hold back the river // zori

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cici
Hunter

88 POSTS

last seen Sept 10, 2020 20:01:40 GMT -5

hold back the river // zori Apr 21, 2015 17:32:18 GMT -5

Post by cici on Apr 21, 2015 17:32:18 GMT -5

“A dark world aches for a splash of the sun"

freya hanig

The first time I lost Rum Tum was at the edge of District Three. I was slipping through the tear in the fence with a backpack full of food weighing down my shoulders as I retraced my steps back to the spot where I had left him. When I didn't find him there, I called his name. I called his name sixteen times just like the sixteen years that we had lived apart from one another in different worlds living different lives. And when I called his name a seventeenth time, an eighteenth time, even a nineteenth time: that must have been when the universe decided to add on a year of separation for every desperate cry.

I remember standing there, nineteen repetitions lingering on my tired lips, and the world was silent. Maybe there had been chirping birds or the rustle of a bush. Maybe you could hear the running water of a nearby stream. Still, the world was so utterly silent. And I never wanted to know that silence again: that silence that followed me like a shadow through the woods, to the ocean shore, to the Capitol, into my bedroom.

It's back. Even though the windows are open to let in some of the noise from the street below, silence has still managed to seep in through the crack beneath the door. I'm in an apartment that belongs to Rum Tum's master, and I'm alone. Only minutes ago, he stood next to me as I crawled beneath the sheets of a stranger's bed, and I imagined falling asleep in his arms. I imagined opening my eyes in the morning with the rays of sunshine falling softly across his face. But he said he had to go; he said he was sorry, he couldn't let Olivia know that he was gone. He promised that once she went home and went to sleep, he would come back, and when he asked if I would be okay, I nodded. I nodded, because I wanted to be strong, independent, okay. Still, once he left and let go of my hand, I couldn't help but remember what he told me only recently: "I'm never going to leave you again, as long as I live."

After several failed attempts to fall asleep, I stand up and move to the bathroom, my hand resting on the lightswitch as it flickers on to reveal my face in the mirror. Not wanting to smudge Olivia's pillow with my own makeup, I fish through drawers until I find a roll of paper towels and rip off a piece. I run it under the water before bringing it up to my eyelid and wiping away the layers of eyeliner, eyeshadow, mascara, all of it. I can't help but wonder if this is the last time I'll wear makeup on my face. I wonder if it's the last time I'll see myself at all. It makes me feel like I'm washing off more than just some black eyeliner, because with all of this, all of this talk of leaving, I'm wiping away some of my identity too. The makeup doesn't come off very easily, but I suppose that's how is it with most things.

I take one more look at myself in the mirror before turning off the light and returning to Olivia's bed. I pull the covers over my head and close my eyes to block out the frightening darkness, because the silence is lethal. I feel it seeping into my ears, infecting my body, overpowering my immune system. I had changed out of my gown before getting in bed the first time, but the only sleepwear I could find in Olivia's dresser to borrow was a silk nightgown several sizes too big, and as I roll from side to side in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, I feel like I'm being strangled: by the silk, by the silence, and by all the loneliness I had ever collected from the seashells on the shore and the leaves on the trees.

I hear a creak on the other side of the room, and I pull the covers closer to my face. It must be something touched by the wind of the open window, but what if it isn't? What if there's someone, something there? What if Rum Tum never comes back? What if he gets trapped by his responsibilities to Olivia? What if someone catches me here? What if I'm left here forever? Rum Tum said I was safe, but I don't feel safe. Maybe it's different for him. Was this how he felt every time he was put in a new strange place in a new strange bed, or is he just stronger than me? He's survived years alone in the woods, but I don't think I could spend another day alone out there, or anywhere for that matter.

"I'm never going to leave you again, as long as I live." I replay the memory over and over again in my head and sink into the sheets, wishing that words were enough. I wonder if my parents are as afraid as I am right now; I could go home if want to, but I don't know that I could find my way from here. If this is what the rest of my life looks like: these drawn out periods of loneliness, waiting, and fear...I don't know if I can handle that. I don't know that I can live knowing that they could find us in the woods with one of their hovercrafts at any moment and that we could be stripped apart again.

