That a Ghost Should be So Practical // [Opal+Mace]
Feb 25, 2015 13:03:29 GMT -5
Post by [earthling] on Feb 25, 2015 13:03:29 GMT -5
a note from the desk of
Mace Emberstatt
when you never thought that it could ever get this tough,of District Ten
that's when you feel my kind of love
Mace hugged the base of the furnace and cursed the voice in his head. Yeah, fuck that. If only. The worst of it was that he had brought this torture entirely on himself. She had not asked him to build a shrine in her name, her name which she had claimed for herself. She had not demanded that he live his life in service to her memory. She had asked for so little so long ago. If he was haunted by Alexander Hood, it was entirely his own doing.
But he could not let her go.
The moment the tributes had surfaced to ice, his heart had stopped. He hadn't been smart enough to be with his human safety nets. Julian had gone to the compartments for Two and his children to the creche with Saffron. He'd been all alone. But then, wasn't that the way it was supposed to be for a victor? Wasn't that the reality of his life? No one else remembered her the way he did. No one else had plucked a penny from a dying man's stomach. No one else had turned their back on the water aflame.
Soon, though, someone else might remember the pneumonia lurking in his lungs. Soon, someone else might be able to compare opalescent toe nails. Soon. But not today.
He'd stumbled into furnace room, wrapped himself against one of the grumbling machines. He laid on his side, grey eyes as vacant as they once had been. He was encased in a block of ice, a transparent cell. He could see her, just on the other side, always on the other side. If she said anything to him, it came through layers of frosted over memories.
"I don't know how to be warm any more," he said, his voice tunneling through his snowy thoughts.
But he could not let her go.
The moment the tributes had surfaced to ice, his heart had stopped. He hadn't been smart enough to be with his human safety nets. Julian had gone to the compartments for Two and his children to the creche with Saffron. He'd been all alone. But then, wasn't that the way it was supposed to be for a victor? Wasn't that the reality of his life? No one else remembered her the way he did. No one else had plucked a penny from a dying man's stomach. No one else had turned their back on the water aflame.
Soon, though, someone else might remember the pneumonia lurking in his lungs. Soon, someone else might be able to compare opalescent toe nails. Soon. But not today.
He'd stumbled into furnace room, wrapped himself against one of the grumbling machines. He laid on his side, grey eyes as vacant as they once had been. He was encased in a block of ice, a transparent cell. He could see her, just on the other side, always on the other side. If she said anything to him, it came through layers of frosted over memories.
"I don't know how to be warm any more," he said, his voice tunneling through his snowy thoughts.