing on it and only it. It was amazing how some things could do that, these inanimate things that held no life, held no thoughts or voice and yet they could speak to you just as easily as any person could. They could pull your mind in with unseen, unrecognizable power and keep it there, hold it captive like Tributes in the Capitol.
And yet, my mind still manages to break free, struggling, but breaking out of the object's grasp to try and understand this, this whole thing that I was trapped in. Was I dead? Had death captured me so quickly in these games? Had I been killed so easily when I had somehow convinced myself that I would survive? No, it couldn't be that. I couldn't be dead, I had established that the moment I woke up here (Had I even woken up? Or was this just some sort of hallucination?) It had to be that, it must have been that. I must have slipped away, out of the bloodbath, out of the arena, out of all the bloodshed and death and I must have gone somewhere. My mind? Deep inside my own head for a moment that felt like eternity even if it was only a few seconds in the real world, the actual world where I was fighting for my own life? I settle on that option, that my mind had allowed me to escape the Bloodbath for just a few moments.
And these few moments were going to be enjoyed.
The crinkling sound of pages turning greets my ears as The Book Thief is opened in front of me. I had done this countless times, an unspoken and unofficial ritual I had created for myself, for no one else but myself in order to try and find happiness in my District. But this, in it's own way feels different. The sounds are the same, the feel of the pages and the size of the book, the rough texture of the hard cover, everything felt the same. So what was so different about this book?
A second question that my mind couldn't answer. And yet I still read the pages that I had read so many times before, my mind soaking them up like they were the only thing that mattered right now. Which, on the contrary, was completely true.
DEATH AND CHOCOLATE
First the colors.
Then the humans.
That’s usually how I see things. Or at least, how I try.
First the colors.
Then the humans.
That’s usually how I see things. Or at least, how I try.
HERE IS A SMALL FACT
You are going to die.
You are going to die.
Death's voice comes to life, cascading off the pages and filling this void I was in with the sound of the book, the words written so long ago and yet still held meaning. Everyone was going to die. Everyone had to die at one point or another. And fortunately for us, we did nothing after that, we left all our worries and cares behind and let Death do the dirty work, carrying us into the unknown, quick and painless. A boring job.
Even so, some enjoyment could be seen in the job.
Colors dotted the skies as Death picked up souls. A warm orange for someone with a kind heart, or perhaps an icy blue for someone who died a cold death. Either way, Death got to see every color imaginable, a small but wonderful advantage to his job. My fingers go to turn to the next page, my ears desperately awaiting the all too familiar sound of pages turning. Instead, I get a voice.
"It's a beautiful book, isn't it?"
My body freezes, fingers locking and shoulders stiffening. That voice, one I had not heard for so long, yet had always yearned to hear just one last time for all these years. Kind and caring, yet rough and tough all at the same time. But it couldn't be him, it couldn't be the man that had left me so long ago and turned me from a happy and wondrous child into a cold and ignorant thief.
Fate has a cruel way of surprising you.
When I finally get the courage and actual mobility to turn around, my face falters, eyes dropping to the never ending white that I could only assume was below me. My father, tall and proud as ever, stood before me, laugh lines beaming and eyes staring down at me, eyes mixing sorrow and happiness. Courage, today, has had some sort of effect on me, for before I know it I am forcing myself to look up, up into the face of what I had once regarded as eternal comfort, as an everlasting hope, up into the man who'd taught me how to punch, how to fight. Up into the man who had unintentionally taught me how to steal.
His face is completely how I remember it, his body the same, his posture. Everything except a single bullet sized hole in his forehead, dried blood lines running down his face and looking like they had been there for eons. And yet, here he stood, not dead but sure as hell not living. I couldn't accept the fact that he was alive, standing before me in this place I had invented in my mind.
"Thistle." His voice commands my attention, but it is quickly lost. "I am sorry that you had to go like that." He says it with sorrow, and for a few fleeting moments I am only transfixed on his voice, greeting my ears and erasing all the yearning and wanting that I had ever held. But his words held a heavy price, for as they erased the yearning they only brought forth more problems. ..."go like that." My brain races to try and comprehend anything, he couldn't mean... No, it wasn't possible. My voice comes out awkward and clumsy, as if my head had been torn from my body and then put back on again, slightly and nearly unnoticeably off in one spot. "N-no.. I'm not dead. Dad, i'm not dead... I can't be..." I stammer my way through the simple sentence, and I only receive a sigh from my father.
Doubt, apparently, was something he'd seen before.
But he does not speak, he does not scold me or yell at me, tell me to wake up and realize that I truly was dead. No, he does none of that, and I scold myself slightly for thinking he would. Time does not heal wounds, but it can alter memories, it seemed. My father's hand gently reaches down to my wrist, grabbing it gently and pulling my hand up to my neck, allowing me to brush my fingers against what I expected would just be skin.
