one more light {puppy}
Jun 10, 2018 17:00:18 GMT -5
Post by 10th retro gm | paxton hayes on Jun 10, 2018 17:00:18 GMT -5
should've stayed, were there signs, I ignored?
can I help you, not to hurt, anymore?
we saw brilliance, when the world, was asleep
there are things that we can have, but can't keep
Dim lights glistened through the training center as the shadows grew larger. Some trainers already stood in place awaiting an eager tribute to train. Zeke wasn't eager, yet he knew what had to be done if he ever wanted the chance of seeing his father again. But as his eyes scanned the many different swords, it all felt unreal. Knowing what these were for. Knowing that in just a few short days he'd be forced into using one to save himself and take the life of at least one other. He wasn't a killer despite the many patients that died at his hands, but the only difference between the two was Zeke tried saving them. Now he didn't have that chance. Saving them was against what they were pushing into his tired brain. It was a dog eat dog world, and it was every man for himself.
Yet he reached down and lifted a sword from the wrack. It was long, heavy, and awkward. The balance was weird, and Zeke didn't know what to do with it. He didn't know how to hold it or any of that. The only thing he ever held that was even close to a weapon was a pair of trauma shears, but even those weren't capable of killing another human being. They didn't even cut the skin because of how they were formed. A sword was different. It was just as dangerous as the light reflecting from the metal part flickering into his tired eyes.
The only thing going for him now was the fact that it was early and no other tributes were around to watch him fail. It was freeing. Any mistake could be made, and nobody would stand around judging hi, and knowing that offered a sense of peace. But his eyes dropped as he carried the sword across the floor dragging the sharp edge behind him.
What good would learning how to fight do when people trained for this every second of every single day? Why spend time figuring out the proper techniques -
Why fight when he had nothing left to live for?
It was just a broken memory as the stainless steal clashed against the ground. Zeke stood no chance, and he accepted it. He knew it wouldn't make a difference. But he had to try. Not for himself, but for his father, and for the memory of his mother and sister.
Taking a breath, he hoisted the sword into the air once more, and slowly made his way towards the eager trainer. But Zeke never said a word, he only stood silently watching as the trainer went through the lesson at lightning speed. And then it was his turn.
He gripped the hilt and swung it through the air trying his best to mimic the moves of the trainer, but it didn't matter because the moment the sword made contact with a blood filled mannequin, Zeke froze. Even when the trainer urged him to try again, the male stood, head slouched forward.
Maybe when more people were around the easier it would become.
But even then Zeke didn't know for sure.
can I help you, not to hurt, anymore?
we saw brilliance, when the world, was asleep
there are things that we can have, but can't keep
Dim lights glistened through the training center as the shadows grew larger. Some trainers already stood in place awaiting an eager tribute to train. Zeke wasn't eager, yet he knew what had to be done if he ever wanted the chance of seeing his father again. But as his eyes scanned the many different swords, it all felt unreal. Knowing what these were for. Knowing that in just a few short days he'd be forced into using one to save himself and take the life of at least one other. He wasn't a killer despite the many patients that died at his hands, but the only difference between the two was Zeke tried saving them. Now he didn't have that chance. Saving them was against what they were pushing into his tired brain. It was a dog eat dog world, and it was every man for himself.
Yet he reached down and lifted a sword from the wrack. It was long, heavy, and awkward. The balance was weird, and Zeke didn't know what to do with it. He didn't know how to hold it or any of that. The only thing he ever held that was even close to a weapon was a pair of trauma shears, but even those weren't capable of killing another human being. They didn't even cut the skin because of how they were formed. A sword was different. It was just as dangerous as the light reflecting from the metal part flickering into his tired eyes.
The only thing going for him now was the fact that it was early and no other tributes were around to watch him fail. It was freeing. Any mistake could be made, and nobody would stand around judging hi, and knowing that offered a sense of peace. But his eyes dropped as he carried the sword across the floor dragging the sharp edge behind him.
What good would learning how to fight do when people trained for this every second of every single day? Why spend time figuring out the proper techniques -
Why fight when he had nothing left to live for?
It was just a broken memory as the stainless steal clashed against the ground. Zeke stood no chance, and he accepted it. He knew it wouldn't make a difference. But he had to try. Not for himself, but for his father, and for the memory of his mother and sister.
Taking a breath, he hoisted the sword into the air once more, and slowly made his way towards the eager trainer. But Zeke never said a word, he only stood silently watching as the trainer went through the lesson at lightning speed. And then it was his turn.
He gripped the hilt and swung it through the air trying his best to mimic the moves of the trainer, but it didn't matter because the moment the sword made contact with a blood filled mannequin, Zeke froze. Even when the trainer urged him to try again, the male stood, head slouched forward.
Maybe when more people were around the easier it would become.
But even then Zeke didn't know for sure.
