written you down (you will live forever) [marina's funeral]

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written you down (you will live forever) [marina's funeral] Jun 30, 2014 1:49:13 GMT -5

Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on Jun 30, 2014 1:49:13 GMT -5

[presto]

klaus goravich
twenty two
district three

[/presto]

IF SOMEBODY HURTS YOU, I WANNA FIGHT

Klaus,

You’re still a monster in some aspects of my mind; you’re still that beast that returned home from that arena. But I’ve accepted it. Klaus, don’t tell Penelope I was brave, or I would have been a good mother, or I would have even cared for her. Neither of us is stupid enough to believe that I’d have been anything other then neglectful. Don’t lie to her, tell her exactly who I was. Don’t tell her I loved her because I didn’t, tell her anything; tell her I was nobody, because she is nothing to me. Not now, maybe when I first glimpsed her she was something, but not now. I don’t want her to even think of loving something I wasn’t.

Marina.

By the day I die, I will have simultaneously attended too many funerals and not enough.

Too few, because my mother's funeral was held without me, and even if I'd been there to witness her burial I would have been too young to understand.

Too few, because while I was parading around Panem on my Victory tour twenty-three children were laid to rest and I was not invited.

Too few, because no matter how many lives are lost, how many prayers are said, I will never sit in the church at my own funeral. Every single wake I attend will be for yet another unfortunate who has passed before I have. (And God knows I deserve it more than any of them do.)

It never crossed my mind that I would see my sister die. Not when she was first admitted to the hospital as a teenager, crying as though she wished to drown herself in her tears. Not even when I opened the bathroom door to find her attempting to remove the parasite that was her daughter from her bloodied stomach.

She did not want her child. She did not want her past, nor her future. But I never really believed it would come to this. I thought, without really questioning it, that everybody wanted something.

Then again, nobody ever did give up as much of themselves in exchange for life as I.

I crumple the piece of paper I have prepared in my hand, because suddenly it seems like not nearly enough to express everything I need to say. I step up onto the stage, remembering a time long ago when I stood in front of a crowd much larger than this one, stumbling and mumbling my way through a meaningful thanks. Not today.

"More than anything, I am sorry that you are here. It's difficult for me to be speaking, now, because I am not clever with my words, and I don't know the right way to explain Marina.

I think I am supposed to have composed a speech that talks about tragedy. About how her death is a great loss to all of Panem, about how much we all love her, how precious her life was.

But those things are lies, aren't they? Truly? Because if her life was so rich and so filled with worth, surely she would have kept it?

Of course, I loved her, we all loved her. But we didn't love her enough, not enough to show her how exactly to love herself.

She has left behind so much. Five siblings, a father who gave us everything he had, a twenty-three month old daughter who deserves a mother.

Without her, the house feels hollow.

Sometimes I almost can't bare it, that there is this whole entire world out here, filled with good things, and she walked around in it completely unaware. Her eyes didn't see them. It's like this deep despair entered her mind, and we can't really pinpoint when.

I think perhaps we were nine. She'd had imaginary friends when we were toddlers, we all had, but Kofa was different. She was important, more important to Marina than herself.

Kofa was allowed whatever Marina have, as though she didn't need them for herself. She earned a place at the dinner table, her very own knife and fork, a bed to sleep in at night. Sometimes that meant Marina slept on the floor, but she was okay with that.

It got worse. I think I'm supposed to pretend that what happened didn't happen. This funeral is supposed to be about pretending that there is nobody to blame for her death, that it was an accident, an unfortunate happening that couldn't be helped.

I don't know, maybe I was supposed to say she was the victim of a train crash, or caught in crossfire? I suppose she was both of these things. But she also killed herself.

That is something I wasn't supposed to say today.

But my sister died. Because she was sad. So, so desperately sad, deep inside of her. She ached inside of her heart in a way I never will understand. And she was ever so afraid.

She didn't deserve what she went through. And you know, we didn't deserve to watch her shrivel from the bright and flourishing child she once was to the shell that wrote those notes.

She was a beautiful person, she was. But there was something very ugly there, too.