I don't feel normal skin, skin that has been there all my life. I don't feel leather like I did when I rubbed my hands across the cover of a book. No, I felt slight rivets, bumps that ran all across my neck. Bumps, created when new skin met old skin and when head met neck again. Everything clicks in that moment, death and despair, doubt and regret, everything hits me. "Decapitation. I'm so sorry, Thistle." My father's voice does nothing to comfort me, it doesn't erase any of the memories that my mind had somehow just pulled forth from only touching my neck. I stammer out again, my voice barely audible yet again. "I'm... i'm dead."
Tears rush forth and theres nothing to stop them, no false sense of pride and confidence to fight them back again like I had done when I had seen my family for the last time, when I had watched Anna desperately try to get me to promise to come home. No, there was nothing in place, no dam to stop a river full of tears, tears full of sorrow and nothing but a deep anguish. I can feel my father pull me into his chest, rocking slightly as I sit there and just break.
It was funny, in an ironic sort of way that I could find myself crying into the chest of a man I hadn't seen for years, who had been gone for most of my life and the man who I had long since stopped looking at as a hero and begun to look at as an idiot. But I had none of that now, I was just a desperate teenager hit by reality, a boy who was desperately reaching for anything in proximity that could provide some sort of tranquility, if not just stabilization.
I don't know how long I stayed there, for any sense of time or direction had escaped me at this point, but I can remember finding the memories of my family. Of Anna and my mother, of my siblings and even my step-father. Although I never would have admitted it, I had been the one keeping that family alive. Stealing food from other poor families in order to save my own. It wasn't a fair trade, no, it had only benefited my family. I had kept us alive, food on the table and random items that could be sold for money. But at the time, I hadn't realized yet what I was doing, that I was stealing not for my family, no, I hadn't cared enough about them when life had still joined me every day, carrying me through the burden and slowly inching me towards Death. No, I had stolen for myself. Stolen from families who probably needed the items more than my own because it made me proud. Proud of the fact that no one could catch me, I could steal anything and no one could even see me. No one could catch Thistle Cardo, thief extraordinaire.
But Death had caught me, in the midst of stealing my life from the Capitol I had been caught by his blade, no time to react before he carried me away.
Maybe I deserved to be decapitated, my head torn from my shoulders and letting all the pain I had caused families i'd stolen from bleed out, cloaking my body in shame and regrets. Though, my thoughts are cut off like my head from my body when my father speaks again, still holding my head to his chest like I was some child, weak and desperate in a time of anguish and grief. On the contrary, that's exactly what I was.
"I was always fascinated that Death saw colors whenever someone died." His voice carries miraculous power, stopping my tears from flowing and pulling my eyes up to meet his. I had no questions, actually, I had a million questions that needed answers, but something stops them from coming out of my mouth, an invisible barrier that held back one of mankind's greatest weapons, their voice. My father's voice carries on, striking the barrier in attempt to bring it crashing down.
"But Zusak got one thing wrong. Death isn't the only one who sees colors when someone passes. I saw color when you passed Thistle. Gold. Interpret it however you will, but I saw it as freedom."
And the barrier crumbled.
"No, Dad. I didn't want my freedom like this. I didn't want to die. I wanted to gain my freedom by besting the games, by going back to District Ten and-" I'm cut off by my father, his tone slightly more understanding. I can't help but feel like he's been through this before, with someone else and he's seen everything I've done. Regret, denial, all of it had been done before.
"And where would you have lived, Thistle? In a Capitol owned house, inside a Capitol owned District. That's not freedom, Thistle."
My head shakes back and forth but his words carry a significant weight, a realization that he was completely right. Living in District 10 was not freedom, living was not freedom. Death and it's sweet kiss was the only freedom any of us could ever have in our lives, or more so the time after our lives.
"Where are we?" The question only presents itself again now, after shock and grief had come into my mind and then ran out, leaving an emptiness that would soon be filled to the brim with questions. A sigh and my father frowns slightly, laugh lines losing their happiness and his brow furrowing slightly. "I can't answer that, Thistle. I don't know where we are." Disappointment, that is what I feel after he tells me. Even with all the grief I had felt in the last few minutes (Hours? Days? I didn't know how long i'd been here), there was still a feeling that my father knew everything, could answer every question I had because that's what father's were supposed to do. They were supposed to be the givers, the givers of knowledge, of answers and happiness. Not takers, givers.
And yet, I had no giver in my life, I had no one who I could go to to ask questions, no father figure who could answer anything and everything, i'd had no one.
And so I had become a taker.
