when hard luck hits :: [ calliope + nina ]
Aug 30, 2020 12:09:25 GMT -5
Post by L△LIA on Aug 30, 2020 12:09:25 GMT -5
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I've been keeping on the down low
Moving just a little too slow
Moving just a little too slow
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It felt impossible for the longest time and that's what people never understood. They would turn on their televisions and look at the looping footage of the explosions, cringing at the news reports and the little numbers ticking across the screen and, through their tears and their screams of horror, everyone would think: This is the worst. It doesn't get more difficult than this. Even if Calliope were brazen enough to look someone in the eye and tell them that the explosions were the easy part, that the bodies burnt to ash were the easy part, that the sudden loss of loved ones and integral freedoms seized during the lockdowns were the easy part —
How the fuck could anyone possibly be expected to wrap their minds around the silent horrors in the wake of all of that and believe her?
Every time she had to say no the disbelief was already too much for people to bear. Every time she was asked for supplies that she couldn't give because they didn't exist, no one believed that either. Hospital directors and mayors alike would call to scream at her so endlessly that she would simply lay the phone on her desk and wait for them to exhaust themselves, occasionally hanging up on them and disconnecting the line when it became evident that they never would. The worst part wasn't that people died. The worst part was that people were still dying. Even now.
It takes time to rebuild factories and labs, more time than has yet to pass, no matter how anyone tries to rush the endless, round-the-clock construction. More than bricks and beams, there was equipment lost that hasn't been easy to replace and there was scientific work destroyed that quite possibly cannot be replicated at all. Raw material storage was obliterated. Files of critical information and the minds behind them were blasted out of existence. The outcry from the community over the loss of loved ones was loud, but the outcry over everything else feels as if it has been her voice alone, screaming endlessly into an uncaring void.
"Hello," she greets the woman approaching her with as close to a smile as she can force these days, "I'm Calliope Bloom. I'm here for a two o'clock appointment — I'm early? I can wait — to tour the hospital's reconstruction and discuss ongoing supply issues." It's something of a relief to finally be able to show her face here, to arrive with a briefcase full of paperwork rather than helplessly empty hands. She knows she will be asked for more than she's able to give. After all, she has been mayor for a decade and the very core of her job is understanding that she will always be asked for more than she's able to give, by everyone and always.
How the fuck could anyone possibly be expected to wrap their minds around the silent horrors in the wake of all of that and believe her?
Every time she had to say no the disbelief was already too much for people to bear. Every time she was asked for supplies that she couldn't give because they didn't exist, no one believed that either. Hospital directors and mayors alike would call to scream at her so endlessly that she would simply lay the phone on her desk and wait for them to exhaust themselves, occasionally hanging up on them and disconnecting the line when it became evident that they never would. The worst part wasn't that people died. The worst part was that people were still dying. Even now.
It takes time to rebuild factories and labs, more time than has yet to pass, no matter how anyone tries to rush the endless, round-the-clock construction. More than bricks and beams, there was equipment lost that hasn't been easy to replace and there was scientific work destroyed that quite possibly cannot be replicated at all. Raw material storage was obliterated. Files of critical information and the minds behind them were blasted out of existence. The outcry from the community over the loss of loved ones was loud, but the outcry over everything else feels as if it has been her voice alone, screaming endlessly into an uncaring void.
"Hello," she greets the woman approaching her with as close to a smile as she can force these days, "I'm Calliope Bloom. I'm here for a two o'clock appointment — I'm early? I can wait — to tour the hospital's reconstruction and discuss ongoing supply issues." It's something of a relief to finally be able to show her face here, to arrive with a briefcase full of paperwork rather than helplessly empty hands. She knows she will be asked for more than she's able to give. After all, she has been mayor for a decade and the very core of her job is understanding that she will always be asked for more than she's able to give, by everyone and always.
never gonna quit royal teeth
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