.:The Sound & The Fury:. [Solo]

I suppose I’m to be left with all the rubble and ash.

Should be used to it by now. The way the sun rises each morning, and my bones get a little older, the world a little smaller. Days roll on while we pluck corn or cotton. Babies are born, babies die in the heat of the summer. There’s a funeral for the Izar girl that went in the quell, her body buried next to all the other Izar children. Cemetery’s getting full now, they’re going to have to start stacking the boxes on top of one another if they want them to fit. We moved on—I think, I think some folk did—because to have wept over Salome would’ve been a sin. The girl volunteered, after all. None of us thought she’d come so close to the crown, let alone last a day.
When I was young, I used to talk about stardust, that all of us were connected by some sort of cosmic force. It was a pretty little story that Benat used to tell me. Made me feel like I was a part of something bigger, and that even if I was small, a piece a great big universe. He died, all good and noble and turned to ash and bones. Iago died, too. He was all bad, and evil, and yet he was turned to ash and bones just the same. They came for Levi, and then Salome stepped up. They’re all bones now, just hollow little bodies sitting in pine boxes, waiting for another foolish cousin to join them.

Maybe it’s the Izar women’s turn. There were enough men that had their names plucked from the bowls; the women had to prove their mettle. They weren’t shrinking violets, no. Salome proved that even with all her tears she could still crush a skull, or slice off a leg. Didn’t make her a warrior, but she was clever. Maybe that’s what defined her most, aside from keeping all the young ones in line. The winds have changed, though. Hear more and more about how ornery all of them are, soused and causing trouble. And why shouldn’t they? The world’s put yokes on all their necks. You have to expect that some of them would try to pry them off.
But the balance is off.

I felt it too, standing on that soapbox and screaming into the wind. Didn’t do me a shit load of good, but then, how was I supposed to beat the golden boy? Nothing’s ever going to change in this piece of shit district because folks are too scared to do anything worth a damn. Too many people that just want to hide in the shadows, playing pretend instead of being willing to cause a fuss. With a word I’d lay down my own life to wipe out a squadron of peacekeepers; we could fry them in a blast that would make the fireworks the capitol sends up after the reaping look like child’s play. But no—that would be too much, too harsh, too—

“You think you’ll die fast, or slow?” I don’t bother to offer any sort of how’d you dos for her. There would be others (Alfer likely, he’d have a whole slew of words to comfort her). But I was going to find the nerve to push, the hair to pluck. Raquel had been easy enough to tease as a child but, I’d spent most of the good years either swallowed up by a great black cloud of grief or outside the district with Rum Tum. “Because I want to make sure that you don’t go getting any ideas that you’re coming home in anything other than a fucking pine box.”

I grumble out the words, but—the fire and brimstone for Salome doesn’t clamor through. Am I getting tired? Are the wounds too fresh to open again, to feel the same pain I’ve felt so many times before? She was—is—strong, defiant. Resilient, I hope. She would’ve been such a good soldier, if she hadn’t gone getting ideas bigger than her fat head.

“Ray—you could’ve done so much more here… with us.” I shake my head. “We could’ve torn this place apart, shaken it to the ground. You know that?”

HAYANA OF CAUTION 2.0