I don't know if she loved Penelope. She wasn't well enough to care for her, we knew that. And I suppose I never will know.

Every time I look into that child's eyes, though, I can see who Marina used to be - beaming, shining, brilliant, somebody better than all of us - staring right back at me. And God, I love her. I always will.

I wish I could speak to my sister, just for a moment, and tell her I'm sorry. Never will I be more sorry. But that isn't enough, and sometimes, nothing is enough, and life - life is terrifying.

I've learned that nobody gets out alive."

On the bench in front of me, Daisy sits with her frilly socks two feet from the ground, dangling over the edge of the chair. I smile sadly and take my place beside her. Penelope sniffles, but does not cry.

Marina,
I'll tell her the truth, you know.
Love, Klaus.

BUT MY HANDS HAVE BEEN BROKEN TOO MANY TIMES

Last Edit: Jun 30, 2014 1:49:59 GMT -5 by florentine, d4b ❁

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written you down (you will live forever) [marina's funeral] Jun 30, 2014 3:18:34 GMT -5

Post by ✨ zozo. on Jun 30, 2014 3:18:34 GMT -5

it was a flood that wrecked this home

and my eyes are damp from the words you left

ringing in my head when you broke my chest

---

Words have always been my burden but not like this. Never like this.

The one time I wished my eyes to bestow their curse upon me they did just the opposite.

---

I walk home as the sun begins to set. It's windy and I'm a little cold - but I'm happy, I think. Things are better. I'm doing better. (I told myself this every day until I started to believe it. The sun is up, the sky is blue, I am alive and I'm doing better.) Leaves kick up in the streets and the televisions around the District scream about the two poor souls they've stolen away this year. There's an awful lot to be sad about but I'm doing my best to be happy, to be me, and to put those two together again.

There was a time when I was happy with being me. A long time ago, but it's still valid. I was happy in the moments when I would punch the kids in the playground for making fun of me, of my family, of anyone I secretly cared for. I was happy in the moments they told me it was my brother coming home and not the other kids' siblings. (I've always been a little selfish but I think back then it was alright to be.) I was happy with being me when we were small and I would stay up the latest to make sure everyone was warm and asleep and to smile at them when they weren't looking, when they couldn't see my weak, utter devotion to them. Even Dad had a blanket draped over him in the middle of the living room and a kiss on the head, beer bottle out of his hand and onto the table. I was happy being Lyana Goravich that day. I'm happy being her today, too.

I pass stores, houses, offices. Windows scream at me to buy things (I think?) and to make sure to sign up for tesserae (I think?) and to enroll to be a Peacekeeper (I think - or was is eceaPkepeer?). I stop in my tracks and squint, concentrating, like I used to do when Marina and I would walk home from school every day. (She's known - she's always known. I never had to say anything to her, but she knows. She'll always know.)

CLIDHRENS ART TECHEAR WNADTE

It's a kindergarten. I can only read 'Art' but that's all I need to know - inside there's toys spread out everywhere as if my own home had appeared behind the glass.

I enter and laughter swarms me.

I leave with a smile on my face and a job starting Monday morning.

---

"Hello?"

The house is quiet - too quiet. But it's always been like that.

"Anyone here?"

Hasn't it?

---

There is a piece of paper on my pillow that wasn't there this morning.

Lyana,

I’ll always love you, I always will, I wish I could see you become a mother (no matter how you do it, you’ll get there, I know you will), I wish I could have been a sister you could tell the world about, not scold, not growl at. But you were patient, kind and caring all the same. Don’t be sad, please, I know somewhere in your heart you’ll know I wanted this. There was no light at the end of this tunnel, just darkness. So I’ve ran at it head on. Look after Penelope, Klaus can’t do it alone.

I love you.

I read every line perfectly, over and over and over.

I cry until I can't cry any longer, and then I start to sob.

