a ♛ fool ♛ dethroned [Riordan's Death]
May 12, 2017 13:34:58 GMT -5
Post by Tom on May 12, 2017 13:34:58 GMT -5
Riordan Einfallen
All kings fall.
Thrones lay empty with treasures stolen.
Bones aching and body shaking from the pain of death.
There's no escape from the inevitable.
Riordan had learned this all too soon.
Blood. It pours from his skin with numbness as it spreads throughout his body. Cold. It's the first thing he can feel after Lucas O'Hara is gone. Eyes stare up into the sky, drugs vanishing from his body, the creatures swirl above, free and alive. There's nothing more than death coming for him. There's no running from the inevitable. Death were just wounds that couldn't be repaired. All he can do is wonder how much time he has left in their pathetic world. He's seen them all. Naveen. Theseus. Jequirity. Their eyes hollowing him out from the inside. The drugs had made him lose it all. Life. Freedom. Strength.
This is the fate of a weak man.
There's so many voices that spread through his mind when the blade cut deep into his leg. Walking was no longer an option. He was so tired of just feeling average. The voices in his head filling him with the guilt of his selfish wish. There's nothing left for him in Six anyways. There's nothing waiting for him there, except Tempus and guilty faces that would tear him open. Insides vulnerable to the rugged weather of every single soul. Naveen is staring at him now. Sewn lips gone from her face as the small smile that fills his heart with love of the past comes forward. She's free in death. He can feel it in himself.
There's so much pain.
"Just breathe Rio, all will be better soon."
The friend of the past leaves him, in a flash of sunlight that casts down on him. Sunsets were always his favorite time of day. Times of sitting upon a gravestone and watching the sun turn from yellow to orange to black with the night sky. There's so much that no one knew about him. No one would know of how he used to build blanket forts with his father. No one would know of how he used to go down to the basement of Tempus when Theseus was around, playing games with the cast, until he eventually fell asleep upon Theo's shoulder. No one would know of how he first heard Jequirity play the violin and broke down in tears after the audition. There's so much that no one would know about Riordan Einfallen.
No one would know what types of food he preferred. Or the color that made him feel better. The way he sleeps and how he could snore when he was restless. The words that he used to whisper to himself to get him through to the next day. The routine of placing flowers on the graves of every dead person he could. The way he enjoyed acting for everyone to see. The way that he sat when comfortable, legs sprawled out forward. The time he asked for a pet, was denied, and instead collected snails that he kept in a box.
No one would know who Riordan Einfallen truly was.
All they would know is who Riordan Einfallen was in the games.
Bloodied, battered, and a dead man.
They'd know him as the guy who wore a crown and only could talk down his opponents. The way he killed the mutts before him with precision. The way he fled from Bloodbath with nothing, but a crayon. They would remember the way he climbed a tree only to fail a few times. The battle to avenge Callixtus Shim. There's only Riordan Einfallen, the District Six male who tried to be a king, but was only a fool. A fool who couldn't kill an artist. A fool who couldn't save Callixtus Shim or Anarchy Brice. They wouldn't speak of his name for generations to come.
This was the fate of the selfish.
The fate of the weak man who wore a fake crown made by crayon.
Cassie was still out there. He was leaving her behind in a world corrupted by death and sins. Tears calmly fall out of his eyes as he can't feel his legs anymore. Torn apart by assaults for days now. Cassiopeia Shaw was out there, with anger and broken emotions. There was a connection to her from the moment he ran into her on day one. Something that would grow over time. Cassie had proven to him that she was worthy of carrying something more than just friendship. She was worthy of carrying him home in his mind. If things had gone differently and he had faced her on this day. He would be in the same situation as he was. A broken body on the ground, bleeding until the world went black.
Cassiopeia Shaw wasn't the only person he was leaving behind.
Elettra Eckhart was still somewhere out there. Love for him in her heart, unless it was the fear talking. Either way, Riordan was with her. Elettra or Cassiopeia had to make it for him. They carried two halves of him with them. Lips flare to life as he can remember Elettra's lips upon his own. The words that flow into his head only causing more tears to fall out of his eyes. Death wasn't a pretty thing like people thought. Everything rushes to him like a film continuously looping his life over and over again.
