whenever i feel good | ezra; day 1
Jun 18, 2020 16:18:02 GMT -5
Post by goat on Jun 18, 2020 16:18:02 GMT -5
ezra valencia
There’s the echoing of a cannon as he runs away from the bloodbath, but he doesn’t pay much mind to it. All he can focus on is the way his boots sink into the soft sand, the pounding of blood in his ears, the violent air rushing in and out of his lungs. He looks behind him, and can barely see the outline of the Cornucopia, can barely see the dotting of the unmarked gravestones, but it still doesn’t feel far enough. His chest aches, though, and his legs feel heavy. Maybe it would be better to stop for a moment now, lest he keep going and run into someone with much more energy.
With his hands clutching his knees as he catches his breath, he looks back to what’s around him— strange flowers, trees with leaves that look like crepe paper. An almost melodic wind is blowing. He graciously gulps down the cool air, hoping it will cool his lungs. All he wants is to fall back, collapse on the ground and rest, but he can’t afford himself that. Not yet.
One cannon. One cannon means one person is dead. That’s only one person dead, which means twenty-three are left, and he has no idea which one his killer will be. He wonders if he shouldn’t have kept his distance so much. People have probably banded together, formed alliances, and he’s out here on his own. He knows he could barely fight off one person, let alone four.
It’s too late to dwell on that mistake. He’s alone now, for better or worse. Those sorts of alliances can’t last long either. Someone is going to have to kill someone else eventually, and he doesn’t want it to be him.
A gentle beeping sounds from above, and he looks up to see a white parachute falling toward him. He’s seen the Games before, just like every other person in Panem, he knows what this means. Atticus must have secured something for him, or maybe a wealthy Capitolite benefactor was taking pity on him. It doesn’t matter how it got there. He’s just happy to have it. He holds his hands out and lets the package fall into them.
A backpack. A water jug. Some purification tablets.
He smiles. Maybe he isn’t as alone as he thought.
[ ezra uses camo and receives sponsorship; more in maint ]
[ continued here ]
With his hands clutching his knees as he catches his breath, he looks back to what’s around him— strange flowers, trees with leaves that look like crepe paper. An almost melodic wind is blowing. He graciously gulps down the cool air, hoping it will cool his lungs. All he wants is to fall back, collapse on the ground and rest, but he can’t afford himself that. Not yet.
One cannon. One cannon means one person is dead. That’s only one person dead, which means twenty-three are left, and he has no idea which one his killer will be. He wonders if he shouldn’t have kept his distance so much. People have probably banded together, formed alliances, and he’s out here on his own. He knows he could barely fight off one person, let alone four.
It’s too late to dwell on that mistake. He’s alone now, for better or worse. Those sorts of alliances can’t last long either. Someone is going to have to kill someone else eventually, and he doesn’t want it to be him.
A gentle beeping sounds from above, and he looks up to see a white parachute falling toward him. He’s seen the Games before, just like every other person in Panem, he knows what this means. Atticus must have secured something for him, or maybe a wealthy Capitolite benefactor was taking pity on him. It doesn’t matter how it got there. He’s just happy to have it. He holds his hands out and lets the package fall into them.
A backpack. A water jug. Some purification tablets.
He smiles. Maybe he isn’t as alone as he thought.
[ ezra uses camo and receives sponsorship; more in maint ]
[ continued here ]
