banana pancakes ☄ justice/lysette [ blitz ]
Aug 21, 2016 0:15:26 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Aug 21, 2016 0:15:26 GMT -5
I have small hands.
I have small hands, I've always been told but when I hold her's I feel like I can fit the world in them; I have small hands. And so does she and her palm fits so perfectly in something so imperfect as me, and I still skip in my dreams as I did with Avery Mortuus.
I have small hands and small intentions. Small is all I've ever been, so why do I feel so, so not with her?
After I sleep on bedrock, I want to tell Olive, to run and tell him how I kissed the doctor's daughter on the cheek and running down hospital halls and how white has never felt so welcoming, but he's moved on. He hasn't, but he has; a boy with bruised fists big enough to hold Olive in them, but I found my world in the palms of a different Mortuus. So I pick daisies and ensnare them in the spine of my library books, drawing Avery's eyes as I see them in my forehead I can't stop and I don't think I want to.
The games end, a prince is considered a king and Lysette the calm is still standing, ever little and ever okay with it.
There wasn't much to watch, not as much as last year; our district wept for three days and for once I don't catch the tears in my safety blanket arms. One cannon, two, my mother doesn't tell me about how the older girl passes to an upper district because when you're the lowest it doesn't matter who you're against: there's no winning. In a district as cursed as mine I know this, I know this now.
I think I've always known that.
A prince is crowned, Justice Fray, and a girl just like me dies two days before the end - Justice Fray. We aren't much alike, but she was something like me and everybody like me dies in there, so I guess I'll just have to stay out the games. It's an orange day, the early morning sun daring to breath after the night's last cry and another day, another day to make mine in some way. I skip through the sherbet rays, my clunky boots mix matched to my jumps and I hear it out the corner of my ear --
"Justice Fray!"
The prince, the king.
And I've never met a victor, not since Saffron when I was seven, a girl just like who I am not but it was different. They were all like me and Avery and Olive and Nori, and someone like me can't make it through -- "was that the Justice Fray?"
"Shit, the victory tour's already started?"
My knees shake, my thoughts drying up my mouth and Justice Fray, I have so many questions about them. About Scout and Saffron and me and Avery, the prettiest girl I know.
And the ones like my father, the ones who don't make it.
"Mr. Fray!" I shout, like an accident almost.
Scout, the name loose on my tongue and I might as well tie it around my neck -- this is the one who killed her. Who killed the last me I've seen, my knees buckle as I try to run towards him, he's a murderer, he's the victor-
He's everything I'm not; big and tall and a victor and strong and from district one and he's so pretty and, "Mr. Fray," I catch myself in front of him.
"I need some questions."
Wait.
"Wait, I mean, I need to ask some questions. I need your answers -- or uh, some. Some answers."
{ lysette grey }