"I think I love you, Rio."
"You can't."
There's no reason to love a dying man. The dead have no purpose for love, except to haunt the living lover left behind. Riordan couldn't do that for her. Riordan couldn't become Elettra's Jequirity. Moments of hiding away with tears and drunken states come back in his mind. Jequirity's standing in front of him now. There's no happiness to her eyes. There's only sadness in her eyes. He's failed her every time for a different reason. Death was inevitable, but he could have prolonged it. He could have avoided it for Jequirity's sake, but in the end, he threw it all away for the dead. A body to be taken back home and placed in a grave as strangers put roses to show their appreciation and love.
He can hear her words now. The soft and whispered words that she never spoke to him.
"This isn't how you were meant to die."
"I know, Jeq."
She vanishes into the colorful rose that lays sprawled out upon his palm. The flower reminding him of the youngest Eckhart in the arena. Iris Eckhart's hand is still resting in his own as he's losing himself to death. Small tears touching his face as she cries for him. This wasn't what he wanted. This isn't what he thought would happen when he died. He expected it to be quick and carry no weight to it. The small tears vanish into the air where nothing is left, but silence. Death was slow in his walk to Riordan.
This only added to the pain that he was feeling.
Remembrance was the worst part of death.
Remembering every single thing that he's ever down was driving him mad.
He can feel the giving away of his body. Riordan feels like he's going to fly away from the body that he carries. Memories of Jequirity's death comes to his mind. The tune of the harp that plays for her, mourning the scene of her death. The perfect way that she left the world in comfort of a tune that could send her asleep. All he would hear is a cannon fire in his name. No tune to play in the background to soothe his tired and weak self. This would be his final act. His final performance in a world that has abused him in every form possible.
There's so much he's seen and lived through, even though he's only eighteen. A guy who had just become a man, experiencing so much in eighteen years. A mother who pushed him to his limits at such a young age, forcing him to run from his problems. Naveen Casovnik, who took him under her wing and become a good friend to him. A busy Tempus that had brought so many emotions to crowds that watched with all of their attention. The laughs that he shared with Theseus Rhodium while playing games in the basement with the cast and crew. Facing their deaths alone in an empty Tempus building, while surviving his own demons of drinking so much. Reborn through the opening of Tempus again with a new cast and crew. Jequirity's silence that struck a chord with him, sending him spiraling down once she was reaped and perished. The drugs that he had taken after her death. The tears he let out when he was beaten to a pulp. The days of sitting next to graves watching sunsets. The day he volunteered and made friends who he watched die around him. Until Lucas O'Hara's knife and his own drugged state of throwing axes tearing him apart.
This was the final act of his life.
Hands reach in his bag, that now was stained with blood. A red and thick pool that coats the ground and bag. As he reaches in, he can feel the fire that burns through his body for a second as it goes cold once again. This is his final act. The performance was ending and every ending deserves a curtain closing or last bow. He's got ahold of the object. The plain cylinder that contains his final performance. Tears already fill his eyes. The dead and the living vanishing before him. The memories fading away fast from his mind. Pain and the slow death that he's enduring coming close to ending. Death's scythe getting closer and closer to his throat.
The cap comes off of the plan cylinder.
The sky becomes a rainbow of colors. Orange. Red. Yellow. Blue. Green. Purple. They all shine in the light of the sun as he stares at them. The puff of air that comes from the cylinder letting him know that it was all done. Rose in his palm facing upwards in an attempt to catch some of it. Everything that glitters isn't considered gold. The glittering pieces are all a speck of something good in his life. There's more that he needed to add to it. There's so much more that he wish he could have added to the pieces that rain down upon his bloodied body. There's so much glitter in the air. Each one a piece of himself. A memory of his life that flickers upon a piece of glitter.
This was the way to go out.
Surrounded by the memories that make him feel warm.
As the last piece falls upon the rose that lays in the boy's palm, it falls.
Eyes become lifeless with no regrets.
The last breath of air escapes his lungs.
The body turns cold and motionless.
The spirit is gone from it's form.