---

I don't understand why people wear black to funerals. Maybe people think that if we dress up as the darkness that swallows our loved ones away they'll fall through the sky and find us again. We'll have tricked them back into life, cheated death, covered ourselves in misery so we can see them once more. I don't understand that. They leave because there is too much darkness - why would they want to come back to even more? Would seeing the people that cared for them shrouded in a familiarity they've finally escaped make them want to stay? No. We should wear colours because colours make people happy. I'd paint us all red and green and yellow. Not black. I don't get it. Or maybe people want to feel the same sadness the dead do. Maybe they want to wear black and say Hey, I'm not wearing bright colours so I don't have to smile. I don't know. My mind isn't really thinking the same way it usually is. Hey, I'm wearing black so it's okay for me to cry, you see, I fit the description, I've checked all the boxes. I'm wearing black because they told me to but my socks are rainbow and striped because I know Marina would love them. I'm wearing black. I'm wearing black. Everyone's crying. I'm wearing black. I can't cry - there are children here.

They are here, everywhere, running about completely oblivious to the fact that my sister is dead my sister is dead your Aunty is dead your mother is dead. My mother is dead and I killed her. Penelope's mother is dead and perhaps she killed her too. I love that little girl with all my heart but I loved Marina too. Love. I love her. I will always love, love, love her - I love you, I always will. That little girl might want to grow up and paint and she can. That little girl might want to grow up and punch the boys in the playground who call her sister a freak and she can. That little girl might want to grow up and feel that she has to take care of everyone because nobody wants to take care of her but she can't, because I will take care of her, I will always, always, always (It is ingrained into my being - always, always, a-l-w-a-y-s) love her because her mother asked me to without her saying a thing. I knew. I always knew. I didn't need words but I do now. I can't speak - there are children here.

Klaus speaks, of course. He has always been good with words and I can barely string a sentence together, let alone read off a piece of paper. I could never do her justice (I never could. I never could. Not enough, not enough. We were not enough to save her.) I want to listen but it seems that I cannot. I can barely hear anything. There's a lot of children laughing and babbling and playing with house keys and I want them to stop. I want everyone to stop, and to shut up and be quiet so I can hear Marina cry out for help so I can save her. They all need to be quiet, they're too loud. Stop crying. I need to listen. I want to yell at them. I need to hear her. I need to let this all out and drown out the fact that she is gone. Hear me, I think (she thinks? Did I not hear you, Marina?) I can't hear her. She can't hear me. Please, be quiet, because we never said anything at all. I can't scream - there are children here.

When Klaus came home we were supposed to be saved. When we turned 19 we were supposed to be saved. As we got older we were no longer hiding from death - we were reaching for life. There is a darkness underneath my eyes - no sleep does that to you, apparently. Personally I haven't tasted death, nor have I come close to it. Maybe it tastes like that - purple, black, bitter. (Like coffee? Probably. I don't like coffee.) We were 5. I was a fifth of a whole. I am, I am a fifth of a whole, I am one out of five, there are five of us. Except there aren't five anymore and I am no longer a fifth. Apparently I'm a fourth, but that's not right. I'm not a fourth, life. I'm not a fifth either. Stop telling me I am something I am not. I was a fifth and they ripped our fifth piece away and it pains me to think that she is right, that she didn't want to be a fifth anymore. We were supposed to be saved. Five, forever. Forever, five. I can't live - there are children here.

Some might call us brave. No. We're not brave. I'm not brave. Klaus, maybe. They'll call her cowardly and say her act was selfish. No, no, it wasn't. She was brave. The bravest of us all. Selfish, like me. Diligent, like Jamar. Scared, like Tacara. Brave, like Klaus. She was, is, was - she is, was, and always will be.

I smile. And I cry. I don't think I can ever read that letter again.

Always, always, always.

I hear her words instead.

---

one day we'll reveal the truth
that one will die before she gets there
shadows settle on the place that you left

lyana goravich

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

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written you down (you will live forever) [marina's funeral] Jun 30, 2014 5:23:07 GMT -5

Post by k!ah on Jun 30, 2014 5:23:07 GMT -5

T A C A R A G O R A V I C H

I’m alive, I’m alone
The silence keeps on ringing in my head

Tacara,

My sister, you need to be braver, you need to be stronger, even if you get up in the morning you will forever be stronger then I was, stronger then I could ever be.

