Home; No More [Jordan Temple Oneshot]
Nov 7, 2019 12:45:34 GMT -5
Post by Tom on Nov 7, 2019 12:45:34 GMT -5
TW: mentions of suicide; guilt; sadness; etc.
Home isn't home anymore.
Instead, it's a battleground of emotions and tears from a whole suffering before. A single games had torn his life apart, piece by fucking piece, he lost everything. Maxwell. Himself. His parents. Everything. Days spent on bated breaths as if watching your own fucking twin on a television dying wasn't stressful enough. Lex and Denali having torn him apart, blood flowing from the same guy who used to thrown himself into the center of Jordan's own terrors. The same twin who used to tell him things would be better one day. The one person who held the knowledge of the same family secret they both knew. Maxwell Temple was no longer the same person he knew since the day he left for the arena.
Maybe it's his own damn fault for not trying hard enough to take his spot.
Selfishness leading to ruin.
Blame upon the tip of his tongue, knowing the poison that lingers there as if he couldn't feel the way the air grew heavier.
He watched with tear streaked eyes as his brother, his twin, his life, fight for his life. An uphill battle that was hard to breath through. Maxwell crumbles under Lex and Denali's weapons, with a heavy breath, Jordan can remember the sorrow in his throat as he screamed to no one. The fist he slams into the arm rest of the chair, trying to voice the sorrow upon his tongue. The numbness that follows leaves him heartbroken, he doesn't eat for days, he doesn't leave his room for days, he barely moves from the moment Maxwell Temple dies for the first time.
Every thing shatters in that old mirror, cracks leading to ruin. The center point of that old mirror being Maxwell Temple, the only person who truly had his back. Maybe it's his own damn fault for not doing more. Maxwell could have lived. If only Jordan hadn't been a fool back then. The numbness follows him in the sense of lingering to his skin, until he ends it with Caleb. No reasoning behind it other than he couldn't anymore. He couldn't be happy or smile or breath anymore and Caleb wouldn't understand, but maybe that's the suffering he needed at the time.
A suffering that he can put on himself for the fucked up emotions he was feeling.
A broken mirror standing before him, until the sound of the screen comes to life from downstairs. The announcement filling the air. The words of Snow filling the room as Jordan breaks again. Tear filled sobs that echo across emptiness until he the numbness leaves his skin and becomes nothing more than tears and a choked up reaction. Alive. Maxwell was alive. His twin, his life, his brother was alive. All of this time spent shattering would be mended, with glue to fill the cracks and the smile trying to come back.
He should have known.
He should have known home would never be the same again.
For when Maxwell Temple comes home, there's a change behind those eyes. A cold-like gaze where steel resides, memories of the horrors lingering in that body. Jordan wasn't an idiot. The ruin was there before him, in the middle of a dark night, watching his twin toss and turn under the tar of fear, anger, and so many more broken emotions. No one dared to try and act like he was the same, even he could catch himself walking around his twin as if he were hanging on the edge of a thread.
Days spent trying to smile more for Max's sake, days spent trying to be back to normal, but never having that same feeling again. Home would never be the same. Jordan tried to help him. He tried to be the one to lift all the weight for the both of them, dealing with his own issues and his parents as if he were strong enough to hide Maxwell away from the pain he carried. The blame deep in his chest eating away at his own heart. There's no longer a fire of desire to be friendly to everyone, instead he bites back at others. Words from others about the eightieth tributes not deserving of life.
If they weren't meant to live, Jordan wouldn't be able to survive.
Instead, he pushes to help Max everyday.
Always on the edge of the doorway, waiting to ask him to do better, but nothing happens.
Silence lays in wake as he can see Maxwell drowning under the tar.
The Eighty Second Games is when Jordan breaks again.
"Max, you have to try please."
A shrug of those shoulders and the sleep heavy face lingering in his head. The icy chill of his own voice begging his twin to try and get better. Try to move past this. Try to live again, but there's a change in the way he speaks. If he had known that would have been their last year together, he would have done so much more. Instead, they reside together, on the edge of something that will never be said. Maybe it's the way he can feel his brother's hugs growing weaker or the way his eyes grow darker and darker by the days.
Home wasn't home anymore.
Maxwell wasn't Maxwell anymore.
It's after the Eighty Third reaping when he hears the gun fire and the smell of gunpowder fill his nose forever.
Alone, he spent the day trying to fix what little home they had left. Went to the market, to try and buy something nice for Maxwell knowing full well it was going to be a tough day. An exquisite bread that costed most of his wage for the week and some expensive cheese to match with it upon his hip. The sound echoes in his head still as he turns the corner.
The bread falls into the dirt as the basket of goodies is left behind. Tears upon his eyes as he runs to his twin, the chill behind those eyes being nothing left. Everything he had been working towards. Everything he's been trying to change. Everything he's ever known. All of it was before him, shattered on the ground as Jordan holds his brother in his lap, letting the world break around him. If he hadn't left him alone, if he hadn't let him die again and again, if he hadn't let him go in the games, if...if...if.......
If only he could have done more for him.
The world feels colder without him.
The numbness fades back in as he stays there crying into the ruin.
