Apocalypse Now {Garrison + Lenox, Leisure Day 4}
Mar 18, 2021 22:27:02 GMT -5
Post by grant on Mar 18, 2021 22:27:02 GMT -5
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His bones are reeling, and every muscle is in agony. But he smiles with bloody teeth. Privately staring into the bark of a dead tree trunk, half eradicated by some foul nuclear incident. He thinks of Kane. He thinks of Fitz. He shrugs at himself - the reflection he wishes he could see in the bathroom mirror. The happy boy that was excited about getting the train to a new land, to see the glamour for himself.
That reflection fades into an image of a broken child with overgrowing hair and frazzled skin, crimson static jittering in the whites of his eyes. He doesn't know if he can go on, but why shouldn't he try. If not for himself, but for those that are watching him. His twin sister. His parents and his friends are all watching.
He palms a rock and lets it move around, playing with gravity in the windless waste field. Some kind of smog is sitting around them. He isn't sure if it is protecting them or watching them. He doesn't care anymore. Let them watch, he hopes they enjoy it.
He'd done what little he could to save his wounds from taking him. Now, the cuts are sealed. The bleeding is stopping. He's still got a rag to his forehead. It will probably be infected, like everything here. His wounds were entirely grave. One more hit from anything and his soul would be dancing among the canon fire. That wasn't the case though.
That's why he smiled.
"This really is the worst." He tells her. He doesn't mind if she can't listen just yet. He would even take silence at this point. Her company is essential. She may well be the last string keeping him around. "I wanted to go back for" he lets out. Stopping himself, he takes the rag from the cut on his forehead and looks into the damp blood. "For Fitz," he looks to her. "It was too much. I'm not as strong as I thought. We've seen too much of it. Death, I mean. I just want to go home."
The dread building inside of him reminds him of the Reaping. Four birds doing the jolliest of dances; Magpies were watching over the entire event. He wonders now whether he actually saw them, or if he was just imagining them for his own benefit. His sister loves to count the birds, their numbers have so much meaning. One for sorrow, two for joy. Three for a girl, four for a boy. There was no escaping the fact that his name was chosen, and that nobody could volunteer to replace him. In his dreams, before the Reaping, he had taken the place of a thousand tributes. Never before had he regretted that. Not until now.
If he could, he would go back to that moment and chase himself away. He'd get arrested if he had to. Ripred, he would do anything to change the past.
"We've just got to keep going." He stands up to stretch himself, looking out at the waste field around them. "I'm not sure who you have back home, but lets at least do it for Kane and Fitz."
That reflection fades into an image of a broken child with overgrowing hair and frazzled skin, crimson static jittering in the whites of his eyes. He doesn't know if he can go on, but why shouldn't he try. If not for himself, but for those that are watching him. His twin sister. His parents and his friends are all watching.
He palms a rock and lets it move around, playing with gravity in the windless waste field. Some kind of smog is sitting around them. He isn't sure if it is protecting them or watching them. He doesn't care anymore. Let them watch, he hopes they enjoy it.
He'd done what little he could to save his wounds from taking him. Now, the cuts are sealed. The bleeding is stopping. He's still got a rag to his forehead. It will probably be infected, like everything here. His wounds were entirely grave. One more hit from anything and his soul would be dancing among the canon fire. That wasn't the case though.
That's why he smiled.
"This really is the worst." He tells her. He doesn't mind if she can't listen just yet. He would even take silence at this point. Her company is essential. She may well be the last string keeping him around. "I wanted to go back for" he lets out. Stopping himself, he takes the rag from the cut on his forehead and looks into the damp blood. "For Fitz," he looks to her. "It was too much. I'm not as strong as I thought. We've seen too much of it. Death, I mean. I just want to go home."
--
The dread building inside of him reminds him of the Reaping. Four birds doing the jolliest of dances; Magpies were watching over the entire event. He wonders now whether he actually saw them, or if he was just imagining them for his own benefit. His sister loves to count the birds, their numbers have so much meaning. One for sorrow, two for joy. Three for a girl, four for a boy. There was no escaping the fact that his name was chosen, and that nobody could volunteer to replace him. In his dreams, before the Reaping, he had taken the place of a thousand tributes. Never before had he regretted that. Not until now.
If he could, he would go back to that moment and chase himself away. He'd get arrested if he had to. Ripred, he would do anything to change the past.
--
"We've just got to keep going." He stands up to stretch himself, looking out at the waste field around them. "I'm not sure who you have back home, but lets at least do it for Kane and Fitz."
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