a chance. |ems ss au gift|
Dec 23, 2016 22:07:54 GMT -5
Post by mat on Dec 23, 2016 22:07:54 GMT -5
Atticus Manor vs. Iain Miristioma
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[presto]  [/presto] |
Atticus Manor He wondered if home would treat him kindly. He did not know if Sol would forgive him for the death, but Atticus would know soon enough. Only two left. There was only one person left in the battle between life and death. It was a tempting feeling to let the Miristioma boy live and have Eleven continue their streak of victors. Katelyn, Kirito, Harbinger, and now there would be a shot for Iain to join the list. Atticus did not sleep after Danny had shared her story. His brain took trouble while thinking about his District Partner. A better journey and more composed life without a shiver of doubt. Guilt had shivered up and down his spine for minutes- hours. The sky lit up with two faces: both he could have guessed. Danny, of course, and Astrid. She was from a career district, but Atticus never felt that stereotype come out of Astrid. A protector, Astrid was, not a bloodthirsty killer that Atticus always thought someone from Two would be. Atticus had felt pain and witnessed death for five days in a row: Cecelia, Amerika, Basil, Eryn, Noelia, Sol, and most recently Danny. He didn’t know many of them. In fact, he’d only spoken to a few of them. Day after day he watched their blood along with his own drip onto the swampy-ground, yet somehow, he managed to patch himself well-enough to live for another day (something he acknowledged that the others failed to do.) But what had Iain witnessed, and would his story be enough to force the Manor boy to go home? He hoped so, he really did. -- Atticus traveled far enough to see the harsh grey smoke from Celia’s Cornucopia Fire. Three days ago, he had the opportunity to make her pay for Quadrys’s death. He’d failed, of course, just as he failed to keep Sol and Nell and Astrid alive. There was only one thing he could recall that he was not ashamed of in the swampy-hell-hole. He tried to tell Iain after Cecelia’s death that everything would be okay. They were a pair and he could tell, but Atticus let Sol take that connection away from him. It hurt Atticus, but not as much as it must have hurt Iain. Somehow Atticus took pride in that, comforting him while Cecelia burned from Sol’s fire. ”You’ll be okay.” -- When the sun rose, Atticus knew that life and death were among him. Life pushed him away and death pulled him closer. The troubling factor was that Atticus couldn’t tell which he wanted more. There was no harm in living as it would just be another dulled moment of his already boring life. Death would bring him home to his allies and to Quadrys (and he prayed they would accept him back, even after all he’d done to them.) With every moment, dehydration pounded on his head like death dragging him on his hands and knees. The pit of his stomach was empty, and the only thing that could fill it would be the ashy air that the burning tree brought upon the arena. His axe was at the ready. Even though death could benefit him more, there was a part of him that knew the pain of death was not something he wanted… not something he wanted to feel. It was day-after-day, non-stop that he felt metal clashing upon his torn up skin, and through all of it he lived. The pain was unbearable then, and Atticus did not want to imagine what the pain would feel like if his heart were to stop beating. Atticus held his axe sideways, blocking his heart. Death wasn’t supposed to be that quick, not like the speed of Eryn’s or Cecelia’s. Iain wouldn’t get him that easily, no, not until Atticus could ask him a question. Within the blink of an eye, Atticus saw the Miristioma, his cautious face proving to the Manor boy that he was afraid. He thought: ”Let the fun begin.” Atticus readied his axe. Blood was about to be among him for one more day, but he knew that it would be the last. 0: made by ghosty |