The sun sets as the cannon fires in the distance.
A king has fallen.
Thrones lay empty with treasures stolen.
Bones aching and body shaking from the pain of death.
There's no escape from the inevitable.
Riordan had learned this all too soon.
Blood. It pours from his skin with numbness as it spreads throughout his body. Cold. It's the first thing he can feel after Lucas O'Hara is gone. Eyes stare up into the sky, drugs vanishing from his body, the creatures swirl above, free and alive. There's nothing more than death coming for him. There's no running from the inevitable. Death were just wounds that couldn't be repaired. All he can do is wonder how much time he has left in their pathetic world. He's seen them all. Naveen. Theseus. Jequirity. Their eyes hollowing him out from the inside. The drugs had made him lose it all. Life. Freedom. Strength.
This is the fate of a weak man.
There's so many voices that spread through his mind when the blade cut deep into his leg. Walking was no longer an option. He was so tired of just feeling average. The voices in his head filling him with the guilt of his selfish wish. There's nothing left for him in Six anyways. There's nothing waiting for him there, except Tempus and guilty faces that would tear him open. Insides vulnerable to the rugged weather of every single soul. Naveen is staring at him now. Sewn lips gone from her face as the small smile that fills his heart with love of the past comes forward. She's free in death. He can feel it in himself.
There's so much pain.
"Just breathe Rio, all will be better soon."
The friend of the past leaves him, in a flash of sunlight that casts down on him. Sunsets were always his favorite time of day. Times of sitting upon a gravestone and watching the sun turn from yellow to orange to black with the night sky. There's so much that no one knew about him. No one would know of how he used to build blanket forts with his father. No one would know of how he used to go down to the basement of Tempus when Theseus was around, playing games with the cast, until he eventually fell asleep upon Theo's shoulder. No one would know of how he first heard Jequirity play the violin and broke down in tears after the audition. There's so much that no one would know about Riordan Einfallen.
No one would know what types of food he preferred. Or the color that made him feel better. The way he sleeps and how he could snore when he was restless. The words that he used to whisper to himself to get him through to the next day. The routine of placing flowers on the graves of every dead person he could. The way he enjoyed acting for everyone to see. The way that he sat when comfortable, legs sprawled out forward. The time he asked for a pet, was denied, and instead collected snails that he kept in a box.
No one would know who Riordan Einfallen truly was.
All they would know is who Riordan Einfallen was in the games.
Bloodied, battered, and a dead man.
They'd know him as the guy who wore a crown and only could talk down his opponents. The way he killed the mutts before him with precision. The way he fled from Bloodbath with nothing, but a crayon. They would remember the way he climbed a tree only to fail a few times. The battle to avenge Callixtus Shim. There's only Riordan Einfallen, the District Six male who tried to be a king, but was only a fool. A fool who couldn't kill an artist. A fool who couldn't save Callixtus Shim or Anarchy Brice. They wouldn't speak of his name for generations to come.
This was the fate of the selfish.
The fate of the weak man who wore a fake crown made by crayon.
Cassie was still out there. He was leaving her behind in a world corrupted by death and sins. Tears calmly fall out of his eyes as he can't feel his legs anymore. Torn apart by assaults for days now. Cassiopeia Shaw was out there, with anger and broken emotions. There was a connection to her from the moment he ran into her on day one. Something that would grow over time. Cassie had proven to him that she was worthy of carrying something more than just friendship. She was worthy of carrying him home in his mind. If things had gone differently and he had faced her on this day. He would be in the same situation as he was. A broken body on the ground, bleeding until the world went black.
Cassiopeia Shaw wasn't the only person he was leaving behind.
Elettra Eckhart was still somewhere out there. Love for him in her heart, unless it was the fear talking. Either way, Riordan was with her. Elettra or Cassiopeia had to make it for him. They carried two halves of him with them. Lips flare to life as he can remember Elettra's lips upon his own. The words that flow into his head only causing more tears to fall out of his eyes. Death wasn't a pretty thing like people thought. Everything rushes to him like a film continuously looping his life over and over again.
"I think I love you, Rio."
"You can't."
