one last day of rage (Sax/Jeq || Day 3)
Oct 27, 2015 18:40:46 GMT -5
Post by arx!! on Oct 27, 2015 18:40:46 GMT -5
Jequirity Eckhart
tired mechanical heart
I hold my violin to my neck.
If I had known that the last song I would play would be for Hannah O'Leary I would've never stopped playing. Not as her eyes closed and not as her skin grew cold. I would've played until my limbs ached, my fingers cramped, and my neck was rubbed raw by the chin rest. I would've played until dehydration had finally taken me in its firm grasp and pulled me to the ground.
Now I'll never play again.
I stare at the bow in my lap, sitting daintily... waiting, calling, singing to me—Pick me up. Pick me up, Jack. Please, pick me up. But never again will I raise the bow to the strings. Never again will I hear its music. My heart has been silenced, never again will it sing. The moment Rodrick Benstaloe of District 10 decided to come at me with his axe was the instant the last bit of myself I had been holding onto slipped away, right out of my grasp. I guess I should've held my sanity in my left hand.
I let the violin drop from my chin and set it down gently next to me. I run my fingertips over the hair of the bow before picking it up and running it over the violin strings. A discordant rally of notes is all I can create. What's you talent now, huh? I've had ivory keys under my fingers since I was 5 years old. Strings of all sorts not long after that. And I had only just begun to explore all of the instruments available to me. Now look at me—I can barely stand without help.
Crack.
I whip the bow as far as I can. I don't watch or hear it land; I've hauled myself to my feet and smashed the violin underfoot before that could happen. But no matter how hard I jam my foot down onto the frame it doesn't break. (... 9, 10, 11) Damn it, break already!
Snap.
"GAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
I pick it up and throw it after the bow, the last note to my final song a loud squelch! only a few feet away from me. Leo is dead. Odile is dead. Paige is dead. Hannah is dead. The music is dead. I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I've died a thousand times now, I'm dead! So why does every cut, bruise, and break still scream for my undivided attention with searing pain? Why do I feel needles jabbing into my skull and billions of pounds of pressure sitting atop my heart? Why do I hurt? Why does it all hurt so fucking much!? Pain should pester someone else because I am slowly growing numb.
I glance down at my arm. The letters J-E-Q remain even after the people in the Capitol had done all they could to stop the scarring. Rio's ring with wings spread wide and the ring I had found amongst my things yesterday sit one on top of the other on my ring finger now. I had to pull them off my right hand before Heather's filthy mutt began to gnaw and slobber on it. I want to go home. And I don't mean to the stars with Hannah or buried beside Wyatt or Ellexias back in District 6. I mean home. Where Rio smiles at me and my sisters can poke fun at my lack of an arm and Momma Penny and Momma Lily love me no matter how many times I have screwed up.
Home.
(How does a dead girl get home?)
Two silver parachutes dance in my direction. I struggle to open them, but when I finally do I find some flint and a bar of soap, labeled with the O'Leary name. A cruel joke from the Capitol, tearing apart my recently stitched heart, twisting the knife lodged there just a little bit deeper. I close my eyes and Hannah's blue eyes stare back at me; I'm not getting any sleep again tonight. My heart twists in my chest. My knees grow weak beneath me. My throat swells shut as tears threaten to fall. I won't let them, but they try nonetheless.
I throw the flint angrily at my bag and stalk away from where Saxton and I had made our camp with the soap in hand. It's Daria's fault I smell like death itself. I will cut off her other foot and feed it to her. It's Rodrick's fault that Leo is dead and that I'm missing an arm. I will rip every one of his limbs from his body to return the favor. It's Heather's fault that Odile is dead and that I've got bird shit in my hair. I'm gonna jab my sword so far up her ass that she will regret ever existing. It's Cody's fault that Hannah is dead. So I guess I get to kill Mr. Name-Thing himself, too. And then I will figure out who killed Paige and I will slowly and ever so gently separate their head from their body. AND IF I DON'T GET SOME FUCKING SLEEP TONI---
I trip and fall face first into a shallow stream, the cool water snapping me from my fit of rage and making me gasp for air. And by the time my lungs have filled and my heart has slowed I don't even have the energy to move. I simply bring my knees to my chest and grip the soap tightly in my hand as water rushes over my feet and drips down my spine.
And I'm just so pissed off...
("There is a fine line between anger and sorrow, my sweet poison berry." Mom says, patting me on the knees as I sit on the couch with tear filled eyes. "You're allowed to be angry at your parents for leaving you on our doorstep," she continues as I stare into my lap, my hands balled together and tears staining my dress. "You have every right." She lifts my chin and smiles at me. "But you have to ask yourself--- are you mad? Or sad?" I wipe at my eyes and give a loud sniffle before a tiny hiccup escapes. "Because Mommy can't make the hurt go away until she knows which one you are." I begin to sob; she scoops me into her arms.)