Love Marina.

The note is left on your bed. It is like a feather placed on the pillow that you rest your head on at night. A feather that weighs so much ore than the average feather. It is like a cursed one, one that had been bathed in lead left to set than placed on the very place where you are at your most vulnerable. Hesitantly you take a seat on your bed, your fingers closing around the note carefully. You hadn't known what to expect, you tend to avoid the people in the house. You did it for them, you know. Yu wanted to protect them because you knew what it was like to get hurt and you didn't want to hurt anyone. You knew what it was like to love someone, to care for them so much just to have them ripped away from you… You loved your family, every single one of them.

So you can only imagine the pain that burns through your veins as you read the letters printed carefully onto the piece of paper. Every word makes your heart pound harder and harder in your chest. You didn't understand, you couldn't understand why Marina was giving you this letter with words that were so true but yet so fake. Marina was string, she was a string girl, wronger than you. After all she didm hide in her oom, she didn't distance herself from the rest because she didn't want to hurt them. She knew her place. Yes she may be a fragile girl, one who some people would say not right in the head but she was your sister and you wouldn't believe that. Yes you ere screed of her, you were scared of all of them. They all scared you to the bone- no wait… no… You were scared for them, you didn't want to hurt them because you saw when Klaus left you saw the way if effected everyone, the way if effected Marina… But why? why I've me-

No.

No. No. No.

There must be some mistake because you knew that this couldn't happen.

Was this some sick joke some little fucker was playing on us?

Giving us these letters because they were jealous, jealous that we were well of and that we were safe and that we no longer had to cower in the presence of death. Hastily you screw the piece of paper up and throw it into the corner of your room before storming out of your room. You run into the hallway and wander over to the door of Lyana’s room to see if she too had gotten one but as you near the room all you old hear were sobs that broke your heart. They were filled with pain, with regret and grief. You pause at her door, pressing you ear against it.

You frown.

The letter it couldn't have been from her, right? i mean, she wouldn't leave us, would she? She saw what happened when we thought that Klaus was a dead man, she wouldn't do this to us.

her hand writing.

No.

Running back to your room you grab the piece of paper which you had screwed up into a tight ball. The letters, they were hers, the way she wrote. Silently you walk over to your bed. You press the piece of paper against your chest. You wanted to cry, you wanted to scream you wanted this all to be a joke, to be nothing more than a joke… But it wasn’t. It wasn’t a joke. It was real. She was gone. She was gone. gone. gone. gone. Tears begin to leak down your face, tears for her. Each one of them was crying for her, each one of them were a symbol of the pain she nut have been in. Each one of them were for her and for you not begging able to see her, not properly.

Now I sit beside my family. A dress as dark as a ravens wing clung to my pale skin. But today, today the black that I wore did not represent a mysterious kind of persona but a persona of a grieving girl. Your make up runs down your face as words spill from the lips of Klaus. He had always been the one for words, always been the one that we could rely on- hand’t he proved that to us when he came home? Against all the odds he had come home… But Marina, Now she lay in a casket as the tears of her family rolled down pale cheeks and off the ended of turn down faces. No smiles filled this room as this room was the last place that you would see her face. Despite everything it looked rather peaceful. Despite the colour drained from it, despite the fact that is was lifeless, it looked relieved in a way- like she was happy, happy that it had all finally ended. Why couldn't you see? How didn't you see how much she was hurting? You knew exactly why… Because always, always you distanced yourself from them all, scared of something… something like this.

This is what you had been scared of.

Klaus’ voice becomes nothing but a distant sound. You couldn't listen because each word made your heart break again and again and again- and you didn't know how many times one heart could break until it could no longer break anymore and she had said, she had said that you were strong and that you had to stay strong and you would do that, you would do that for her, hell, even for yourself because she was right. You had to become braver. You had to. And you would, you would swallow your fear because she had asked you, she had asked you to do that in her last living moments.