"I'm never going to leave you again, as long as I live." I must be acting like a child, so dependent on Rum Tum's promises. But even in the deafening silence, I keep hearing that phrase over and over in my head for what seems like hours. In all that time, I lie there, awake, until I hear a door open in the other room and see a light flicker on in the crack beneath the door. It's still dark out. It must be an early hour of the morning. A wave of excitement passes through me, and I leap up from the bed, relieved that Rum Tum has returned. However, as I near the door, I hear the sound of heels and realize that this is not Rum Tum. The excitement is immediately replaced my panic as I scurry to make the bed that I had just gotten out of. I look around the room and then dart toward the closet, closing the door and quickly curling up into a corner. I wrap my arms around my legs and put my face in my knees as if it will make me more invisible. Then I remember that I left my gown and my mask lying on Olivia's dresser, and the panic increases. I hear the door of her room open, and I bite my lip.

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hold back the river // zori Apr 27, 2015 22:59:44 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Apr 27, 2015 22:59:44 GMT -5

like a queen

Think of me more than anyone else

miu - others

We all have our parts to play.

The scene of the masquerade was a beautiful mosaic of irony and anguish; a collection of souls that knew no better, forced to spend these moments with one another because—the president had asked us all to do so. To refuse his word was to deny the savior of panem; it is to etch in one’s arm that she is going to outright defy an order. For you see, parties here are never just parties. Not for the initiated. Those of us that still have half a brain can see through the smoke and mirrors, we can tell that the steps of the dance portend all events that were and will be. A delicate, slow crawl through what is, and what isn’t; those that have an ounce of power know that we must oblige or face losing everything. And so I too was in the wings of the masquerade, stopping only to bow my head and dance with the white haired man smelling of roses. Perhaps he knew it was me, perhaps it was just the perfume of a passing trollop but I could swear he smelled of tea roses.

We, two birds circling, pressed hands against one another and felt the sway of the music. And I, for the better part of me, forgot for that one moment that there were a thousand and one bodies gyrating just one room over. Instead, I was enveloped in the roses covering an arbor, of visions of spring and sunlight. A young woman in the hands of a young man and staring off into the horizon seeing only shades of promise. Where will we go tomorrow? he says. As though there’s an answer for the clouds above. But here, turning on my heel I can see the lines just under his eyes, and know—he had nothing to give but his hands, with a mind more focused on the clouds than the ground at his feet. Our dance ends and I’m left with a petal in my hand, and only a shadow. No face to thank, no confirmation of who he may have been but I—should rightly know that few have such calling cards that are not doing the work of the devil himself.

I try to follow behind. I turn the cold brass handle and find a room full of faces—all the same—and a large, hollowed goat horn at the edge of the carpet. Rum Tum. I’ve forgotten him entirely in the chaos. This was his night to experience our world, to see the lassitude in all its glory. Not that he needed to be reminded that the shadows dancing here are just shadows. They weigh no more than the light stretching across the walls, and disappear all the same underneath the sun. There’s so little of substance, so little relevance that it’s a wonder the world has not yet collapsed under the suffocating emptiness. Cracks are already beginning to show—strains of unrest in the districts, of men and women who whisper about the power, of how things could be. We all know better. I know that the world is only as good as the one put up in charge; we have no choice but to follow the one that has decided to lead. To question that is death; to refuse is to be cast into the darkness.

But there is another way. There are always going to be the powerless and the powerful, no matter how much better the world may become.

I cannot bear to spend a night in the too-big-a-house on a hill. The servants will be waiting for my arrival but—I slip out the doors of the mansion and step through the grass. The party remains in full swing, and fades to a dull roar as I head up the sidewalk. The laughter disappears and I’m left only to the sound of morning birds. Neon lights flare along storefronts as I make my way to the heart of the city. Here the young careen through the streets, out for another night of living that isn’t quite living; shopkeepers do their best to protect from the ambling crowds hungry for a bite at the corner store, or just another pack of cigarettes. I never thought I’d be so charmed to see the glass panels alongside my building’s doors; even less so of the ringing elevator as it hums upward. The doors open into my apartment and I step along the hardwood floor. I run a hand along my neck.

I take a circular of ice from the fridge and place it into a tumbler. A splash of whiskey follows, and then a cigarette. There’s a sound in the bedroom, and I wonder if Rum Tum has gotten up the courage to peer through my things. He’s a curious boy. Rich in a history that has left others aghast, if he had another face, he’d have long been dead. But we could never kill one that is part of history. He has endured too much to ever be put down so easily. He was the one, after reading his file, that would become my right hand. Even at the objections of others, I gave him a new life. A chance. Because he is useful, and because he knows more than anyone that he wants what is best for all people. That’s what makes Rum Tum a man amongst the boys of the capitol.