Taker of money and books, coins and amulets, food and drink. Taker of joy and happiness, of someone's life and their hard earned items. And I had been the giver of my family. Not a giver in the sense that I gave knowledge. No, I could never be the one to do that, I could never hold enough pride and confidence to be able to answer the many questions that had flown through Anna's mind, through our family. But I had given something. Life, maybe? Food and fruit and drink. These inanimate things, although lifeless in their own right, had given us life, life taken from another family, but i was still life.
The chair i'm sitting in feels like it isn't supporting me anymore. My legs feel weak and my body stiff. Death, it seems, brought with it everything you never wanted, no matter how quick and how painless your death was. I had always thought of it as a time when last words were spoken, when feelings were shown and when you could finally say everything you've held in all your life, words flowing from your mouth and reaching whoever would choose to listen.
This wasn't what I expected. I didn't have any last words I wanted to shed, I didn't feel the need to apologize for what I had done in my life, to ask for redemption from some higher power that didn't exist. I just felt empty, silence closing in around me and my father as we just sit here, in an unknown place. No fear of the unknown could come from this, no fear that we could be harmed or hurt from something we didn't know was coming. No, just us, surrounded by never ending nothingness. The book in front of me had always made Death feel so sad, so drained of happiness and so depressing. But I didn't feel that, I felt a small amount of happiness inside of me, happiness that I was here, free, my father right along side me. I had been released from my captivity, perhaps in a way I wouldn't have preferred but I still had found freedom.
It felt weird that we could keep our scars, our wounds and injuries that had ended our lives and given us freedom for once. The bullet hole in my father's forehead is surrounded by dried blood, blood lines that ha been there since he'd hit the pavement and I had screamed, since my mother had cried for her husband, shows that he had died. My neck, a stark contrast of new and old skin, showed that I had died. But Death didn't feel depressing, it didn't feel sad as it sure as hell didn't cause me any more grief than it'd already had. My eyes meet my father's again, and he smiles at me. Warm and caring, one I hadn't seen for so long and something that spreads relief through my body.
My lips curl upward, and we share a brief moment of happiness, his arm wraps around my shoulder and he pulls me close.
"How are they going to survive?" I ask a question that I already know the answer to, yet I still wait for him to answer. I relish it, I want answers simply because i've been deprived of them for so long in my life. "They'll find a way. You found a way when I left you. I'm sorry for that, Thistle-"
"Don't be sorry." It's my turn to take the lead, to assure him that it was alright and that he didn't need to be sorry. For a long time i'd been angry with him, for leaving us in such a stupid way, in such an idiotic way. But that was gone now, gone as soon as I had woken up here and as soon as I had started to read that book for the hundredth time."It's...okay, Dad." I tell him, hesitantly speaking as we sit here, his arm around my shoulder. I can't help but feel that i've finally reached understanding, tranquility and to an extent happiness.
"...I think we should go now, Thistle. I've waited here for a while and it gets boring quickly." My father says it with a small chuckle, gently reaching down and closing the book, closing the book that had changed my view of death and despair.
"Where do we go?" Another chuckle and my father squeezes my shoulder again, sighing softly. "Another thing I don't know, Thistle. I've never done this before, either." I nod my head slowly, looking down at the table before I close my eyes, my father doing the same.
"Ready?"
"...R-ready."
I can feel the chair disappear, the last pegs of support that had kept me here. Falling, our bodies disintegrating into nothingness, ash floating away into the unknown. My mind finally closing down.
"I love you, Thistle." I can hear my father's voice faintly, my body disappearing with every single second that rushes by. I don't reply, but he knows I hear him. He knows I love him back.
A small gasp and my body has completely disintegrated into ash, floating away with my father's until the last image my mind had made closes, pulled into a blank void.
Death smiles as he carries my soul away.
I had gained my freedom.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
~ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS~
Ugh no Thistle come back to me bb. Anyways, I seriously have so people to thank on this site who have helped me through my first games. Although they were over quick, it was one hell of a ride, full of mini-panic attacks and not giving a f*ck and then finally, complete sadness.
Okay, so les do this.
LulAya(Really everyone who helped put the hunger games together)- I just want to thank you guys for all the work you put into these games. More so, I want to thank you guys for letting ms switch Thistle to District 10 when I had made the mistake of putting him into District 11. You guys rock.
Zoë- Ugh man Zoë. I know we didn't talk much and I know I didn't reply to our mentor thread like I said I would (oops), but seriously, you helped calm me down when I was freaking out about the games. Saffron is absolutely perf btw.
Anna- Ugh Anna my lovely. You're another person who helped to comfort me when I realized that these games were gonna be a sh*tshow and that I probably wasn't going to survive. Seriously, i'm so glad I got to even talk to you.
