death of a dream [Cass:vt]

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arx!!
Retired Staff

2,484 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 22, 2024 19:23:46 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

death of a dream [Cass:vt] Sept 4, 2016 15:10:39 GMT -5

Post by arx!! on Sept 4, 2016 15:10:39 GMT -5

JUSTICE FRAY

"oh we grow old but
never learn to say goodbye."

They've told me I should visit the graves, pay my respects. As if I knew them well enough to be able to do that. If anything, if feels disrespectful of me to honor them as if they were good friends and not the enemies I had been fighting to kill, the peers I'd been hoping would die. I know nothing about Iona. And all I know of Weaver is the name he shares with a victor—though I know better than anyone that names mean nothing. I didn't know them, but I am made to pretend as if I had. It feels...fake. And I hate it.

My feet sink into the soft ground, the grass stretching across the rather expansive graveyard greener than the turf rolled out across the lawns in District 1. Every few steps my mechanical leg catches deep in the mud and I have to work to pull it free.

But it's all worth it, isn't it? Struggling through rows of graves with familiar yet worn names etched in stone. I'm walking down a memory lane I know nothing about. I feel lost surrounded by names like Kiara Mason, Izar, Rhodes, Miristioma, Calloway, Ingrid Elwyn—I've seen every games recap a thousand times and could tell you exactly how many swings it took for each of them to fall—but I don't know where they came from, what they liked to eat for dinner, who they looked up to, what they dreamed of at night.

I know names. I know statistics. I know Games. I don't know people. But I've got a bouquet of flowers in my hand for these people all the same.

It's simple. I find their names, place the flowers at their headstone, stand in silence for a few moments and then twist to leave without a single glance back over my shoulder.

I crinkle the wrapping around the extra bundle of blooms, but keep my vision focused on the rolling hills surrounding us. The wheat is turning gold and the breeze makes it look as if the stalks are waving at me. District 1 is all eloquently cut marble and straight edges; District 11 is smooth edges and gentle paint strokes. I can't decide which is more beautiful.

The lens of a camera glints in the sun and I glance in its direction, my focus shifting from pure and innocent admiration to cool and calculated glances. I read another gravestone—Annora Taylor—and take pause for effect. I glance back at the camera and then look to Opal who isn't too far behind me. The camera makes me uneasy, as if I haven't yet performed the right task to please them. Their ever watchful eye is waiting for me to do something. I just don't know what.

"Take these," I say to Opal as she approaches, holding out the bouquet of flowers in my hand. I rub at my eyes, my nose. "I'm allergic."

And as I transfer the flowers I glance quickly at the camera again. Still watching, still waiting for--something. I loop her arm through mine so that she stands between me and the camera in the hope that they'll grow bored if I'm not within view.

"I don't know what they're looking for," I whisper to her in frustration. "Did I miss something?"

And it's always just as soon as my question leaves my mouth that I regret asking. Did I miss something? As if this had been about me in the first place. The glory and fame has already gone to my head, thinking every camera was revolving around me—pathetic.

There's a reason they had Opal come along with me, but none of my stylist team or the trio of victors from this district. There was a reason I was given three bouquets instead of two. There's a reason the cameras are still trained in my direction in anticipation.

They aren't watching me. They're watching her.

The puzzle pieces slowly come together in my head as I read the name etched into the headstone in front of us. Stupid. I'm so fucking stupid. But I know better than to say anything-- there isn't anything to say. All that's left is letting her finish the story that the Capitol craves.

I can hear the narration playing in my head, something about Leon Krigel ending one of the greatest love stories of all time. Something about me slaying all of District 4 in some sort of blood feud I had forgotten existed. Krigel & Strangways-Teach versus Fray. Fray & Shore versus Krigel. A story of endless rivalry spun the moment Leon killed Potato Earnest six games ago. And now that another unlikely Career kid from One has taken the crown, it's high time that Opal is reminded that he's gone.

I didn't know Potato Earnest as anything more than a name. I'm standing six feet above a body of a dead man. But to Opal he was a person. And she's standing six feet above a dead dream.

"Opal--"

But I don't know what I was going to say. And all I can think to do is wrap my hand around her's and remind myself that she is stronger than me. And she'll be okay. Because that's just how Scout Krigel told the story—the fair maiden always gets the happily ever after.

table by elegant

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

cass
Retired Staff

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last seen Oct 24, 2021 18:11:43 GMT -5

death of a dream [Cass:vt] Sept 4, 2016 22:33:33 GMT -5

Post by cass on Sept 4, 2016 22:33:33 GMT -5

opal earnest

It was the same, in her eyes, painted hills stretching out as far as she could see. Rolling hills, drawn to stretch out forever – it was the last thing she had ever thought she’d see again. The air was nicer here, every step within District Eleven pulled at her heart strings. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the people walk, watched them walk, the pride and strength in their movements so unlike what she had last seen. For a moment the sudden aching in her chest eased. The last time she had stood here people had been dying. She’d watched people die and suffer, as their plants had dried up, as the water had disappeared. These people were far more resilient and stronger than she could have ever possibly imagined. Each and every one of them looked as tough as nails, as strong as Katelyn, it was no wonder she was so fierce.