“Rum,” I whisper out. I slide through the door and give a grin. “While I appreciate the curiosity, you push your luck and my patience this evening.” The words are slurred and I wonder if perhaps this was one drink too many. Looking at the empty room I see that he has disappeared. The bed is too obvious for a wildling creature such as Rum Tum Tugger to hide. And then I see the mask, and—aha. That leaves precious few places. I step closer to the armoire and smile again. I pull open the doors. The one that waits on the other side is not Rum Tum but—

I take a long, hard drag of my cigarette and blow the smoke behind me.

“My dear, my dear,” The deliciousness of the moment, knowing that Rum Tum has brought home a mouse—and not just any mouse—settles. “Shall you spend all evening between my sundresses and gowns, or are you going to come out to have a proper chat?”

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cici
Hunter

88 POSTS

last seen Sept 10, 2020 20:01:40 GMT -5

hold back the river // zori May 11, 2015 23:32:12 GMT -5

Post by cici on May 11, 2015 23:32:12 GMT -5

“A dark world aches for a splash of the sun"

freya hanig

The door swings open, a thin trail of light corrupting the darkness that surrounded me only moments ago. I try not to move, knees pressed against my chest, face pressed against my knees, hair pressed against my face; maybe she doesn’t see me. But she does, because, “My dear, my dear,” a female voice speaks. Her words reek of control. “Shall you spend all evening between my sun dresses and gowns, or are you going to come out and have a proper chat?” I lift my face, daring to look up at the woman who owns the boy I love. She’s fairly old: not the kind of old that paralyzes you and leaves you with scattered memories, but the kind of old that means you know things that others do not. I wonder what she knows. I wonder what she knows about me, because her eyes seem to say that she knows all.

I crinkle my nose at the smell of smoke and then notice that she’s holding a cigarette. So this is her. This is Olivia. Maybe I should just stay here until she calls the peacekeepers and has them come and drag me out of her closet. I don’t want to tell her anything. Still, after a long moment of silence, I stand up from the ground and step out of the closet, but only because Rum Tum is out there somewhere. It’s my responsibility to protect him, and if Olivia somehow knows my relation to him, then I need to do whatever she says.

I look at Olivia nervously, trying to form an excuse of some sort. The effort is fairly pointless. “I’m sorry,” I say. There’s no rational way to explain this. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just -- please just let me go home. I promise I’ll never do anything like this again.” Maybe she’s just as confused as I am; her face doesn’t say so, but who knows? I look at the door, thinking that maybe if I dart now, I can make it; maybe I can get out of her apartment before she so much as catches my name.

However, the only thing that keeps me darting across the room is the fact that I don’t know where Rum Tum is. Where is he? What has she done with him? I feel my heart beating faster and faster, and suddenly I feel dizzy, because it hurts to love, to hold people close to you and feel so utterly disconnected from them. It hurts to be stuck in a question, to have all your happiness dependent on the existence and well-being of another person. And it’s moments like these -- (moments where I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing or if he’s okay or if this woman did something to him or if she knows where he is or if she knows who I am or if he’s even trying to get back to me or if he just left me here alone forever or if they'll send me to the detention center so that I'll never get to see him again) -- that I feel the most vulnerable, the most fragile. I feel like my bones are made of glass, and every moment that I’m not with the single person who makes me the most happy, a piece of me starts to shatter.

I don’t know where he is.

I want to scream at this woman to tell me where he is. I want to go find him. I want to hold him forever and never let go, because this fear and uncertainty will shatter me in a matter of seconds if I let it.

I wonder what it would be like to be free of love. To be free of the fear, the uncertainty, the utter vulnerability, all the little words written in fine print, all the pain that society refuses to advertise on the label for this beautiful, magnificent thing called love.

I look up at Olivia and swallow my uncertainty, trying to make my face look as if it is made of bricks, not glass. I just hope she doesn’t see the way my legs are trembling and shattering beneath me.

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hold back the river // zori May 25, 2015 22:36:08 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on May 25, 2015 22:36:08 GMT -5

like a queen

Think of me more than anyone else

miu - others

I could have her taken off to the detention center, you know? The whole business of her snooping around my private quarters, whether or not to tryst with Rum Tum Tugger, is grounds enough for her fingernails to be plucked from her fingers. More so that she is a Hanig. She is imbued with the sins of her father; she is tainted by his very existence. The universe has played yet another cosmic joke by delivering Freya so easily. I was beginning to think that it would take far more to have this pawn moved to the right spot, but Rum Tum did enough work—unknowingly—getting her to come her. Now, you must believe that I would under no circumstances risk my life to keep a fool such as Rum Tum in my employ. He is disastrous as a servant, and his history is enough to rattle the core of most hardliners. His existence is nothing short of abject failure by the capitol from every level, that there can be those that exist without our knowledge and worse still, he knows about the swaths of land standing between the people of the district and the capitol.