...because I know it's not anger that controls my heart and soul. It's perpetual sorrow.
If I had known that the last song I would play would be for Hannah O'Leary I would've never stopped playing. Not as her eyes closed and not as her skin grew cold. I would've played until my limbs ached, my fingers cramped, and my neck was rubbed raw by the chin rest. I would've played until dehydration had finally taken me in its firm grasp and pulled me to the ground.
Now I'll never play again.
I stare at the bow in my lap, sitting daintily... waiting, calling, singing to me—Pick me up. Pick me up, Jack. Please, pick me up. But never again will I raise the bow to the strings. Never again will I hear its music. My heart has been silenced, never again will it sing. The moment Rodrick Benstaloe of District 10 decided to come at me with his axe was the instant the last bit of myself I had been holding onto slipped away, right out of my grasp. I guess I should've held my sanity in my left hand.
I let the violin drop from my chin and set it down gently next to me. I run my fingertips over the hair of the bow before picking it up and running it over the violin strings. A discordant rally of notes is all I can create. What's you talent now, huh? I've had ivory keys under my fingers since I was 5 years old. Strings of all sorts not long after that. And I had only just begun to explore all of the instruments available to me. Now look at me—I can barely stand without help.
Crack.
I whip the bow as far as I can. I don't watch or hear it land; I've hauled myself to my feet and smashed the violin underfoot before that could happen. But no matter how hard I jam my foot down onto the frame it doesn't break. (... 9, 10, 11) Damn it, break already!
Snap.
"GAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
I pick it up and throw it after the bow, the last note to my final song a loud squelch! only a few feet away from me. Leo is dead. Odile is dead. Paige is dead. Hannah is dead. The music is dead. I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I've died a thousand times now, I'm dead! So why does every cut, bruise, and break still scream for my undivided attention with searing pain? Why do I feel needles jabbing into my skull and billions of pounds of pressure sitting atop my heart? Why do I hurt? Why does it all hurt so fucking much!? Pain should pester someone else because I am slowly growing numb.
I glance down at my arm. The letters J-E-Q remain even after the people in the Capitol had done all they could to stop the scarring. Rio's ring with wings spread wide and the ring I had found amongst my things yesterday sit one on top of the other on my ring finger now. I had to pull them off my right hand before Heather's filthy mutt began to gnaw and slobber on it. I want to go home. And I don't mean to the stars with Hannah or buried beside Wyatt or Ellexias back in District 6. I mean home. Where Rio smiles at me and my sisters can poke fun at my lack of an arm and Momma Penny and Momma Lily love me no matter how many times I have screwed up.
Home.
(How does a dead girl get home?)
Two silver parachutes dance in my direction. I struggle to open them, but when I finally do I find some flint and a bar of soap, labeled with the O'Leary name. A cruel joke from the Capitol, tearing apart my recently stitched heart, twisting the knife lodged there just a little bit deeper. I close my eyes and Hannah's blue eyes stare back at me; I'm not getting any sleep again tonight. My heart twists in my chest. My knees grow weak beneath me. My throat swells shut as tears threaten to fall. I won't let them, but they try nonetheless.
I throw the flint angrily at my bag and stalk away from where Saxton and I had made our camp with the soap in hand. It's Daria's fault I smell like death itself. I will cut off her other foot and feed it to her. It's Rodrick's fault that Leo is dead and that I'm missing an arm. I will rip every one of his limbs from his body to return the favor. It's Heather's fault that Odile is dead and that I've got bird shit in my hair. I'm gonna jab my sword so far up her ass that she will regret ever existing. It's Cody's fault that Hannah is dead. So I guess I get to kill Mr. Name-Thing himself, too. And then I will figure out who killed Paige and I will slowly and ever so gently separate their head from their body. AND IF I DON'T GET SOME FUCKING SLEEP TONI---
I trip and fall face first into a shallow stream, the cool water snapping me from my fit of rage and making me gasp for air. And by the time my lungs have filled and my heart has slowed I don't even have the energy to move. I simply bring my knees to my chest and grip the soap tightly in my hand as water rushes over my feet and drips down my spine.
And I'm just so pissed off...
("There is a fine line between anger and sorrow, my sweet poison berry." Mom says, patting me on the knees as I sit on the couch with tear filled eyes. "You're allowed to be angry at your parents for leaving you on our doorstep," she continues as I stare into my lap, my hands balled together and tears staining my dress. "You have every right." She lifts my chin and smiles at me. "But you have to ask yourself--- are you mad? Or sad?" I wipe at my eyes and give a loud sniffle before a tiny hiccup escapes. "Because Mommy can't make the hurt go away until she knows which one you are." I begin to sob; she scoops me into her arms.)
...because I know it's not anger that controls my heart and soul. It's perpetual sorrow.
beats 'til the song disappears
{{Receives flint & soap from sponsorship}}