There's no reason to love a dying man. The dead have no purpose for love, except to haunt the living lover left behind. Riordan couldn't do that for her. Riordan couldn't become Elettra's Jequirity. Moments of hiding away with tears and drunken states come back in his mind. Jequirity's standing in front of him now. There's no happiness to her eyes. There's only sadness in her eyes. He's failed her every time for a different reason. Death was inevitable, but he could have prolonged it. He could have avoided it for Jequirity's sake, but in the end, he threw it all away for the dead. A body to be taken back home and placed in a grave as strangers put roses to show their appreciation and love.
He can hear her words now. The soft and whispered words that she never spoke to him.
"This isn't how you were meant to die."
"I know, Jeq."
She vanishes into the colorful rose that lays sprawled out upon his palm. The flower reminding him of the youngest Eckhart in the arena. Iris Eckhart's hand is still resting in his own as he's losing himself to death. Small tears touching his face as she cries for him. This wasn't what he wanted. This isn't what he thought would happen when he died. He expected it to be quick and carry no weight to it. The small tears vanish into the air where nothing is left, but silence. Death was slow in his walk to Riordan.
This only added to the pain that he was feeling.
Remembrance was the worst part of death.
Remembering every single thing that he's ever down was driving him mad.
He can feel the giving away of his body. Riordan feels like he's going to fly away from the body that he carries. Memories of Jequirity's death comes to his mind. The tune of the harp that plays for her, mourning the scene of her death. The perfect way that she left the world in comfort of a tune that could send her asleep. All he would hear is a cannon fire in his name. No tune to play in the background to soothe his tired and weak self. This would be his final act. His final performance in a world that has abused him in every form possible.
There's so much he's seen and lived through, even though he's only eighteen. A guy who had just become a man, experiencing so much in eighteen years. A mother who pushed him to his limits at such a young age, forcing him to run from his problems. Naveen Casovnik, who took him under her wing and become a good friend to him. A busy Tempus that had brought so many emotions to crowds that watched with all of their attention. The laughs that he shared with Theseus Rhodium while playing games in the basement with the cast and crew. Facing their deaths alone in an empty Tempus building, while surviving his own demons of drinking so much. Reborn through the opening of Tempus again with a new cast and crew. Jequirity's silence that struck a chord with him, sending him spiraling down once she was reaped and perished. The drugs that he had taken after her death. The tears he let out when he was beaten to a pulp. The days of sitting next to graves watching sunsets. The day he volunteered and made friends who he watched die around him. Until Lucas O'Hara's knife and his own drugged state of throwing axes tearing him apart.
This was the final act of his life.
Hands reach in his bag, that now was stained with blood. A red and thick pool that coats the ground and bag. As he reaches in, he can feel the fire that burns through his body for a second as it goes cold once again. This is his final act. The performance was ending and every ending deserves a curtain closing or last bow. He's got ahold of the object. The plain cylinder that contains his final performance. Tears already fill his eyes. The dead and the living vanishing before him. The memories fading away fast from his mind. Pain and the slow death that he's enduring coming close to ending. Death's scythe getting closer and closer to his throat.
The cap comes off of the plan cylinder.
The sky becomes a rainbow of colors. Orange. Red. Yellow. Blue. Green. Purple. They all shine in the light of the sun as he stares at them. The puff of air that comes from the cylinder letting him know that it was all done. Rose in his palm facing upwards in an attempt to catch some of it. Everything that glitters isn't considered gold. The glittering pieces are all a speck of something good in his life. There's more that he needed to add to it. There's so much more that he wish he could have added to the pieces that rain down upon his bloodied body. There's so much glitter in the air. Each one a piece of himself. A memory of his life that flickers upon a piece of glitter.
This was the way to go out.
Surrounded by the memories that make him feel warm.
As the last piece falls upon the rose that lays in the boy's palm, it falls.
Eyes become lifeless with no regrets.
The last breath of air escapes his lungs.
The body turns cold and motionless.
The spirit is gone from it's form.
The sun sets as the cannon fires in the distance.
A king has fallen.
Ship thread coming soon. Anyways, you're amazing, but I tell you that every day and you don't believe me so, yeah. Thanks for everything