“My dear,” I begin. There is another pregnant pause, and I turn away. “You have nothing to fear in this house.” I give a small smile. I never lie. It is a skill that has served me truly in all my years working for the president. The people here work all their lives to develop such a reputation, and the easiest way to destroy it all is to be caught up in a lie. Rather, it is far easier to mention the possibility of alternatives—that, in her being here in my presence, she’s in far greater danger than she could ever comprehend. And what use would she be to me if I were to harm her, or kidnap her? She’s already disappeared for so long from the capitol that it would be up in arms to lose another precious child. No—I have far bigger designs for Freya and Rum Tum than a simple firing squad. After all, one learns never to expend too much energy in any one person. Failure is far too common to believe otherwise.

“Rum Tum’s gone back to the mansion to check on me, I suppose.” Perhaps it’s the lack of society that has made him so dutiful. Or, burning with purpose—he treats each day the same as the last, never faltering over the toils of previous adventures. I see the same qualities I saw in myself in him, a sort of strange devotion to the world that rarely exists anymore. How many people can honestly say they live through their mistakes so wholly? I throw a sidelong glance at Freya and give another grin. “He’ll turn down the sheets in the rooms; leave breakfast for me, all the usual. Because I had told him, and he believed, that I was to return after the masquerade. But you wouldn’t know a thing about that, now would you?” And the words linger, me looking at her.

“Oh I forgot… you two are already quite the pair.” I take a long drink. There is nothing wrong with the girl loving Rum Tum, or whatever fashion she may find him acceptable. What they have is more important than any puppy love. At least, in my eyes, they can choose to be a part of something much grander than they could comprehend. But is the girl as stubborn as her father? “How much do you think that the capitol knows about Rum Tum Tugger, Freya? Do you think that someone could spend their whole lives out in the middle of the forests, trouncing along, without anyone noticing?” I step back toward my desk and shake my head. That’s the naivite of the young, if anyone doubts the power, for one miniscule second, of the capitol. She’s smarter than most, so I don’t doubt it was for not knowing. Rather, perhaps a lack of wanting to know.

“Omniscience, my dear, does not mean all-knowing. Rather,” I place a hand on the old wooden desk. “It is precisely choosing what you want to see, what you want to hear, from all the everything that stands before you. That’s the great secret to the capitol, by the way. We don’t not know everything. We just choose the bits and pieces that we need to know.” I take another puff of the cigarette and flick out the ash. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that of course. Otherwise I might have to have you killed.”

tagged word count: 771 Notes: N/A music

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cici
Hunter

88 POSTS

last seen Sept 10, 2020 20:01:40 GMT -5

hold back the river // zori May 29, 2015 16:11:47 GMT -5

Post by cici on May 29, 2015 16:11:47 GMT -5

“A dark world aches for a splash of the sun"

freya hanig

I don’t like Olivia. I don’t like the false sense of security she’s trying to bestow upon me. I don’t like her nonchalance, her elegance, her confidence, the way she talks to me like I’m a child. And I most certainly don’t like the fact that she knows things about me without telling me how or why.

“How much do you think that the capitol knows about Rum Tum Tugger, Freya? Do you think that someone could spend their whole lives out in the middle of the forests, trouncing along, without anyone noticing?”

Why is she asking me this? How does she know my relation to him?

“Omniscience, my dear, does not mean all-knowing. Rather, it is precisely choosing what you want to see, what you want to hear, from all the everything that stands before you. That’s the great secret to the capitol, by the way. We don’t not know everything. We just choose the bits and pieces that we need to know.”

I bite my lip uncomfortably, trying not to think about what she’s saying but doing so anyways. Maybe the Capitol had always known about Rum Tum Tugger, the harmless wanderer. But had they ever really cared enough to go out and find him? He had no use to them.

If I leave this place with Rum Tum, they’ll find out, won’t they? And because my parents will be making phone call after phone call, pursuing search after search, the Capitol will care. They’ll care enough to find me and consequently, Rum Tum too. As much as I’ve wanted to think that our love is invincible, Olivia’s right. She’s so disappointingly right. Why does she have to be right?