Marina, I will do it ok. I will become brave. I will okay, because you asked me to and because of that I will. I won't hide anymore because will it make a difference? Will my hiding really stop these people, these people that we love from hurting? It won’t, will it? I was wrong. All this time I have been wrong, all this time I have been to scared to get close because I didn't want to hurt you but- but in the end i did- didn’t I? And I am sorry. I am so sort and I hope, I hope to ripred that where ever you are that you can hear me, and that you will forgive me because I forgive you. I know why you did it, ok? I know that you did it because you wanted to escape, you wanted to be happy and even though it hurts I forgive you because you are my sister… Your happy now, right? I love you Marina and I will become brave.

I will do it.

You look at your classed hands as you make the promise. Your vision is blurred by tears which fall endlessly, sealing the oath that you make to Marina- that you make for yourself.

Marina be safe. I love you. Be safe.

She’s gone, she’s gone

I never even heard what she said

Last Edit: Jun 30, 2014 5:27:49 GMT -5 by k!ah

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written you down (you will live forever) [marina's funeral] Jul 5, 2014 1:35:10 GMT -5

Post by Python on Jul 5, 2014 1:35:10 GMT -5

Jamarion Goravich

When he found it, Thalia was perched on his shoulder slipping daisies into his hair. For some reason the little two-year-old was insistent on decorating him with anything she could get her hands on – flowers, stickers, lint, food, everything annoying. But it turned out to be more endearing than irritating, especially when it made Sephera laugh, so he let her litter his fluffy hair with petals and pollen for as long as it pleased her. When he finally set her down and spotted the note on his pillow, he planted himself on the edge of the mattress and picked it up, figuring it was something from Seph about running errands or giving Thalia her vitamins.

It turned out to be something completely different.

Jamarion,

You tried, you tried so hard to make it better, and you did, you saved me, you helped me and you keep me going. That day you dragged me to the hospital you held this back, that day you hugged me and didn’t hit me you held this back. I like to think every hit, every wound and cut I laid upon you was a way of saying how much I loved you, but that’d be wrong. It was the fact that I didn’t run from you that told me how much I loved you.

Keep fighting brother.

He squinted at the text as Thalia reached for her toys in the corner. The hospital… It was Marina, he remembered that evening. He had rescued her from a group of boys trying to beat her into a pulp, and he had returned the favor and carried her to the medical center. It had been a rough night to say the least, but it reminded both of them that no matter how much either of them could be assholes they were still family, and family defended itself no matter what. But why was she bringing it up, and why was she writing about all of this? Keep fighting brother. The line replayed in his head over and over. It sounded like a farewell. Was she running away? After everything that had happened he wouldn't blame her for it, but why now?

He recalled the last time he had read a note using language like this. Hopper’s attempted suicide..

Realization came slowly, and then all at once.

---

Keep fighting brother. He felt empty in his black suit, even with a ball of sunshine in his lap. Thalia was dressed in a color he had never wanted her to wear, to match with everybody else’s wardrobe of funeral colors – or color, he should say, since the only appropriate shade was the blackest black anyone could ever imagine. Black as night, black as death. It was really fucking morbid, but so was the thought of his sister in a casket. She had been found with a bullet in her abdomen – just one bullet, with one purpose and from one hand, her own. He didn’t understand why she would want it to hurt so much. Hadn’t she suffered enough? Or maybe that was the point, to die just as she had lived.

Fuck.

Jamarion Goravich did not cry, but this was the closest he had ever come.

Thalia was stirring on his lap, flaunting an air of innocence as she remained oblivious to everything around her. She only knew one thing, and it was the one thing Sephera and Jamarion had mentioned to her before the ceremony: ”You have to be quiet.” She was restless just as she always was, but so far she had heeded their orders. For that, he was relieved, especially when Klaus took the stage and started his speech.

He talked about her shitty life, about Kofa, about how their mansion would feel hollow without her, and he suddenly felt his heart clench because she stopped believing in Kofa because of me, that was my fault. He had always teased her about Kofa, about how she couldn’t make any real friends so she had to imagine someone who was actually willing to spend time with her. We fought for years over the stupidest shit. At one point he had thought he hated her, and he had thought the feeling was mutual. We both probably felt like that. But it wasn’t true, not ever. He could never hate somebody as strong as Marina.

