The Revolution Will Not Be Televised (impos v les day 4)

Delroy could’ve traced his arc back eighty-seven years to a boy who’d died in a field and been buried in an unmarked grave. Taylor fought for freedom against longer odds and still had found the courage to put one foot in front of the other. When he pulled the trigger, what did he tell himself to forgive what followed? And did he stand alone amongst his friends with this big idea, when the rest of them thought he was causing trouble, pushing too hard?

‘Oh yeah? And what’s gonna happen when the time comes? You and yours gonna slaughter everyone who opposes you? Sounds familiar…’ Twelve fired back, and he wondered if they’d ever understand. He didn’t know how to explain why they should’ve cared about other people, not when they were fighting for their lives. Not when they’d placed a value on his life and Dom’s over anyone else’s.

Their blades have him cry out toward the sky, and he almost goes tumbling down into the snow. His smarting wounds kept him from moving to Dom who stared down six and three, now bloodied and burned. Last night, he’d thought she and him would go on until they’d have to face one another. At least, that they’d have one another’s back until all this was over. But theirs was a friends that fractured as such as the ice in front of him. Her pain discarded for self-preservation from children who’d never know what she’d seen.

And it was easy, he guessed – to give up on them.

Neysa and Shy could go on without them, though he could already feel Carmen’s disappointment. He’d held onto his promise to keep Shy safe from harm, so at least he’d gotten that far. But here, on unsteady feet, he wasn’t sure what kind of strength he had left to give.

Their words didn’t matter, or so they were told.

And so it would go on, and on, and on – each time one of them died, they’d be forgotten in favor of the stories that they were taught to matter.

What would happen when the time came, when someone rose up from the dirt and through the bullshit to try and wake all of them up? Was it such a failed cause to want more than this misery? Or did they just never know what it was like for a boy like Delroy in eleven, or a girl like Dom in two? Worse, did they just not care?

He thought of how Mayor Izar told him he’d have to fine strength in himself. The old man had sat across from him in the justice building, and for all of Delroy’s thunder about him not doing enough, met the boy with a smile. He disarmed Del with kindness. Reminded him that he had to believe in himself first because there would be many that wouldn’t believe in him, either. The way forward would be arduous and lonely, but never alone. Show up for yourself, he’d said, because you’ll need him.

“What happens is you make a choice to live for freedom, or die under the wheel,” Del let the words meet the crisp air, “You find out whether you want something better than just surviving. And fight like hell to give it to everyone else. Complacency is death for me. So no, I ain’t just going to survive.”

It he was going to die, or disappear, then he’d put it all on the table.

“You wake up tomorrow, I hope you feel good about what you want.” Delroy twisted his grip on his weapon and shook his head. “All of you. I hope it’s more than just about you.”

They could give up on him and Dom, but then it’d been that way since the start. All that was left was who stayed standing.

“HRRRNG!”

[Delroy attacks Mona with his ice club (spiked blunt)]
1ETo_pX|iOspiked blunt
[result]

She falls.

Time stops.

"No," I whisper, and that whisper is filled with all the pain and longing that results from losing a friend that hits me in that moment. I stand still, staring at her lifeless body, her blood mingling with the snow and turning iridescent beneath the tears that shimmer on the edges of my eyes.

The Capitol They killed her.

The girl who had gone after us in the bloodbath had made up for what she couldn't finish then.

"No," I say louder, more forcefully, as if the power of my voice could simply bring her back even though I know it can't.

Reaching into my bag, I grab what I know I need. My prize that Dom had tried to snatch from me just a few hours earlier.

The bag was cold to the touch, and there had to be a purpose to it.

I grab some in my hand, and I feel the freezing temperature sting me with sharp pricks of pain. I wince, but everything is numbed. I barely feel the pain of my nerves being frozen off. My eyes are set on one person. My friend's murderer.

My hand beginning to turn purple, my finger becoming numb, I blow the freezing dust at my enemy.

[attacks mona wyatt with snow dust]
oIiJ0Qxfl15-10
[+5]

ooc: sorry it's a tad short my brain go brr rn