a little unsteady ; atlas / elettra ; blitz

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ghosty
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last seen Dec 5, 2022 12:52:02 GMT -5

a little unsteady ; atlas / elettra ; blitz Feb 5, 2017 15:12:40 GMT -5

Post by ghosty on Feb 5, 2017 15:12:40 GMT -5

ELETTRA.

A needle was gripped between fingers, coated white patina, stained with the dark red of blood; nightmares of pain recoiled my fingers away from the false skin of the dummy. I exhale, shaking slightly with the fear catching in the back of my throat.

I am not made for this, not made for anything where pain happens. I've been so used to feeling pain, that I cannot deal with pain being given under my own volition. Pain is not my art, it is not my specialty.

It is my only fear.

I look up and see the tutor look at me expectantly; he does not not understand my pain or my struggle. Perhaps he knows my name, my story. But he will never know my fear of hurting another, never will understand how much the blood of another burns into my skin and my heart.

I whisper; one last go. i gotta do something. The tip of the needle scratches into the skin of the dummy and an ooze of red makes the needle slip out of my fingers.

"What is the fucking POINT.!?"

Anger seeps through the facade I keep, through the calm and the pain. I'm not made for this place, not made for anything this place stands for. Not made to die.

"Looks like you don't know the difference between killing and healing there."

Eyes dart quickly away from the needle slowly rolling on the floor.

"Who said I was trying to heal someone? It's not like I'd be much help anyways."

[ :hell_rave: ]

kousei ♚
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now and forever

a little unsteady ; atlas / elettra ; blitz Feb 11, 2017 20:59:17 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Feb 11, 2017 20:59:17 GMT -5

In the long moments of presuming the world twirls in the direction I will it to, I forget that I am only one of fifty two. I temporary moment of insanity, madness even, that I forget that the world does not twirl on an axis I choose and I'm no more important than the sunlight on these metallic blue walls. It's only fair to assume we all want a similar exit route, to be home whole and alive, not broken into pieces inside a wooden box that will be marked by nothing but grey slab.

I find my eyes and mind drifting over to the first aid station, it slips my mind that I know how to bind wounds and am familiar with the gentle touch of a healing hand after years of scraping my knee on asphalt or falling on a blunted blade and counting the bruises on my ribs. I do not bring a thought to my mind that I need to maybe learn new skills or hone my current ones, I survey the lies we are meant to call carnage; false wounds and open gashes across fictional flesh.

I recognize her instantly, three tributes defined by the same last name can hardly be forgotten, but I fail to distinguish her from her sister. Either way, the sight of her desperately failing to close falsified open wounds is amusing. "Looks like you don't know the difference between killing and healing there." And it's true, if that was a person they would've bled out with nothing but bitter cries of agony.

"Who said I was trying to heal someone? It's not like I'd be much help anyways." She spits attitude and frustration and I shrug. I fail to see logic from the viewpoint of the irrational, I assumed she'd want to be able to snatch her sisters from death's doorstep if the worst came to pass.

"Weird way to look at it, being from the medical district and all. But y'know, I just figured that you'd want to be able to save lives, considering who you've come here with after all."

Fifty-one finite existences have to an end at some point, it's simply human nature to feel obliged to mark eternity by delaying the inevitable.