Blood of My Blood [Marr]
Oct 17, 2018 21:32:09 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 17, 2018 21:32:09 GMT -5
Look who's digging their own grave
You put up your defenses when you leave
You leave because you're certain
Of who you want to be
---------------------------------------------------
My brother and I used to walk the trash heaps looking for spare parts. He has this hunk of metal he’s been putting together since he was six – it started out as a set of doors, and then a hood, and more, still. Our dad would laugh about how it was going to take him forever to put it all together, to make something out of it. It’ll be rusted by the time you get it fixed up. Except he kept working at it, each time grabbing something else, the twist of chrome glinting in the yellow light from overhead. Ether was so particular about it, too. Not one for grabbing whole handfuls of junk, he had a plan. An old man had sold it to him, blue prints for some sort of automobile.
We joked about it just last week, that he only needed to get a few more bits and pieces for the engine, and the thing would sputter to life. And I said, you’ve been working a whole decade, what’re you going to do when the thing shakes itself apart? And he just looked at me and shrugged. He was so good that way, not letting little things phase him. I like to think some of that rubbed off on me, to let me keep my cool even when everything around me was falling apart.
It helped to think of the story when I was on my knees, trying to stitch up the false skin of a skewered dummy. I was careful to thread the needle with the stitch but every time I kept pressing it to the skin it would slip, and frustrating as it was, all I could do was grumble. They made it look so much easier in the games, when they had to sew their skin back together. It was what I was going to have to do, I was pretty sure. I could only imagine a deep gash across my stomach, and shivering, poking myself with some terrible needle trying to not let my intestines slide out. Fuck. That was going to be a sight.
There’s plenty of folks that could do it, too. Even if I’m one of the oldest, I still feel like I’m one of the smallest in the room. And any one of them could pull a knife, or shoot an arrow. How the fuck was I to know what any of them were capable of? I mean – I asked for this, so at least I had the luxury of not having to pretend that this was some sort of horrible luck. I could go in knowing that my life, as little as it mattered, wasn’t something the capitol had intended to lose this year.
Better fuck shit up, then.
I steady my fingers and start to press into the dummy again, only to fumble. I let out a groan and grit my teeth, and curse a thousand little curses under my breath. “You know my brother would have gotten this in about two minutes, and then he would’ve been over my shoulder telling me how wrong I was doing it.” I say the words, and can feel the little pinprick of home. A shape out of the corner of my eye catches, and I blink. “And I wouldn’t mind that at all, to be honest.”
We joked about it just last week, that he only needed to get a few more bits and pieces for the engine, and the thing would sputter to life. And I said, you’ve been working a whole decade, what’re you going to do when the thing shakes itself apart? And he just looked at me and shrugged. He was so good that way, not letting little things phase him. I like to think some of that rubbed off on me, to let me keep my cool even when everything around me was falling apart.
It helped to think of the story when I was on my knees, trying to stitch up the false skin of a skewered dummy. I was careful to thread the needle with the stitch but every time I kept pressing it to the skin it would slip, and frustrating as it was, all I could do was grumble. They made it look so much easier in the games, when they had to sew their skin back together. It was what I was going to have to do, I was pretty sure. I could only imagine a deep gash across my stomach, and shivering, poking myself with some terrible needle trying to not let my intestines slide out. Fuck. That was going to be a sight.
There’s plenty of folks that could do it, too. Even if I’m one of the oldest, I still feel like I’m one of the smallest in the room. And any one of them could pull a knife, or shoot an arrow. How the fuck was I to know what any of them were capable of? I mean – I asked for this, so at least I had the luxury of not having to pretend that this was some sort of horrible luck. I could go in knowing that my life, as little as it mattered, wasn’t something the capitol had intended to lose this year.
Better fuck shit up, then.
I steady my fingers and start to press into the dummy again, only to fumble. I let out a groan and grit my teeth, and curse a thousand little curses under my breath. “You know my brother would have gotten this in about two minutes, and then he would’ve been over my shoulder telling me how wrong I was doing it.” I say the words, and can feel the little pinprick of home. A shape out of the corner of my eye catches, and I blink. “And I wouldn’t mind that at all, to be honest.”
tag: marr! words: 558 notes: homesick
