Post by ali on Jun 6, 2019 3:56:07 GMT -5
Another conversation with no destination
Another battle never won
And each side is a loser
So who cares who fired the gun?
Another battle never won
And each side is a loser
So who cares who fired the gun?
Blue stepped out the elevator into the silent training floor. The place was empty, there no trainers, nor mentors, not even the careers had arrived yet but they were probably still sleeping,we to get a good night's sleep in this metallic, chromium hell. Or maybe they weren't able to, maybe they were still desperately clinging to the hope that sleep would come.
Insomnia was clung to Blue, a shadow that only seemed to grow since arriving in the Captiol. On the first night, after he had stripped himself of most of the paint his designer had adorned him, he had tossed and turned in the white cotton sheets that drowned his horrendously large bed. He'd given up wrestling with insomnia, as he always did, and headed to the roof for peace of mind. To see the stars. But they were suffocating too, under the neon glow of the city. He could not see them, the crystal white glitter against violet and navy blackness. All he had been able to see was pinks, oranges, dull whites, greens, painted against the night sky.
Now, a single strip of paint still present on his cheek, Blue had dragged himself from the roof, numb but surprisingly warm despite sitting atop the roof all night, and headed downstairs to here, where he walked barefoot across the soft padded floor. The Capitol was suffocating but this room made him feel even worse. On edge, like his head was on the chopping block and he could feel the cold edge of the executioners blade against his neck. He exhaled and inhaled but still felt like he were drowning, forced between the block and the touch of death.
Passing a punching bag, blue ran his hand against the smooth fabric, his hand curling into a fist as he withdrew his hand before gently punching at the bag. It swung away from him, the chains squeaking imperfectly in the perfect space around him and he caught it roughly, a small smirk forming on his face.
Insomnia was clung to Blue, a shadow that only seemed to grow since arriving in the Captiol. On the first night, after he had stripped himself of most of the paint his designer had adorned him, he had tossed and turned in the white cotton sheets that drowned his horrendously large bed. He'd given up wrestling with insomnia, as he always did, and headed to the roof for peace of mind. To see the stars. But they were suffocating too, under the neon glow of the city. He could not see them, the crystal white glitter against violet and navy blackness. All he had been able to see was pinks, oranges, dull whites, greens, painted against the night sky.
Now, a single strip of paint still present on his cheek, Blue had dragged himself from the roof, numb but surprisingly warm despite sitting atop the roof all night, and headed downstairs to here, where he walked barefoot across the soft padded floor. The Capitol was suffocating but this room made him feel even worse. On edge, like his head was on the chopping block and he could feel the cold edge of the executioners blade against his neck. He exhaled and inhaled but still felt like he were drowning, forced between the block and the touch of death.
Passing a punching bag, blue ran his hand against the smooth fabric, his hand curling into a fist as he withdrew his hand before gently punching at the bag. It swung away from him, the chains squeaking imperfectly in the perfect space around him and he caught it roughly, a small smirk forming on his face.
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