Limbo States [Cyro / Vasco]
May 31, 2020 23:03:52 GMT -5
Post by marguerite harvard d2a (zori) on May 31, 2020 23:03:52 GMT -5
Vasco Izar(Dios te salve, María, llena eres de gracia)Out on the porch, seated back against the cushion of the hanging bench, I twisted one of the plastic beads on a necklace between my index finger and thumb. I had to pause to find the words, almost like I was reaching out through the darkness of my mind to find them. Eyes closed, I turned up another bead and pressed along the necklace, pouring over the same old prayers whispered through the chill of the morning.
I’d always believed in an afterlife, even if I hadn’t the faintest idea what it could look like. When I was half the height of the corn stalks in the fields, we always found ourselves talking about the stars, and how the energy that made up our bodies had to go somewhere. So, I always made up the story that there’d be a place for us up in the sky, together. A space where all the Izars would belong, without the fear we’d ever have to separate again. It felt like a good dream, to imagine some space with warm light and a place to lay down together, all enveloped in happiness. Freedom from pain. Freedom to exist.
My mother had taught me some of what she’d been raised to believe, and lately I’d found myself turning back to her for a better state of grace. I wish I had paid better attention when I was a kid and listened to her stories. She’d spend an afternoon lighting candles and sitting in the corner of the kitchen, whispering out little prayers and pouring over scraps of yellowed pages that her own mother had passed down to her.
It’s nice to have faith in something when everything else felt as though it didn’t make any sense.
When the world seemed ready to hurl you right up off the ground and into the sky, to believe in something like that felt like another source of gravity. It was grounding, something that could be bigger than me or anyone else.
The morning of the reaping, I just kept thinking, let us have peace, each time I turned over another bead. Let us go one more year without any kind of pain. I didn’t know who I was praying to but it felt it might have been someone that had the power to do something. Let them take me instead, I had offered, because it felt unselfish, even when the words that came out of my mouth reminded me of my daughter and wife sleeping inside.
There’d always be consequences, no matter what sort of ending I chose.
When I sat next to Katelyn on stage and looked out at the sea of faces, I thought I was going to have another panic attack then and there. I’m sure I was stark white, I could barely breathe through the last ten minutes before the escort had come to pull the names out of the bowl. I couldn’t tell you if Harbinger or Kirito said a damn thing to me. All I could do was keep thinking, please, please let there be a better ending this year.
The girl’s name was pulled, the boy’s, the scuffle, and Cyro Krane volunteered.
Then it was over. Another reaping, my fifth one as mayor.
The last one, if I wanted it to be.
I was standing in the hallway, staring at the wooden doors trying to piece it back together in my mind.
Cyro was Jon’s sister’s son. I held on the door for another minute, my stomach twisting into another knot, and thought about how long it’d been since I’d bothered to even think about the Kranes. Not since Levi had died, aside from seeing Wilson now and again.
“Hola, Cyro?” I closed the door behind him and stood, hands behind my back. What are you doing? I wanted to ask, selfishly. I thought how it’d be if Raquel had been the one leaving behind a beautiful little boy. Maybe I've seen too many years to come close to understanding. Instead all I can do is try to make peace (for once).
“I wanted to see what I could do to help you.”