At least, she had one good thing awaiting her today; she’d get to see Katelyn.

It was a feeling like no other, standing to the side, she felt almost uncomfortable with some of the looks shot her way by the people of District Eleven. So many of them were filled with hate, so many of them simply seeing a Victor who had stolen two more of theirs. She didn’t like the way it made it hard to breathe because no matter what she said she could never validate herself. The words caught in her throat were bitter and senseless.

Shifting she glanced away, looking above their heads, finding comfort in the beauty around her. She could picture his garden, picture the strawberry plants sprawled out across the dirt. She could smell the manure, as well as the life that sprung upwards with his touch. She could remember the way his house sat buried by the fields that stretched outwards from it –the stalks that shot up from beneath the dirt, the feeling of the oil beneath her fingers. She could remember the way his hands felt, guiding hers more clearly than she could remember his face. She would have moved here without hesitation. The place she remembered so fondly would have been her home. Blinking rapidly the image dissolved. She had to stop –stop before Ky entered the picture. Stop, before it overwhelmed her.

But today was not a day meant to make her feel at ease. Before she knew it she was walking beside Justice, in his hands he held tightly onto three bouquets. She glanced downwards at them, watched the flowers shit as he moved, his steps almost perfect, but not quite. She knew she should help him, reach over, maybe grab his arm, keep him steady. But she couldn't. Her arms hung limply at her sides as the rows upon rows of stone filled her view. Her mind wondered to the pictures Katelyn had given her, to the stone carved with his name. She’d looked at them so often that she could almost pinpoint where his grave was.

Opal moved aimlessly. Uncertain of what to do. It was hard to catch whatever Justice said to her, she simply moved, numb hands grabbing hold of the flowers he offered. She felt nothing as he looped his arm through hers, a warm but foreign presence at her side.

Suddenly before her is his name. Those pictures brought to life. Cold, hard stone. His name and the games he competed in, the only reminder to the entire world that he had ever existed.

“Hey-”

The words are caught, the sentence lost before she can even start it. What was there to say? She could feel the pounding of her heart, racing down to the tips of her fingers. She could feel it pulsating in her veins, she was so alive, but staring down at him she felt so empty. She didn’t know what to say to this piece of rock, to the broken tattered and decomposed remains of the man she had loved buried beneath her feet. What words could she possibly say that he could hear? What could she possibly do that could reach him? Buried even deeper was a seed of guilt, burying itself into her soul. Some part of her was ready – knew that this was the moment she had needed, the closure to move onwards. It hurt to think that it was fair of her to even think of moving onwards, it hurt to believe that there was this sudden and dawning possibility that she could possibly be in love with someone other than him.

“Can you forgive me?” She asked, tears springing to her eyes. She untangled herself from Justice, dropping to her knees. “Why am I even asking?” Her laugh was humourless. “Of course you would, you’d be mad at me for not moving on faster, for making myself feel it every day for the past six years. You’d be so mad.”

She wiped messily at the tears on her cheeks, “I miss you every single day. And Ky-” her voice broke, face crumbling –“he’s so much like you, his eyes have that same kindness and love and awe for the world that yours did.” She leaned forwards, pressing her forehead to the stone. Whispering the words that had plagued her, “I’m scared, I’m so scared that he’s going to grow up and not know who you were, that I’m going to get it all wrong and suddenly you’re more of a stranger to him than anyone.” She sobbed, gripping onto the stone until her fingers were white.

“What do I do?” She pleaded with the silence. “I can’t stop, Potato, I can’t stop myself from falling for her, I can’t stop myself from letting go.”

The silence was deafening. It was permanent and unbreakable. No matter how much she pleaded the only response would be the sound of her own tears. He was gone and he was never coming back. Leaning back, she breathed in deeply, the breeze was soothing against her swollen face and cracked lips. The brilliance of the bright blue sky was calming, and she paused for a moment, before turning back towards the grave. She placed a hand atop the soil, fingers splayed across the damp earth. And for a moment she pretended he was there, those dirt-stained, calloused fingers reaching forwards, his warm hand resting atop hers. His breath against her ear telling her that it’d be okay, telling her he loved her. With every moment she found herself slipping, her suffering falling through her fingers like sand until there was nothing left.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, the words stolen by the wind.

Standing up she faced Justice. Opal looped her arm through his, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. “Are you ready to go?”

Last Edit: Sept 4, 2016 23:37:13 GMT -5 by cass