Klaus also mentioned Penelope - the only thing she had left behind besides memories. Problem was, Penelope was a living tragedy. An innocent tragedy with nothing but those awful memories to her name, but to hell with trying to ship her off to some orphanage. A Goravich was a Goravich, whether born of tragedy or adopted by the willing. Brothers and sister would be her parents among sisters who would be her friends. Thalia, Daisy, Nina. There were many new faces in their home, but the loss of just one would change everything. They always thought Klaus would be the one to bite dust back when The Hunger Games had swallowed their family. Nobody could’ve known that it would be Marina instead.

Keep fighting brother. He fought his emotions for Thalia’s sake, for Sephera’s sake, for Marina’s sake most of all. What would she say to him if she somehow caught him leaking tears during her funeral? She would mock him for sure. Tears were not what Marina wanted from him, so he would keep his strength and remain as collected as he possibly could. He could hear the sniffles around him and the tiny huffs of Thalia’s impatience as Klaus finished the eulogy. He didn’t give himself enough credit for the speech; it was actually pretty eloquent, a speech worthy of Marina’s attention. He would bet his left foot that Marina would enjoy it if she could hear it.

Keep fighting brother. He slipped his hand into Sephera’s, and he fought.

Last Edit: Jul 5, 2014 1:46:05 GMT -5 by Python

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written you down (you will live forever) [marina's funeral] Jul 7, 2014 0:57:55 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Jul 7, 2014 0:57:55 GMT -5

sephera greene.

[presto]

i still believe in the good
i still believe in the light
i want to feel the sun
i want to free you tonight
---
moving on

[/presto]

"You hated me," She claimed. "You always hated me, and for no reason." She spoke directly to the tiny picture, framed in wood, protected by glass, and containing one photo of Marina Goravich, amber hair pulled back from her face to show off clean freckled flesh. The person in the photograph looked happy, but she guessed appearances were the last thing to judge someone from.

(No one thought Klaus would live through the games, did they?)

When Jamarion had entered their room with a piece of paper in his hand and a pale face, she knew something was wrong. He let her read the note, and she was quick to recognize his sister's terrible penmanship. Shock was the primary feeling, and she guessed Jamarion must have felt that times a thousand, as well as a hundred other things, but Sephera was still shocked, so, so shocked.

Marina was not her friend, so why was she sad? She didn't owe the girl anything, but grief still filled her chest. For Ripred's sake, she hadn't even cared enough to leave her a note, but tears still welled up in Sephera's eyes. Why did she care at all that Marina was gone? If anything she should have been relieved, right? She should have finally felt like she was at home in the mansion with Jamarion's family, since the one person that despised her within it was gone, but instead, she only cared about Jamarion and Lyana and Klaus and Tacara and Hopper and everyone, she only cared about how they felt, and she knew they were broken.

She was angry at Marina- how dare her pick the easy way out! How dare her leave her entire family in the dust to rot with grief of her loss. Everyone had hardship, and Sephera did not in the least think Marina Goravich's life was easy, or even pleasant, but that did not give her the right to take her own life.

Now she was in a church, and everyone wore black. The funeral was as could be expected for the sibling of Klaus Goravich. Flowers decorated every corner, people that Sephera bet didn't even know Marina sitting in the piers cloudy eyed and trying not to make a scene. When Klaus spoke, his words coming from honesty rather than leniency, the knot in her chest grew larger. Everything he said was right, everything was the cold, honest truth, and for a moment Sephera wondered if her own actions were fuel to the fire that killed Jamarion's sister. No, she thought, that poor soul was plagued with illness far before I came along.

Sephera hadn't been there for her entire journey, but she had been there for almost six years- six years, of it, and Marina had been nothing more than a crazed little girl lost within her own imagination for most of it.

