a wolf alone | penelope (day two)
Oct 26, 2019 12:49:48 GMT -5
Post by d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris on Oct 26, 2019 12:49:48 GMT -5
The woods are never quiet.
Even as I am left behind by my allies and the last of my attackers flee, their footsteps never fade. I hear the crunch of leaves and the snap of branches on repeat, a low whistle of wind through the trees. And I recognize that it had been my choice to stay behind, but that doesn't stop the loneliness. It rests in my stomach like a black stone, and it turns over and over; and I remain still.
I press the severed ends of my arms to my chest, I close my eyes at the feeling — that shock of pain and the crack of dried blood. Vargen is not here to tuck my hair back into place, hanging like a dark curtain in front of my eyes; but I do not want to see the sun. Not tonight. That's the beauty of an evening. I am allowed to be sad, and I am allowed to hurt, and there is no light to chase away the darkness.
There's a dead boy in the sky, and his blood has dried on me, too. I can't bring myself to look at him, can't allow myself to play his death over in my head. It does not bring me joy, and I am not proud to be a monster. And that doesn't mean I'm not terrible, it just means I'm trying not to be. I just want to go home. I want to take a rope in my hands and climb away, to twist and bend and fall to the sound of roaring applause.
But then I look down, and I remember.
I have to remember.
In that room, and on that stage, with Jackson and Caesar and all of Panem — I made a promise. 'I'm coming home.' It doesn't feel like a memory as it rings through my mind, it's like a new vow. Something I am mending; and I can mend myself, too. That doesn't take away the fear, or the shame, but I stop crying. Eventually.
When the sun appears, I am already standing.
And my eyes are forward. Always forward.
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