“Don’t tell anyone I told you that of course. Otherwise I might have to have you killed.”

“Shut up!” I shout, clenching my hands and trying to bottle up oncoming frustration. “Stop talking to me. I’m not your ‘dear,’ and I don’t know what you want from me, but unless you’re going to let Rum Tum go, I’m not doing you any favors.”

“He doesn’t belong here, and you know it. All he’s probably done is break a bunch of your china. But out there in the woods, he has a way with the world. He has a meaning. So why take that away from him? What has it done for you or for anyone else here?” I pause as all the happiness that had consumed me an hour ago slips away. Rum Tum and I will never be together. We will never be married. We will never be free. Maybe he will, if he can manage to get out of this house, out of Olivia’s hands. But Olivia’s right; the Capitol knows everything – everything that they want to know – which is why I can never leave. They’ll find me, because they’ll want to.

“The Capitol doesn’t care about him. Please let him go,” I say, but my throat is full of tears and the words are spoken in a strained manner that I hope Olivia doesn’t notice. Because the last thing I want her to see are my emotions.

I just want Rum Tum to be happy. I just want him to be free.

And if I can’t share in that happiness, that’s okay. That’s okay, because it was bound to happen anyways. Happiness has always managed to slip from between my fingers. I was never meant to have it and keep it and hold it. It’s okay.

It’s okay.

It’s not okay.

I’m trapped here forever.

I can’t leave with him.

I can’t be with him.

I can’t marry him.

They’ll kill him.

I feel my eyes becoming wet with tears and quickly bring a hand up to wipe away the oncoming sadness before Olivia can see it. I hate her. I hate her for telling me the truth, because all the truth has ever done is enslave me to loneliness and unhappiness.

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hold back the river // zori Jun 4, 2015 23:11:23 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 4, 2015 23:11:23 GMT -5

like a queen

Think of me more than anyone else

miu - others

Perhaps the surest sign that we’re losing grip on our power is that someone such as Freya Hanig is allowed to exist at all.

Here is a girl who was raised to be a capitolite, and to accept all the values at face value. She is to be cunning, to observe but never question—and to live life in the moment, not with eyes cast backward, or staring straight ahead. Here, amongst all the concrete and metal is a flower that springs from between the cracks. These same cracks that erode and expose that for all his power, President Snow cannot keep down the people forever. Yes, he could have all of us killed. He could banish us from the realm, never to be heard from again. But that there is a single voice that dares to rise above the maddening white noise should be knowledge enough that the capitol is weakening. I smirk as she carries on—the girl is not quite a woman but, she has all the passion and fire of one that could grow into someone one day. She is not her parents; she is not the grace of the capitol, nor the charming child that they rescued those years ago.

He doesn’t belong here, and you know it. I purse my lips. Here is the kindling to her fire. And I must admit that once again she is absolutely correct. Rum Tum Tugger is a failure as a servant beyond my wildest expectations. He doesn’t understand where the forks are to be placed, he can’t stop himself from singing in the kitchen, and he marvels at every last gadget as though it’s the greatest thing that was ever invented. Have you ever tried to live with someone whose effusive optimism is so beyond sweet, that saccharine dulls in comparison? The capitol could not crush him—even in taking away his voice, he still found strength. He found hope in Freya Hanig, and she, in him. Would that I say this was a weakness. But love can, much better than force, rise a flower from nothing.

The Capitol doesn’t care about him. Please let him go.

“You know, there are so few people that manage to survive in the wild. Most of them wind up inside the districts, and we nab them then and there. But Rum Tum…” I blink, recalling the tapes. The pages and pages of notes on the subject, the hundreds of miles he must have traversed between and around districts. One little man on two little feet. He hummed a whole sixteen hour stretch once. “He wandered all his life without trudging much further than along the walls. Like he didn’t want to be a part of whatever was sitting between them.” I take another drag of my cigarette and let the smoke out from my nostrils. “You are right. There is no one quite like Rum Tum Tugger. He is not a boy for the capitol. And I don’t intend to keep him here much longer.”

I turn away. Trailing my hands along the cherry desktop, I place a hand on the manila folder marked confidential in thick red letters. Rum Tum was more than just a servant with a dead tribute’s face. He was more than the oddity of a wanderer, the novelty of a boy that had never spent his days within society. I twist my fingers into a fist over the file. If I went ahead, there was no turning back. And yet there have been too many years, too much for me to turn away from this opportunity. I let out a sigh and drum my fingers across the wood.