She could tell Jamarion was trying not to be emotional, and that was what really made her start to tremble. They sat in the front row, Jamarion now clinging to her hand for dear life as she tried to silently coax Thalia to "Stay still!" and "Listen to your Uncle Klaus!" She gave the back of his hand a small peck, and stared into his eyes, the very same eyes their daughter had been graced with. She wanted to say it, to let him know it was okay, that he was allowed to be injured, that she was here for him, but Jamarion was made of stone, and it was rare for even Sephera to catch a glimpse of the terrified person on the other side of his walls. So she said nothing, and instead, she snuggled up to him and listened to the rest of the eulogy. The least she could do was pretend not to notice he was falling apart, so she tried to distract herself, but everything else she saw was just as haunting.

Tacara's tears falling like rain, Lyana looking so dazed that she doubted the girl was even in the room with them mentally, Jamarion wasn't the only one breaking here. So did that make her a bad person? Some sort of heartless criminal for not crumbling herself? Even as Klaus spoke, his hands holding still instead of fidgeting for a change, being brave for his entire family, she could see the pain-laced words, and she was sorry, she was sorry, but she was also glad that she was still whole enough to pick everyone else up and help them move on.

- - -

Last Edit: Jul 7, 2014 1:07:28 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

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written you down (you will live forever) [marina's funeral] Jul 7, 2014 2:01:42 GMT -5

Post by charade on Jul 7, 2014 2:01:42 GMT -5

There was a thief in my house yesterday.

Yesterday morning was about the same as every other morning.

Except for the fifteen minutes I spent wondering who the hell broke into my house.

I don’t have much, so I figured the thief must have gotten disappointed and left without taking anything. That was before i saw the paper on my bed. I still didn't quite believe it at first.

After all, breaking in to leave something is a very bad business model for a thief.

Then I read it.

Father,

You weren’t much of one. I don’t blame you, though. Without mother you were nothing, maybe if I had of met someone as perfect as her I’d have become something.

Goodbye.

Thirty-one words. Only five stick in my mind.

Marina .

was.

just.

like.

me.

There was a thief in my house yesterday.

And his name was death.

That was the final straw. That’s what roused me from my stupor. I thought that by pushing them all away it would keep them from my fate.

Shows what I know about parenting.

I know what the words said without saying. I’ve traversed those dark thoughts myself.

But I’m a coward.

Before I knew it, I was on my knees heaving. I barely have the strength to stand most days as it is and the blow to my chest is more painful than any knife.

I did not sleep last night.

The silence spoke volumes.

***
I'm standing outside the funeral now. Dusted the mothballs off of my suit and hobbled out on my cane.

I learned the time and place from a passerby. I didn't have the stomach to ask my kids and its not every day the sibling of a victor dies.

And so I found them.

She... If I had died all those years ago and she was the caretaker this never would have happened. Losing her, the bright spot of sunshine in my otherwise dreary existence was more than my weak will could take. Or so I thought. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight of five of my children gathered around the casket of the sixth. It’s wrong in a way I’m unable to verbalize. To think that six years ago I had nightmares like this. About Klaus. Nightmares I traded for the reality of knowing that two of my sons were better providers for their siblings than I was. But they were still kids themselves weren’t they? I’m selfish. I always knew that.

What have I done?

Tears. Real tears stream down my face and i have to bite my fist to keep the sob from escaping my chest. I’ve really fucked it up this time, haven’t I? This is real, this really happened and I did nothing but hide myself away and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. I'm a shit excuse for a father.

The way I treated Hopper the last time he came by...

They must hate me. All of them. I wouldn’t expect them not to.

But they’ll never be able to despise me as much as I despise myself.

So I stand.

I strain to listen.

And I pray that my children don’t see me leaning on the graveyard gate.

Last Edit: Jul 7, 2014 2:05:54 GMT -5 by charade

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

gamemaker kelsier
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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

written you down (you will live forever) [marina's funeral] Jul 11, 2014 4:15:50 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Jul 11, 2014 4:15:50 GMT -5

C A P T A I N K I R K

I wasn't going to come.

