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et quis custodiet ipsos custodes }{ frankel/aza
Jul 3, 2015 16:18:36 GMT -5
Post by D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza] on Jul 3, 2015 16:18:36 GMT -5
S E V E R A
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And I ran.
Like the humid, summer pool of air colliding into inanimate objects and waves beating like a drum against the shore. Like vultures soaring across indigo skies, over meadows extending for miles and miles just to feast. My feet whip back and forth, back and forth, the trees the only watchers of my race as I'm thrown across stone and heavy drifting leaves.
I don't know where I'm going, but there's the glimmer in my vision.
My visor emphasising the slightest of colour in this ocean of viridescent
vegetation, and though the branches obscure my view, my determination keeps me running, my breath thick and oozing until--
I'm in the clear, my arms lift, I blink and I think I have a shot.
The man turns his face towards me, my eyebrows drawing closer to my eyes as he does so. He falls to his knees, metaphoric crowns slipping as he slumps to a heap in the mud? Did I shoot? No, I haven't. I didn't hear anything, no shot and agonising scream of searing pain, just a chorus of shaken breaths.
My toes curl as I edge closer to him, he still remains vulnerable on his knees until the whistling of the wind picks him up: he rises, I fall. He runs again, my muscles aching with every fibre that moves until eventually the face and palette of colours fade into the woodland.
I am alone.
Frustration drowns my initial anger at the man and my own actions. I trained long and hard to serve the Capitol only to repay with them a '+1' on the list of runaways. It's not good enough for their standards and my own. My head shakes as a sigh is released from my dry lips. They crack as the air leaves my body, but as I take a new breath in, they spring to life with tension.
I slither over the fallen twigs of trees, darting through the ripened leaves, holders of the summer sun in their veins until I catch a glimpse of something beyond a pond in the distance.
Movement: fuelling my hope until a firework of tenacity sparks beneath my ribs.
My suit of white becomes noting but a blur in the boscage as my fingers seize the cold metal of the trigger, my hand becoming still with precision, the sounds around me swarming like bees adding to the adrenaline flowing through my body.
I push against the trigger and the silence is herded away as all that remains is the sound of the shot.
I missed.
The bullet lodges itself deep into the heart of a tree but I'm not met by the release of memories and sights from that being, only the voice from another.
Familiar, yet it calls me like I'm at a parallel to it's owner.
Like the humid, summer pool of air colliding into inanimate objects and waves beating like a drum against the shore. Like vultures soaring across indigo skies, over meadows extending for miles and miles just to feast. My feet whip back and forth, back and forth, the trees the only watchers of my race as I'm thrown across stone and heavy drifting leaves.
I don't know where I'm going, but there's the glimmer in my vision.
My visor emphasising the slightest of colour in this ocean of viridescent
vegetation, and though the branches obscure my view, my determination keeps me running, my breath thick and oozing until
I'm in the clear, my arms lift, I blink and I think I have a shot.
The man turns his face towards me, my eyebrows drawing closer to my eyes as he does so. He falls to his knees, metaphoric crowns slipping as he slumps to a heap in the mud? Did I shoot? No, I haven't. I didn't hear anything, no shot and agonising scream of searing pain, just a chorus of shaken breaths.
My toes curl as I edge closer to him, he still remains vulnerable on his knees until the whistling of the wind picks him up: he rises, I fall. He runs again, my muscles aching with every fibre that moves until eventually the face and palette of colours fade into the woodland.
I am alone.
Frustration drowns my initial anger at the man and my own actions. I trained long and hard to serve the Capitol only to repay with them a '+1' on the list of runaways. It's not good enough for their standards and my own. My head shakes as a sigh is released from my dry lips. They crack as the air leaves my body, but as I take a new breath in, they spring to life with tension.
I slither over the fallen twigs of trees, darting through the ripened leaves, holders of the summer sun in their veins until I catch a glimpse of something beyond a pond in the distance.
Movement: fuelling my hope until a firework of tenacity sparks beneath my ribs.
My suit of white becomes noting but a blur in the boscage as my fingers seize the cold metal of the trigger, my hand becoming still with precision, the sounds around me swarming like bees adding to the adrenaline flowing through my body.
I push against the trigger and the silence is herded away as all that remains is the sound of the shot.
I missed.
The bullet lodges itself deep into the heart of a tree but I'm not met by the release of memories and sights from that being, only the voice from another.
Familiar, yet it calls me like I'm at a parallel to it's owner.