“He will not need to stay in the capitol. I will be relieving him of his duties. And he will be able to leave these walls.” I grin. “But he will still be of my employ. Going to the districts to deliver messages that need delivering. Overseeing my commands. And he will wander to District Thirteen. When his service is done he will be free of this—and I will make him disappear so that no one will ever have to bother Rum Tum Tugger ever again. You can have my word.” And there was the tip of my hand. But would this girl take the opportunity, would she be content with his raise in status, his new importance?

“Of course… he simply cannot go alone…”

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cici
Hunter

88 POSTS

last seen Sept 10, 2020 20:01:40 GMT -5

hold back the river // zori Jun 9, 2015 21:24:24 GMT -5

Post by cici on Jun 9, 2015 21:24:24 GMT -5

“A dark world aches for a splash of the sun"

freya hanig

“He will not need to stay in the capitol. I will be relieving him of his duties. And he will be able to leave these walls.” Olivia says. “But he will still be of my employ. Going to the districts to deliver messages that need delivering. Overseeing my commands. And he will wander to District Thirteen. When his service is done he will be free of this—and I will make him disappear so that no one will ever have to bother Rum Tum Tugger ever again. You can have my word.”

I blink, trying to process what she’s just said. She’s letting Rum Tum leave the Capitol? What kind of Capitolite is she? There’s something off about this. What is she getting out of it?

“Of course… he simply cannot go alone…”

“Are you suggesting that I go with him?” I ask, bewildered. There’s no way I’m walking right into this, not with the all-knowing look on her face. I didn’t think it would be this easy; it just doesn’t make any sense. “I guess I don’t quite understand. Don’t you have computers and phones and all to deliver messages to the districts? Can’t you send hovercrafts to District Thirteen? Why Rum Tum?” I remember that only a few moments ago I was pleading her to let Rum Tum go, so I shouldn’t be questioning it.

But I am.

I narrow my eyebrows, deep in thought as I search for all the loopholes in her plan. “You know, there’s not much logic to this at all. If you’re going to send us off into the woods, what happens when we run out of supplies and have to steal from a district? What happens when the peacekeepers catch us and we point our fingers at you, hm? So if you’re sending out there, you’d better fork over some cash and a good amount of starter supplies so that we don’t get you in any trouble.” I pause and fold my arms before continuing.

“And me? Well, what happens when my parents send the peacekeepers after me? Because if they find me, I’m telling them straight up that you sent me out there, that you kidnapped me the first time around too, that you did it all.” I grind my teeth because I hate this woman. I hate the way she stands there like she has all the power in the world, because for once I just want to be free, and I want Rum Tum to be free. The fact that we’ll have to answer to her if we leave this place sickens me, even though she’s handing us a gift – a huge gift. But it’s like when Andrea Myers started tearing all the wrapping paper off of my gifts at my fifth birthday party. Olivia is opening a gift for me that I wanted to open myself. I don’t want anyone else touching it. I don’t want this woman touching what I have with Rum Tum; I don’t want her controlling it on any level. I can’t trust her. I don’t want to trust her.
But I want to leave.

I open my mouth to speak again. “So if you want us to be your little messenger slaves, I hope you realize you have some responsibilities to take on, starting with keeping my parents from looking for me and also giving us a generous supply of cash for the districts.” I stare at her. “Because I don’t need your help to just escape the Capitol. I’ve done that before, and I could do it again if I wanted to. No matter what your ulterior motive is here, you’re going to have to do more than just drop us off in the woods if you want Rum Tum and I being your mailmen.”

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hold back the river // zori Jun 10, 2015 23:36:07 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 10, 2015 23:36:07 GMT -5

like a queen

Think of me more than anyone else

miu - others

She’s not afraid. I admire the fortitude of Freya Hanig, though it bores me that she doesn’t ever think about the repercussions of her actions. Her whole life has been just one moment after another of unimagined consequences; it’s the whole reason she and Rum Tum have been together and it will be the reason why she delivers what I desire. There’s nothing that someone as small as Freya could ever do to expose me. Even as dangerous as the people here are in the capitol, not one of them could cross me without the skeletons tumbling out of their closets, her father included. And what did this little girl come back to the capitol for, and stay, if it weren’t for something as useless as her pathetic family? She prattles on and rages; I turn to extinguish my cigarette. I move along the wall and listen to the words that draw out of her mouth.

