Stay With Me [Lalia & Star]

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☼Star Faultz☼
Merchant

185 POSTS

last seen Dec 6, 2017 22:19:42 GMT -5

"Happy endings only happen in fairytales, Dear,"

Stay With Me [Lalia & Star] Jul 7, 2014 23:33:56 GMT -5

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Post by ☼Star Faultz☼ on Jul 7, 2014 23:33:56 GMT -5

Stay With Me

I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.

My footsteps hit the grassy floor like a snake stalking its prey; starting out like slow, lengthy strides and soon it picked up into frantic sprint- as if I had become the prey with mere couple of steps.

Dreams were unrealistic; impractical; illogical and utterly unattainable ambitions that; I used to look up to for some sort of guidance in my life. Gazing up to the sky; praying and begging on the stars that, like all the other children, I would have a chance to be normal- a word so ironic; so contradictory because we were all so different; varying like unrelenting snowfall on the most austere, unmercifully brisk days of Panem.

I had so many dreams.

And they all scattered like stardust the day my father walked out of my life; leaving me as a victim to a honed sword dubbed responsibility- this obligation asphyxiating me with a heavy hand deemed duty. he left his little baby He never seemed displeased with us, our demons. The reason why we were so cohesively dysfunctional; plagued by anything and everything that made us outcasts both socially and mentally. Rejects to the public eye. Repudiated by all who were never accepted themselves; it seemed unbearable like fair living conditions. But he just could not be fucking happy and accept this life with open arms like we were forced to do. He left. He left. He left. He left me.

But no matter how much I think about that day, I can't seem to be angry about it. Because he knew he couldn't handle a retarded man beautifully special little boy that was strangled by an umbilical at birth and a reclusive bitch wife, or whatever I was. His sudden exit out of our lives was not cowardice, but realization; that he would never be able to cope with this- this disease that was us. Had to be us. Why did it have to be us?

And he had me pick up where he left off: with a choice at the end of District Eight. Because I was standing right where he left me- where he left all of us.

The. Fence.

I could've turned back- I want to turn back, but I just can't. My right hand angrily grips the fence, then my left. He left me. He left me. He left me. I think I cut myself a bit when I went over, but I really don't mind much. Adrenaline is pumping through me like Morphling.

And, as a glance back, I realize that I'm free- my heart pounds wildly against my chest as I take in my home.

I'm free.

Last Edit: Jul 30, 2014 21:33:37 GMT -5 by ☼Star Faultz☼

Bitches Be Actin All Innocent

L△LIA
RP Tutor

3,574 POSTS

last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

Stay With Me [Lalia & Star] Jul 25, 2014 17:42:19 GMT -5

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Post by L△LIA on Jul 25, 2014 17:42:19 GMT -5

born at the hearts of brilliant bruisers
where we find them and til we do
we'll have to drift until we find them
and the sea was alright and it was alright
it's all we know now to never go back

I know every second of every day that they need me, but I'm too young to be their dad. That's not even to mention how I was never meant to be anyone's mother — not now, not ever. Yet each morning comes and I wake with the dawn, cracking eggs into frying pans to feed the open mouths of four hungry baby birds, smoothing down the cowlicks in Pony's hair as he trundles by and bringing Mosca breakfast in bed when she's too weak to lift the sheets I tucked up under her chin the evening before. Months have passed this way: herding my younger brothers down the road and off to school, a trio of wayward lambs that nag at my worries, and dragging my father's axe out into the woods in a desperate attempt to pretend my shoulders are just as broad and capable as his were.

THWACK. I know I'm the oldest and when the time without our parents was still being measured in days and weeks, I thought age was enough. THWACK. The reflection in the mirror was almost proud at first, confident that I was a man and that this sudden weight of responsibility was something I could carry, maybe even with ease. THWACK. Except that each day I come into this forest to chop wood, the act of slamming a sharpened steel blade into the trees feels less like self-preservation and more like a race to see which of us will fall first. THWACK. The trees are older than I am. THWACK. Taller than I am. THWACK. Stronger than I am. THWACK THWACK THWA—

My father's axe lodges itself too deeply into the bark and stubbornly refuses to be pulled free. After ten minutes of tugging, I fall.

Sprawled out on the ground, I punch the earth with empty fists, burying my knuckles in dirt and hollering nonsense at the canopy of leaves above me. Our mother used to tell us endless stories of the faeries that watched over us from up there — from all around — but my mother was a liar. There's no one watching over me. So much of my life was wasted chasing her stories of magic and mischief through these woods, invisible glitter embedded into the lifelines stretched across my curious palms and now the memories of her tales taunt me with unfulfilled promises. For all the deer tracks I followed in hopes of meeting a centaur or every message for the Fair Folk I scrawled onto scraps of paper and tucked away into hollow trees... I feel cheated. It's enough to make me hate these woods, enough perhaps, to be the reason I continue coming out here each day, trying to single-handedly tear them down.

Today the trees continue to stand while I lay with my back pressed into the soil, however.

Hauling myself up, I glare at the axe. It leers back at me, taunting me with blunt evidence of how I'm probably not strong enough to keep going. These are the things my younger siblings don't see, can't see. Around them I have to be better than this, every look swearing that taking care of them is horribly easy, so that no one worries. We've all worried enough since our parents disappeared and now it's up to me to quell their fears and keep the magic alive for them, even when I don't believe anymore. Looking into their eyes, I know all too well that I can't get away from this... but right now it's just me and I don't have to put up a front for anyone.

I spit childishly at the axe and turn on my heel, stomping off in the opposite direction of my responsibilities. On and on, I walk until I reach the creek that stretches out in two directions: one way leads back toward home and the other runs away to somewhere less familiar. My feet refuse to turn back and I follow the water until the fence rears up before me, caging me into this place of false magic and too much, too much, too much. Without thinking, I'm already in the water, ducking beneath the surface and escaping with the fish that swim so freely to the other side. It's the first thing I've done in a while that has truly felt easy.

The forest beyond the fence feels different and if I still believed in magic, maybe I'd describe it that way. It's not a sixth sense for faeries dancing in the branches above me or flocks of rainbow crows cawing out in the distance, but that the air feels lighter. Less heavy. More free. Even the footprints I leave behind seem less weighted and when I close my eyes and turn my face up to the sun, I'm not thinking about Pony or Atreyu or Ama or Mosca. Here, there's just me. It's a warm kind of selfishness.

Coming up on a stretch of sun-bathed grass, I strip my sopping shirt off and hang it on a low tree branch before laying down in the light, sprawled out with no cares for anything. The incriminating water of escape that lingers on my skin slowly dries and I think I could stay here forever. I feel eighteen again. Not in the way where I'm supposed to be a man, but in the way where I'm still allowed to be a kid. Here, I'm no one's dad and that's okay. Everything is okay.