Broken Pieces {Asher/Preston Day 4}
Jul 6, 2015 7:52:41 GMT -5
Post by Asher Rainer 7m {tribsit} on Jul 6, 2015 7:52:41 GMT -5
Something beautiful
ASHER RAINER
or something free? TAG: WORDS: 442. NOTES:
The screaching sound of the train as it flew down the tracks only brought music to his ears. It reminded him that he was alive - for now. The sound of his feet pounding against the floor of the train faded in the distance as cannon after cannon sounded. Part of him wanted to know if the younger boy was still alive, yet he couldn't bring himself to turn around to look. Had the kid he spent his entire time in the arena protecting, the only person he ever trusted, attacked him? Asher couldn't tell. He couldn't figure out if it was the lookalike, or if it was the real Preston.
Sighing to himself, he stopped leaning against a rail staring into the fog. Blood continued pouring down his forehead, and it spewed between his fingers as his grip tightened around a stump of an arm. All he could see was the face of a Preston slicing clean through it. Mixing with the blood running down his face was tears. The chances of him winning just fell through the drain. How could he win with one hand? Back home his family had probably given up the moment the blade sliced through the bone. But his body was numb. Using his imagination, Asher tried to will hand to move, but nothing was there.
Slowly, the district seven tribute lowered himself to the floor. He had nothing to clean it with. Nothing to take away the pain. Nothing. Bringing his knees to his chest, he placed the palm of his only hand against the cold, metal floor. Maybe he should just jump from the train. Maybe he would fall down through the abyss leading to the underground. He didn't want to die. But who wanted to die? Not a single person here. Every tribute wanted to survive.
The memories, the scars, the pain, won't leave his mind. The way he begged for Preston to realize he was the real Asher. The way he ran away after his own lookalike fell. The words he said. All of it. Maybe had overreacted as he had no way of knowing if it was him. And how would he know which Preston was alive?
He wasn't sure what to believe. The viel separating reality from fiction tore in half the moment he saw a mirror image of himself standing in front of him. Taking a deep breath, his head dropped to his knees. Violent shrieks filled the air, and for now he didn't care if someone killed him because his will to survive flew away with his arm.
His only hope was his family understood.
Sighing to himself, he stopped leaning against a rail staring into the fog. Blood continued pouring down his forehead, and it spewed between his fingers as his grip tightened around a stump of an arm. All he could see was the face of a Preston slicing clean through it. Mixing with the blood running down his face was tears. The chances of him winning just fell through the drain. How could he win with one hand? Back home his family had probably given up the moment the blade sliced through the bone. But his body was numb. Using his imagination, Asher tried to will hand to move, but nothing was there.
Slowly, the district seven tribute lowered himself to the floor. He had nothing to clean it with. Nothing to take away the pain. Nothing. Bringing his knees to his chest, he placed the palm of his only hand against the cold, metal floor. Maybe he should just jump from the train. Maybe he would fall down through the abyss leading to the underground. He didn't want to die. But who wanted to die? Not a single person here. Every tribute wanted to survive.
The memories, the scars, the pain, won't leave his mind. The way he begged for Preston to realize he was the real Asher. The way he ran away after his own lookalike fell. The words he said. All of it. Maybe had overreacted as he had no way of knowing if it was him. And how would he know which Preston was alive?
He wasn't sure what to believe. The viel separating reality from fiction tore in half the moment he saw a mirror image of himself standing in front of him. Taking a deep breath, his head dropped to his knees. Violent shrieks filled the air, and for now he didn't care if someone killed him because his will to survive flew away with his arm.
His only hope was his family understood.