I don't like funerals, never have, never will. The only way I ever usually can get through them is with the knowledge that I can get wonderfully drunk afterwards. In my line of work you tend to attend quite a few of them, seeing as we fight mutts for a living and capture rebellious wanderers. It's not really the safest line of work, hell I've had my fare share of life scares too, wondering if I was going to make it through this time or not. Even as I stand here under the crispness of my Starfleet uniform, the bandage tied snug around my waist meets oddly with the fabric, rubbing against my skin and making my movements awkward.

I don't tell him about the wounds I get out on the field because he's got more than enough to deal with without me too. I'm meant to be the knight in shining armor, not the damsel. That's why I'm sitting here awkwardly at the back of the venue, a bottle of hard liqueur situated right beside me.

I was late, I always am. I wonder if he hates that about me and then I end up wondering what else he might hate about me and I have to stop thinking about that because once I start thinking about it I never stop. He's a difficult man to pin down sometimes if not all of the time and I don't know why he makes me feel sick in a good way still. Every time I see his face or catch his scent on my clothing and it has been weeks since I've seen him it makes me feel deliciously sick.

I can see how upset he is in the way his shoulders are set and I wonder where Daisy is, if she's alright, if she understands what's going on.

I attended my first funeral when I was eleven years old and it was for my Mother who knew about my father's numerous love interests and couldn't take it anymore. (He never told me why she'd killed herself, only that she had been sad and it was later, years later when I found out why.)

Funerals are never nice things to attend but I've always hated them as a rule because I have never been good at sharing my emotions and I'm struggling to learn how to with Klaus but it's difficult. After twenty-nine years of shoving anything remotely important back down from whence it came I've been having trouble regurgitating it all back up. So when Klaus asked me to be here I couldn't say no and tell him that every time I looked at the casket, even after eighteen years, I felt like I was eleven years old all over again. I promised myself that I would be strong for him. I will be.

I wish I could stop jittering my leg but every time I stop it starts again before I've even noticed.

I didn't really know Marina.

I know that she was often sad and that her daughter was now Klaus' and that's about it. I didn't know if she had a middle name or not, or what her favourite colour was. I don't know if she ate meat or if she preferred to spare the animals and stick to vegetables or not, or whether she liked winter better than spring. I am only here for him, because even if he hadn't asked me to come I would have.

I like him a lot.

I've never been good at relationships, this is my first one really. Before now it's always been one night stands or calling the usual acquaintances up for a casual fuck. I've never known before how to rely on someone and I'm still finding it difficult, completely amazed every time I pick up my communicator, dial in his number and he answers. It's near magic for a man like me and I try not to show him how much I don't know about any of this but somehow I know he knows. He has to know, how little I know about loving someone.

I don't just like him, see, I think I love him.

He's beautiful and funny and smart and kind and hurt and gentle and vicious and broken and so many jagged pieces that he reminds me all about being a human being and I love him for it. I wish I could remember how to be so strong but I haven't spoken to my father in nearly six years and the last time I visited my mother's grave I was twenty years old. I don't dig up the past, I stay well away. I don't try fixing people or falling in love but he made it happen to me, he made me fall in love.

I watch him give his speech, notice the way he doesn't even look down at his paper and I fall in love with the heart wrenching eloquence of his words. Does he realize, I wonder, how genuine and lovely he has turned his speech into? Does he know what he does to people when he spins words?

I haven't seen him in weeks but I spot the differences in him, categorizing him as I do every single time I see him after a while. He looks thinner, sadder, less. I want to wrap my arms around him, tell him it will be okay but unfortunately I'm really bad at most forms of comforting. All I have is a bottle of alcohol and all I know is sex when it comes to affection. We haven't even properly kissed yet. I wonder if he even realizes how much I care.

Being here for him is the best way I can possible tell him other than saying it. Ignoring Bones' rule of bed rest and getting here has become my death sentence for the Enterprise' medic. I am here for him and him alone. So I sit quietly in the back of the place, waiting, watching the same movements I have seen time and time again. In the end it's just another body and I have seen so many and put so many in the ground that I have become numb to it. The only twinge of regret I feel is for the life snuffed out so young and the sorrow that has been planted in Klaus.