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on a lack of acquiescence; rook
May 28, 2017 21:13:45 GMT -5
Post by heather - d2 [mylee] on May 28, 2017 21:13:45 GMT -5
"Sunrise is going to come,
all you have to do is wake up.
The future has been
at war, but it's coming home so soon."
As I left the coastline of Four behind, I watched the tide turn over in my mind at the sight of new moon.
The riptide there had pulled me under, and I had barely left with lungs full of air. The breeze there carried whisper that were audible, but not understandable. It muttered with low voice and slurred words, yet it still gave a sense of importance to everything said— enough pressure to cause anxiety to rise in my throat and fear to sink into my chest.
There, in Four, I had only been face to face with one person for long enough to grow uncomfortable. The older brother of Curse Jinx had pulled me aside by the shoulder and shown enough resemblance to make my ribs crumble.
First kill.
That’s all he was now.
But how was I supposed to hold strong to a façade of faith when I knew I believed in no god and no man alike?
As the train rolls slow into the station, I begin to make my way from the main compartment to a place of privacy for just a moment, but between the fourth and fifth pace I am interrupted by a hand on my shoulder, “You know, you should really consider smiling at least once during a presentation.”
I turn ‘round, stare Adessia directly in the eyes and keep my mouth straight and unamused, “I can only do so much.”
She reaches down for my left hand and instinct draws it away, my shoulder turning out and catching her chest as we argue silently with her victory finally coming to a draw. She takes me by the hand and sits me down on a couch facing the window, then taking a place across from me for herself. False wisdom appears in her eyes— pupils dilated— and she takes one deep breath before speaking, “You’re an inspiration to more people than you know.”
I do not wish to know the number.--
I had spoken much quieter than any of the previous debacles. The world suddenly looked so wide and the faces so small; the sky looked much darker and the sun seemed to be made but nothing of misplaced fury. Five families here stood full of sorrow— they were divided mourning silent and oh so obvious, no longer afraid of any shame.
I did not recognize one of the names I was asked to read aloud, for despite the recommendation I had not brought myself to watch the entirety of my nine days spent in the arena not focused on my own path. Adessia had said that it would bring me closer to the people; that being with them then and there would be of utmost importance, but this was not about them.
This was about me.
And despite the arrogance and the disappointment in my own statement I knew nothing here— no memorials, remembrances, or tributes to the fallen would take away from the fact that through the changing variables, my name would remain plastered on every banner.
This was about me and my crumbling mind and heart that doesn’t know how to beat; this was about me and my recovery and actually falling asleep every goddamn night.
So when they closed the end of my presentation with my name spoken loud, thundering— a voice not my own— I do not smile, do not raise a hand, do not do anything but turn on one heel and push my way through the line of people blocking my one escape.
I catch Adessia as I walk through the door and pull her aside by the wrist, “I’m going out. You can follow me, but only at a distance, and only you.”
She nods, not entirely on board with my plan but realizing that there was not likely an alternative.
We push out the back door and follow a foot path that leads behind buildings in the square. From what I have learned of past districts, there is always a more discreet way to reach the Victor’s Village than through the cobbled sidewalks. We walk in silence, shoulder to shoulder, until the iron gate comes in to sight. I wave her off, and she pauses firm in her place and does not take another step either towards or away from me.
Appreciated.
I do not pause to appreciate any of this. Taking the gate with both hands I thrust it open slowly, stepping through with thin waist, ribs catching on the latch and making their existence known again. I am looking for her. Savior now I want to kiss her feet. I want to ask her how she did and if she can bless me too; if she can show me how to pray like she did and take me to heaven’s promised land.
If a god is to walk among man, she must be compassionate enough to fill the most desperate of requests.
The journey here had been silent with a view to match, but here I am met with the sound of hammers and saw blades and the vision of a statue being brought up from the ashes. An idol resemblant of no other than the woman I was looking for. With a quick scan of the buildings surrounding their work, I catch her in the flesh standing at the edge of the porch watching on with a stare far too similar to my own.
As I move toward her, quickly at first and then slowing as I knew I had made my presence known to her, I do not know the formality that was to be addressed in introduction. My mind spins over the questions of the doctrine I wish to ask; over my name and if it would give way to the prior, but when I come to stand beside her, neither of us making eye contact and neither one of us caring, the only words I can manage to find spill out of my mouth, “I’m sorry, but that looks fucking ridiculous.”