No matter what your ulterior motive is here, you’re going to have to do more than just drop us off in the woods if you want Rum Tum and I being your mailmen.

Oh little girl—you are nothing, nothing, nothing compared to me. You are not more than a half speck of sand on the beach, you are not the blot of blue in the sky—you are nothing. That’s what she still retains from these capitolites, this self-possessed idea that she can strut about and always get her way. As though the world was ever so far as to just give her exactly what she wanted. Hasn’t she had enough pain to know that you cannot turn the wheel, it will simply smash and destroy you instead? No. Freya Hanig instead has all the bravado of one that still believes she has a choice. Well, the world of choice disappeared before the war was won. Now what remains is a world that will continue to spin on its own axis, and push you into the direction you were born to be pushed.

I trail a finger along the wall and press into a key pad. The flat screen lowers, and I move to take another drink. The projector hums, and there, in pale blue and grey light, is the body of one Rum Tum Tugger tied to a chair. Sweat drips down his brow. His hands are chained to the arms of the chair. His bare feet are dirty, and his exposed bicep has a number scrawled in black type across for identification. He closes his eyes and lets out a yell—the noise is off but I press the button, letting Freya hear his scream begin to fill the room. He cries out again as his unnamed assailants send volts of electricity through this body. Stop, stop… please, please… His voice is broken, and his eyes are full of tears. The tape changes to him, this time on his knees and his shirt stripped from his body. Two guards stand over him—one with a whip raised above his head, the other with a taser in his hands. The thwacking begins, and with each hit—a whimper from Rum Tum’s lips.

“I don’t have to ask you to do anything.” I give a grin. Someone help me, Rum Tum cries out. “You see—you see what they did to him those years ago? When you decided to separate from him, and he got lost all on his own? And they could’ve killed him, too but—” Rum Tum looks up at the camera, his left eye black and his nose dribbling blood. He coughs. “He had that face, and the guard took pity on him. He didn’t understand how Rum Tum could be Benat Izar—and so he let him live. Not without consequence, of course. All those hours they beat him, trying to break him of his belief that he had wandered outside the walls, and lived without the capitol.” I shake my head, and shurg my shoulders. “And you wouldn’t believe how hard they tried to get him to break. It was a Sisyphean task, truly.”

Who are you? They ask. Rum Tum Tugger. And again, they crack into his body, the boy screaming as their fists bruise and break him. Amazing that anyone could hold onto who they are—that anyone would want to have held on to what they were, when he didn’t have the slightest idea what they would’ve have done to him. How did he know that he would ever see Freya Hanig again? Or that he would wander out, underneath the stars? There is within his soul more bravery than all the men of the capitol. There is an undeniable tenacity that has allowed him to live when the odds should not have. I shake my head again and look to Freya.

“Everyone you love can have the same fate. Your mother, your father—” But wouldn’t that be delicious. “And Rum Tum, too. The both of you will suffer because you couldn’t possibly think that there are things more important, more complicated than you could ever possibly understand.” I sneer at Freya now, and stare at the child before me. “But then you could never possibly understand what it means to give up yourself for the greater good of anyone, now could you? You would never understand that someone like him would be destined to greater things. He is someone that could and would give his life up for what really mattered, not to chase windmills or lay in light houses.”

I step closer, feet away from her and a thousand feet taller. “You will never truly have a choice, Freya. But you can take the opportunity I’m giving to both you and Rum Tum and you will one day understand that the world needed it—need you—and maybe then you’ll get what it is you think you deserve.”

Please, Freya… Rum Tum’s face is on the screen again, his head against the concrete wall behind him. His nose still dripping blood, mixing with the same dribbling out of his mouth.

“Or you will suffer.”

tagged word count: 1024 Notes: N/A music

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cici
Hunter

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last seen Sept 10, 2020 20:01:40 GMT -5

hold back the river // zori Jun 11, 2015 9:22:33 GMT -5

Post by cici on Jun 11, 2015 9:22:33 GMT -5

“A dark world aches for a splash of the sun"

freya hanig

Olivia presses a button and then Rum Tum is immediately projected onto a screen. He’s chained to a chair, he’s dirty, they’re shocking him and he’s screaming, he’s screaming, he’s screaming, and I feel like I should be screaming too but I’m not. I’m just watching watching and watching as he screams more and more and Olivia is saying words. I think she’s saying words but I’m not listening just watching just watching and breaking and dying because now he’s on his knees and they’re whipping him. They ask him his name and he responds with “Rum Tum Tugger” and they keep whipping him like he’s an animal, and yet somehow he’s still human. Somehow, he’s still alive. There’s blood, there’s sweat, there are marks on his bag and a number on his arm and Olivia is saying something about how I don’t have a choice, how she’ll do this to my family, to Rum Tum, to me, to everyone in my life, and who knew it would be so easy to enslave me? Who knew it would only take a matter of seconds? I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything to never hear Rum Tum scream like that again.

