recordatus sum mortale | ambrose's death Sept 13, 2019 11:46:44 GMT -5
Post by d11f sarina izar [fireflyz] on Sept 13, 2019 11:46:44 GMT -5
There was a time when Ambrose thought stars were tears in the fabric of the sky and to patch them up would mean losing the faint light they cast over the world. Eventually he would learn otherwise, but until then, stars were happy accidents. He had never particularly been a perfectionist - he was perfectly happy to learn new things, especially from other people - but there was something fundamentally painful about learning that he had been wrong about everything he had ever known, ever done. When the rebellion started, he thought listening to his family and staying out of the carnage would be the best thing to do. They only wanted to preserve his future. And yet, he cursed himself for listening. He had grown tired of watching the suffering of everyone that he loved, but more importantly, he felt that he deserved it more than they did. Henceforth, he cursed himself to death.
He could feel his consciousness slipping from his body way before he finally slumped to the ground, not even knowing who had dealt him the final blow. His thoughts came in zaps, sudden and incomplete: I didn't want - didn't plan - should've been different - so numb. He had imagined death as a more glorious endeavor than this. There was no other fate that made sense to him, yet he found himself clinging to the turf as if it would turn to lush, living grass that would save him from this nightmare. He strained to breathe, tasting blood and who knew what else, nose whistling as he exhaled.
What would have happened if he had lived? He would have gone home to Katherine, lived a happy life, not the life of subversion he had envisioned. He would have hidden himself away to avoid the hell that Panem had become. He would be an insurgent no more. It was like his purpose had died in the arena, with Yejide, with the little girl in the pajamas, with Scorpion and Latch for crying out loud. No infamy would come his way. All he had was guilt.
He hadn't won his game; he had only played theirs. Instead of victory, he had lost everything. Instead of happiness, there was darkness. Instead of martyr, he was final sacrifice. The final Pixel, the last rebel in the family, purged from the system's memory. Such a shame.
Tears flowed out of his eyes easier than they ever had when he had lived. He thought of Katherine, whether she was watching, if she had hidden herself away. His family's words, his own words, echoed in his mind: Stay out of it. It was the one thing that he had asked of her. But now, selfishly, or maybe selflessly, Ambrose hoped she would throw herself into the fray, refuse to withdraw from the world simply because he was gone, and fucking fight.
It was the one thing that would free her.
WORD COUNT: 486
FC: enchong dee