{ and we all still die } .| basil/emberly
Jul 3, 2017 0:24:22 GMT -5
Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Jul 3, 2017 0:24:22 GMT -5
EMBERLY
"YOU FALL THROUGH THE TREES AND YOU PRAY WITH YOUR KNEES ON THE GROUND FOR THE THINGS THAT YOU NEED"
The dining hall is nearly empty at this hour; most tributes must have turned in for the night. But not me — there were too many thoughts and omens raging in my head to drift into sleep.
Most of the tributes who come into the dining hall are there for the alcohol. There is a large stash, larger than any I've ever seen in my life, on one of the serving tables. It likely is there because the servers know that the majority of us will drink away the pain.
But not me — I've never been drunk before. When I was a child, my mother once let me have a sip of her wine and it tasted so bitter and acidic that I spit it out onto the floor in disgust. Even now when they are a million needles piercing my heart and I am absolutely broken inside, I have not succumbed to numbing the pain away with drink after drink.
"It's the only painkiller we have in District Ten," one of my classmates once told me.
There's a girl with vibrant red hair sitting on the edge of one of the dining tables in the room with me, Basil from District Six, I believe. During my time in the Capitol, I have been making an effort to learn the name of each tribute and where they come from. They deserve that much, to be known, to be remembered. I would never want to my killer to be a nameless stranger, or —
or to kill someone whose name I do not know. (And I gulp.)
I approach her with a champagne glass half-full of fruit juice in my hand. "Hello," I chirp, my tone cheerful and inviting despite the dark thoughts clouding my mind. "You must be Basil? I'm Emberly."
Most of the tributes who come into the dining hall are there for the alcohol. There is a large stash, larger than any I've ever seen in my life, on one of the serving tables. It likely is there because the servers know that the majority of us will drink away the pain.
But not me — I've never been drunk before. When I was a child, my mother once let me have a sip of her wine and it tasted so bitter and acidic that I spit it out onto the floor in disgust. Even now when they are a million needles piercing my heart and I am absolutely broken inside, I have not succumbed to numbing the pain away with drink after drink.
"It's the only painkiller we have in District Ten," one of my classmates once told me.
There's a girl with vibrant red hair sitting on the edge of one of the dining tables in the room with me, Basil from District Six, I believe. During my time in the Capitol, I have been making an effort to learn the name of each tribute and where they come from. They deserve that much, to be known, to be remembered. I would never want to my killer to be a nameless stranger, or —
or to kill someone whose name I do not know. (And I gulp.)
I approach her with a champagne glass half-full of fruit juice in my hand. "Hello," I chirp, my tone cheerful and inviting despite the dark thoughts clouding my mind. "You must be Basil? I'm Emberly."
[/presto]