His home was dead.
His home was gone.
He lost everything.
"Y-You can't..."
Silence.
"P-P-Please..."
The tar pulls him in tighter, letting the shattered mirror break into thousands of pieces, the ichor of black sludge in his eyes as he break again, tears lingering to the body of Maxwell Temple. After an hour passes with tears and his body shaking and everything forgotten, he can't feel his skin anymore. He can't feel the sound of his footsteps as he leaves his twin in that alley, alone forever, just like he had wanted.
If only...
If only, Jordan were better.
If only, he could have been stronger.
If only, he weren't to blame.
This is his ruin.
His fault.
Maxwell is dead because he couldn't save him.
The world couldn't save him.
The capitol got their ruin in the end.
Instead of going home and locking himself away, he can feel the grasping fear and anxiety on the balls of his feet. Scrambling for anything he can grab in their room, he pulls supplies and things to live with. Nine wasn't home. Maxwell was his home. Maxwell was his life. Now, he had nothing left. Nothing but ruin. He couldn't stay here with his parents. He had to get away.
He had to get away from all of this.
It wasn't real.
Maxwell couldn't be dead.
Instead of just running, he makes one last stop, breaking into the mayor's office with ease. There he makes the only phone call that matters, letting the world break apart with him. Tears on the edges of his cheeks as if they would make him feel together again. As if the tears would remind him that he was alive, but the numbness continues as the cracks grow and grow. His voice echoes on the other line as he speaks to the only person he knew would hate him for not being able to do more.
"M-Max is dead."
Dead.
As if a four letter word could describe the truth.
Max was gone.
Dead.
Home wasn't home.
Everything was broken.
He was numb.
Once the words were out, the world crumbled and he slammed the phone into the receiver and ran.
As fast as he could run, he ran.
As far as he could go, he ran.
The edge of Nine didn't stop him.
The sounds of people living didn't stop him.
Maxwell Temple was dead.
It was his fault.
It would always be his fault.
Nine wasn't home anymore.
He wasn't Jordan Temple anymore.
He did what he's always done with every problem in his life.
He runs.
The tar slinking behind him as he continues to break down over and over again.
Once he can no longer see District Nine, is when he lets himself break down again and again.
Tears.
Numbed limbs.
Exhaustion.
Anger.
Guilt.
Blame.
Jordan Temple was no longer a Temple.
He was barely even Jordan anymore.
Home is where his heart died.
Home is no more.
Jordan just runs as fast as he can.
Letting his limbs feel the numbness he's felt for so long.
Letting his body feel the ruin he caused.
Letting the world know, he'll never be okay.
Maxwell Temple wasn't the only one who died that day.
Jordan Temple and who he used to be;
will always be in that grave with him.
Instead, it's a battleground of emotions and tears from a whole suffering before. A single games had torn his life apart, piece by fucking piece, he lost everything. Maxwell. Himself. His parents. Everything. Days spent on bated breaths as if watching your own fucking twin on a television dying wasn't stressful enough. Lex and Denali having torn him apart, blood flowing from the same guy who used to thrown himself into the center of Jordan's own terrors. The same twin who used to tell him things would be better one day. The one person who held the knowledge of the same family secret they both knew. Maxwell Temple was no longer the same person he knew since the day he left for the arena.
Maybe it's his own damn fault for not trying hard enough to take his spot.
Selfishness leading to ruin.
Blame upon the tip of his tongue, knowing the poison that lingers there as if he couldn't feel the way the air grew heavier.
He watched with tear streaked eyes as his brother, his twin, his life, fight for his life. An uphill battle that was hard to breath through. Maxwell crumbles under Lex and Denali's weapons, with a heavy breath, Jordan can remember the sorrow in his throat as he screamed to no one. The fist he slams into the arm rest of the chair, trying to voice the sorrow upon his tongue. The numbness that follows leaves him heartbroken, he doesn't eat for days, he doesn't leave his room for days, he barely moves from the moment Maxwell Temple dies for the first time.
Every thing shatters in that old mirror, cracks leading to ruin. The center point of that old mirror being Maxwell Temple, the only person who truly had his back. Maybe it's his own damn fault for not doing more. Maxwell could have lived. If only Jordan hadn't been a fool back then. The numbness follows him in the sense of lingering to his skin, until he ends it with Caleb. No reasoning behind it other than he couldn't anymore. He couldn't be happy or smile or breath anymore and Caleb wouldn't understand, but maybe that's the suffering he needed at the time.
A suffering that he can put on himself for the fucked up emotions he was feeling.
A broken mirror standing before him, until the sound of the screen comes to life from downstairs. The announcement filling the air. The words of Snow filling the room as Jordan breaks again. Tear filled sobs that echo across emptiness until he the numbness leaves his skin and becomes nothing more than tears and a choked up reaction. Alive. Maxwell was alive. His twin, his life, his brother was alive. All of this time spent shattering would be mended, with glue to fill the cracks and the smile trying to come back.
He should have known.
He should have known home would never be the same again.