She says something about how I’ll be contributing to the greater good, how the world needs me, and so maybe this job is something beneficial. Isn’t that all I ever wanted? To help people? Sure sure sure. I can’t think about it. All I can think about is how I want them to stop, stop hurting him. I want to hold him and stop the blood and stop the screams and stop it all. Stop stop stop. They aren’t allowed to touch him. They aren’t allowed to hurt and break and corrupt the only good thing in this world, the one person that keeps me waking up in the morning and smiling and laughing and loving and living and stop stop stop stop stop stop. Stop hitting me. Stop whipping me. Stop shocking me. Stop making me scream stop stop stop. With every hit to Rum Tum’s body, I feel it on my own and every scream that comes out of his mouth feels like it’s coming out of mine. I can’t move.

Please Freya, he says, and something lurches inside of me. I could have stopped this. I could have prevented this. They should have hurt me. Still paralyzed, I fight to swallow down the choking sensation in my throat if only to get a single word out. “Okay,” I mutter softly, still staring at Rum Tum’s face even though I’m speaking to Olivia.

Okay.

Okay.

Not okay.

“I’m yours.”

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hold back the river // zori Jun 17, 2015 23:39:12 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2015 23:39:12 GMT -5

like a queen

Think of me more than anyone else

miu - others

How many lives will Freya Hanig live?

Looking into her eyes, I pause to watch, to stare. How much life and strength is there? All the men and women of the capitol are so vacant in their expressions; they shroud the truth between the clouds within their eyes. But here, Freya’s eyes burn with the truth. She and Rum Tum are more alike this way—though his portray an unworldly innocence—but still the same, they shine untouched. Truth is, after all, much harder to extinguish when one refuses to let it go. But here is where the strength fades, and disappates into the night air. Freya Hanig may know the truth, she may live and breathe it, but she is a creature of the capitol. That cannot be undone for all the walking, swimming, dancing, and general idleness. She knows who is strong and who is not. She knows that there is no power in saying “no” to a woman who could have her disappear forever.

“Courage now, child,” I say. But is it the right word? Freya Hanig is so much younger than I but, here she stands ready to make a deal. One that will change her life, his life, perhaps the lives of all those in Panem. “You’ve got so long to go, I can’t have you breaking into pieces just now.” For both she and Rum Tum have many mountains to climb until their journey is over. Does she have the fortitude to last until the end? Will the world ever know Freya Hanig—does she want to be known? Though perhaps that’s the wrong question. We all want to be known—it just depends upon the degree. She is not, say—her father or her mother, who could stand for all the people of panem to see their faces emblazoned on the television, or banners hanging over the capitol.

Perhaps no one will ever know of what transpired here. While the games are celebrated well into the night, and folks have their faces pressed against the screens, there are the quiet moments like this that will never be written. Should I admire her for this sincere attachment to a hopeless boy that should’ve been dead years ago? And yet I can’t think of how she is not a child; she’s a woman that is willing to risk everything for something more than herself. She is not the child for this very reason. The agency of her own life is more important than all else. She seizes the day despite, not because of the intentions of others. Far too many try to snatch truth out of the air, but find it altered in their hands, or slip away. Such truth may exist, but she is willing to write her own. Power comes with such independence; in fact it is the clearest sign that she will be the strength to Rum Tum’s endurance.

“You will find Rum Tum here in the morning. There will be a set of papers for the both of you, with instructions. Then you will begin a journey out of the capitol and toward district thirteen.” I say slowly. “Should you choose to leave at any time, we will find you. And—no one will ever know where you have gone, or what has happened to you. But I trust you understand the magnitude of this situation.” I smile. “Rum Tum will be returning in an hour—you’re welcome to stay with him upon his return.” I move to place a jacket upon my shoulders and put out my cigarette. “You’re doing the world a favor, Ms. Hanig.” With this, I make my way toward the door.

tagged word count: 615 Notes: N/A music

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