Post by D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza] on Aug 19, 2017 17:29:39 GMT -5
luxa pelotte
Hero Marvray is dead.
I go over the thought in my head a million and one times but still I cannot comprehend it. I want to sink into the ground because it means that I would be able the Capitol's eye for just a second. I would stay beneath the ground, hide—the things I would do just so that no one sees me weak. I shouldn't be ashamed but I have come too far from my old self to start on the long road back; broken on the inside, I feel like I am slowly being destroyed. Perhaps we were never that close, sure, and perhaps Hero was just another name that would be written in the stars.. but he was a friend. We were friends who gave people their end. A pair of murderers, I loved his company; I have always told myself that love will make things alright, and love did.
I hope it was quick - you know, like how everyone wants to die. I hope that he wasn't caught up in the wave or lost in the light of the lava from the volcano. I hope that he died warm and not stone cold, I hope that he found solace with himself and managed to clinch to every inch of humanity in his final moments so that he could be delivered to a better, safer place. I wish I was there with him—I should have been there with him. His hand in mine, a familiar face reminding him that somehow, somewhere, everything would work out and fall into place and that there is no need to feel the pain or be angry. I'd tell him to just breathe, and I would breathe his final breaths with him. We were a team, after all. We were one kickass, bloody brutal, motherfucking reckless team.
God—how did this happen?
My blood boils in frustration and fury but this is reality, it is just another fact that I must accept. Hero Marvray is dead, he is dead and gone and nothing will bring him back. Half of Four is gone and it isn't ever going to come back.
I've known that this would happen all along, really. Honestly, I did. I swore by it, day one, that I would be the only one making it out of this arena and this fits with the story. Only one ever makes it out, only one gets to wear the crown and only one gets the wear the glory. I stare up at the night, eyes red but wide, thinking of the future that still hangs in the balance. It is like each day, I have been walking on a tight rope and I am coming closer to capturing the opportunity and taking it with me, capturing the opportunity and running. Leaving all the blood in my wake, I forget the blood I have spilled and the blood I have lost because, if you think about it, the future is all that matters. I can't help but laugh—I laugh because the world is closing in on me and it isn't going to stop unless I keep living.
My mind flickers between the pages of past and present so that maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to secure my future. I know that in stories, usually those with the crown are there because of their own blood and not the blood they have spilled, but I have to change it. Cam Dialate and Hero's faces fade, and I can count the remaining tributes on my fingers with ease.
I'm not a legacy; Emberly Lowe is nothing more than a pretty face and name. Style over substance, she is a girl who does not have it in her to breed and nurture fear and to let it reign over those she encounters. I'm not swamped by some sort of sick addiction that needs satisfaction so success can be ensured, no, I am not Ree Fer who is lost whilst searching for a fake euphoria that is forged from a false sense of relief and ecstasy. I regret meeting him. I don't need to prove myself as strong despite weakness being innate within me, I don't need saving or to be saved from a love story built of breeze blocks made from sticks and leaves—I am not legless, I am not Teddy Ursa. Neither am I Chester Meisenzahl who seems too broken to even be fighting in the first place. I am not a girl who is a loner, isolated because death has reaped what I have sown, I am not Titus Seraphim. And I am not Walherich, a boy who seems to cling on to the last fucking hope of survival even when it so desperately wants to leave.
I am a girl who has dark wings on her back that can give you the hardest slap you'll ever feel. I have horns on my head because I am a true disaster rolled up into a girl's body. I have been taught how to kill and not be killed, how to breathe when drowning, how to extinguish a fire when it burns you, how to not feel a damn thing when you take someone's life. Everyone else probably thinks that I am some brown-eyed little bitch and they are right, but I swear, there is so much more than meets the eye.
I am a girl that lies next to someone who has lived life once before and came back wanting more. I can't think of a way that makes it sound less crazy, less like it was conjured by some sort of girl with a twisted sort of life-death wish. She speaks in tongues and double knots my throat with her words—I am halfway between being amazed and baffled. Beauty masks the bewilderment and we find ourselves together. Maybe it means nothing, maybe it means everything.
After today, I realise that I cannot let death taint me again. Looking back, I was probably too attached to Hero which made his final blow ricochet into my head. I know that I am better than this; I know that I have worked too hard to build myself up just to let myself fall at one of the final hurdles. I frown, thinking that tomorrow, she has to go.
It's for my own good. Murder—it is for the best.
I need to sever my ties before my ties sever me.xMorning comes, a cold storm forming like a blanket in the sky. The fires of the lava seemed to have calmed under the lower temperatures, infernos becoming stuck in stone. I lie in the rain, soaking wet as the droplets hammer down from above. I don't usually look into things too much—it is tedious and honestly, just a waste of time. I've known that storms can foreshadow coming events, they can be an omen. Fuck fate; my spine tingles as I pick up my bag and mace, looking to Adelaide.It could be over within a moment, a second. My hands around her throat, my foot on her neck, my mace crushed through her chest, my fingers in her eye sockets, my hands covered in her blood—I shouldn't want it, but I do. Should have known better than to get close to one, let alone two, that is why I need to do this. Adelaide Throes dies. Adelaide Throes dies today.My hands scramble for the gun she gave me a couple days ago, but it collapses to nothing more than a rusted collection of bits and bobs which do not resemble the weapon I had seen kill Jacob so easily. It is pathetic, useless, I conclude, throwing it aside and resorting back to the traditional way of death; mace in hand, I look at her and she looks at me."We both knew this was coming." I tell her, a stiff frown etched onto my face. "I don't think that makes it hurt any less, but this is just something I have to do." Her blood on my hands—it feels like a match made in heaven. "My mother said to every rise, there is a fall." My eyes flicker around, the rain pouring down. Cautious of the newly formed shell, I tread slowly and carefully with my eyes are locked on Adelaide."You're my fall." I tell her, lifting my mace into the air. "And I'm not sorry."{ lux attacks adelaide; spiked blunt }
GK|e33OKspiked blunt{ 14029 -- BROKEN RIGHT COLLAR BONE -- 6.5 damage }