Charade- Yo, my OOC mentor and the guy who had to deal with constant nagging and questions from me for like, a week straight. You helped me out so much and I know that your tips would have helped me out so much if I had made it out of the Bloodbath.
Kay- Kayyyyyy ugh. First off, Argonite is awesome but Maceeeeee. I'm upset we didn't get to finish that thread, but you were the first person to tell me it was alright when Thistle was killed. <3 Thank you so much Kay, I hope we get to RP together in the future.
Mylee- Omg Mylee, my unofficial trib-sitter. You were there 100% when I needed a trib-sitter desperately and I know you would have gotten Thistle out of there alive. Thank you Mylee ^^
Ella- Gurl, I know I flipped on you in our pm the other day but seriously, you're awesome and were one of the people who promised to sponsor me if i'd made it out of the bb. I will totally sponsor you if you have a trib yo. PS finish Tigre
Will- Man, you were another person who promised to sponsor me early on, and you were the first person I actually did a large thread with on this site. Thank you so much Will.
Kire- Kireee. I know we didn't talk that much outside of the cbox but the fact that you were there for me yesterday when I messaged you crying is seriously awesome. I want to RP with you in the future, and Claude is f*cking awesome. Thank you, Kire ^^
The Cbox- Yes, i'm thanking an inanimate thing that sometimes moves really fast and then sometimes is completely dead. More specifically, i'm thanking the people of the Cbox. Cato, Puppy, Tom, Dee, everyone who told me that it was okay when I was a complete emotional wreck. <333
Rook- Yeah, this is kind of a weird thank you, but i'm still doing it. So, we haven't really talked at all, but over time i've started to look up to you as a writer. So, I guess in a weird way you helped to push me to write Thistle better and more in-depth than before, and although I didn't feel like my posts were as good as they could have been with Thistle, I still feel like they're better than before. So thank you, for unknowingly pushing me I guess. Yeah, thanks.
Ugh no Thistle come back to me bb. Anyways, I seriously have so people to thank on this site who have helped me through my first games. Although they were over quick, it was one hell of a ride, full of mini-panic attacks and not giving a f*ck and then finally, complete sadness.
Okay, so les do this.
LulAya(Really everyone who helped put the hunger games together)- I just want to thank you guys for all the work you put into these games. More so, I want to thank you guys for letting ms switch Thistle to District 10 when I had made the mistake of putting him into District 11. You guys rock.
Zoë- Ugh man Zoë. I know we didn't talk much and I know I didn't reply to our mentor thread like I said I would (oops), but seriously, you helped calm me down when I was freaking out about the games. Saffron is absolutely perf btw.
Anna- Ugh Anna my lovely. You're another person who helped to comfort me when I realized that these games were gonna be a sh*tshow and that I probably wasn't going to survive. Seriously, i'm so glad I got to even talk to you.
Charade- Yo, my OOC mentor and the guy who had to deal with constant nagging and questions from me for like, a week straight. You helped me out so much and I know that your tips would have helped me out so much if I had made it out of the Bloodbath.
Kay- Kayyyyyy ugh. First off, Argonite is awesome but Maceeeeee. I'm upset we didn't get to finish that thread, but you were the first person to tell me it was alright when Thistle was killed. <3 Thank you so much Kay, I hope we get to RP together in the future.
Mylee- Omg Mylee, my unofficial trib-sitter. You were there 100% when I needed a trib-sitter desperately and I know you would have gotten Thistle out of there alive. Thank you Mylee ^^
Ella- Gurl, I know I flipped on you in our pm the other day but seriously, you're awesome and were one of the people who promised to sponsor me if i'd made it out of the bb. I will totally sponsor you if you have a trib yo. PS finish Tigre
Will- Man, you were another person who promised to sponsor me early on, and you were the first person I actually did a large thread with on this site. Thank you so much Will.
Kire- Kireee. I know we didn't talk that much outside of the cbox but the fact that you were there for me yesterday when I messaged you crying is seriously awesome. I want to RP with you in the future, and Claude is f*cking awesome. Thank you, Kire ^^
The Cbox- Yes, i'm thanking an inanimate thing that sometimes moves really fast and then sometimes is completely dead. More specifically, i'm thanking the people of the Cbox. Cato, Puppy, Tom, Dee, everyone who told me that it was okay when I was a complete emotional wreck. <333
Rook- Yeah, this is kind of a weird thank you, but i'm still doing it. So, we haven't really talked at all, but over time i've started to look up to you as a writer. So, I guess in a weird way you helped to push me to write Thistle better and more in-depth than before, and although I didn't feel like my posts were as good as they could have been with Thistle, I still feel like they're better than before. So thank you, for unknowingly pushing me I guess. Yeah, thanks.