For when Maxwell Temple comes home, there's a change behind those eyes. A cold-like gaze where steel resides, memories of the horrors lingering in that body. Jordan wasn't an idiot. The ruin was there before him, in the middle of a dark night, watching his twin toss and turn under the tar of fear, anger, and so many more broken emotions. No one dared to try and act like he was the same, even he could catch himself walking around his twin as if he were hanging on the edge of a thread.
Days spent trying to smile more for Max's sake, days spent trying to be back to normal, but never having that same feeling again. Home would never be the same. Jordan tried to help him. He tried to be the one to lift all the weight for the both of them, dealing with his own issues and his parents as if he were strong enough to hide Maxwell away from the pain he carried. The blame deep in his chest eating away at his own heart. There's no longer a fire of desire to be friendly to everyone, instead he bites back at others. Words from others about the eightieth tributes not deserving of life.
If they weren't meant to live, Jordan wouldn't be able to survive.
Instead, he pushes to help Max everyday.
Always on the edge of the doorway, waiting to ask him to do better, but nothing happens.
Silence lays in wake as he can see Maxwell drowning under the tar.
The Eighty Second Games is when Jordan breaks again.
"Max, you have to try please."
A shrug of those shoulders and the sleep heavy face lingering in his head. The icy chill of his own voice begging his twin to try and get better. Try to move past this. Try to live again, but there's a change in the way he speaks. If he had known that would have been their last year together, he would have done so much more. Instead, they reside together, on the edge of something that will never be said. Maybe it's the way he can feel his brother's hugs growing weaker or the way his eyes grow darker and darker by the days.
Home wasn't home anymore.
Maxwell wasn't Maxwell anymore.
It's after the Eighty Third reaping when he hears the gun fire and the smell of gunpowder fill his nose forever.
Alone, he spent the day trying to fix what little home they had left. Went to the market, to try and buy something nice for Maxwell knowing full well it was going to be a tough day. An exquisite bread that costed most of his wage for the week and some expensive cheese to match with it upon his hip. The sound echoes in his head still as he turns the corner.
The bread falls into the dirt as the basket of goodies is left behind. Tears upon his eyes as he runs to his twin, the chill behind those eyes being nothing left. Everything he had been working towards. Everything he's been trying to change. Everything he's ever known. All of it was before him, shattered on the ground as Jordan holds his brother in his lap, letting the world break around him. If he hadn't left him alone, if he hadn't let him die again and again, if he hadn't let him go in the games, if...if...if.......
If only he could have done more for him.
The world feels colder without him.
The numbness fades back in as he stays there crying into the ruin.
His home was dead.
His home was gone.
He lost everything.
"Y-You can't..."
Silence.
"P-P-Please..."
The tar pulls him in tighter, letting the shattered mirror break into thousands of pieces, the ichor of black sludge in his eyes as he break again, tears lingering to the body of Maxwell Temple. After an hour passes with tears and his body shaking and everything forgotten, he can't feel his skin anymore. He can't feel the sound of his footsteps as he leaves his twin in that alley, alone forever, just like he had wanted.
If only...
If only, Jordan were better.
If only, he could have been stronger.
If only, he weren't to blame.
This is his ruin.
His fault.
Maxwell is dead because he couldn't save him.
The world couldn't save him.
The capitol got their ruin in the end.
Instead of going home and locking himself away, he can feel the grasping fear and anxiety on the balls of his feet. Scrambling for anything he can grab in their room, he pulls supplies and things to live with. Nine wasn't home. Maxwell was his home. Maxwell was his life. Now, he had nothing left. Nothing but ruin. He couldn't stay here with his parents. He had to get away.
He had to get away from all of this.
It wasn't real.
Maxwell couldn't be dead.
Instead of just running, he makes one last stop, breaking into the mayor's office with ease. There he makes the only phone call that matters, letting the world break apart with him. Tears on the edges of his cheeks as if they would make him feel together again. As if the tears would remind him that he was alive, but the numbness continues as the cracks grow and grow. His voice echoes on the other line as he speaks to the only person he knew would hate him for not being able to do more.
"M-Max is dead."
Dead.
As if a four letter word could describe the truth.
Max was gone.
Dead.
Home wasn't home.
Everything was broken.
He was numb.
Once the words were out, the world crumbled and he slammed the phone into the receiver and ran.
As fast as he could run, he ran.
As far as he could go, he ran.
The edge of Nine didn't stop him.
The sounds of people living didn't stop him.
Maxwell Temple was dead.
It was his fault.
It would always be his fault.
Nine wasn't home anymore.
He wasn't Jordan Temple anymore.
He did what he's always done with every problem in his life.
He runs.
The tar slinking behind him as he continues to break down over and over again.
Once he can no longer see District Nine, is when he lets himself break down again and again.
Tears.
Numbed limbs.
Exhaustion.
Anger.
Guilt.
Blame.
Jordan Temple was no longer a Temple.
He was barely even Jordan anymore.
Home is where his heart died.
Home is no more.
Jordan just runs as fast as he can.
Letting his limbs feel the numbness he's felt for so long.
Letting his body feel the ruin he caused.
Letting the world know, he'll never be okay.
Maxwell Temple wasn't the only one who died that day.
Jordan Temple and who he used to be;
will always be in that grave with him.
