the darkness within | [laurel/fangor/maggie v hollow] day 2
Oct 25, 2019 13:38:39 GMT -5
Post by D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza] on Oct 25, 2019 13:38:39 GMT -5
DO NOT SCREAM OR CRY. FORGET REVOLUTION AND INSTEAD FORCE EVOLUTION, FOR THIS IS THE GROWTH YOU HAVE ALWAYS WANTED. BLOOM FROM THE GOOD TO THE BAD AND WATCH AS THE WORLD IS LEFT HAUNTED.
With one last strike, the robot falls to the ground. The childhood naivety facade fades away and the scraps of metal lying on the ground could in no way resemble the glint of gold that comes with being a hopeful child. It looks cold and barren—more so than before—but that is, after all, what death does.
I sling my axe back over my shoulder, counting two deeds done for the day. Two of the robots had suffered a cruel fate by my hands, and I figure that shows I am capable of pulling off what people want—albeit these mutts are not people, not created with stories or histories or the conflict that makes them human. But still, there is something about tasting mechanical death that drives a hunger within. The metal in my mouth is bright like a spark, and as it travels down my body, I can feel it lighting up my insides like electricity.
There is some mechanical nature to my being, now. Programmed to search and destroy, ready and waiting for the next silhouette to show itself from the shadows. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the blade of my axe: mother's eyes, father's mind—yet there is something about both of those characteristics that I wipe from my memory. Perhaps it is the integrity and love that comes with drawing lines through the family tree, or perhaps it is the warmth that comes from feeling part of a family, of feeling part of a home.
Razors sewn into hats—it all means nothing now. That is what I remind myself when I look at my reflection, because Rasoio is just another name that has been thrown into the fire too many times. It has become burnt under the heat, singed completely and there seems no way of restoration that would satisfy all involved. So it becomes just another word that the Capitol is familiar with, another word that once held sentimental value to a girl who felt part of something bigger and darker than herself, just another word that loses all the meaning it had for the sake of survival.
Rasoio and murder are similar in that sense. I can't let the word murder have any power I cannot possess, and so it becomes meaningless too. Just a word for an act, nothing more.
The boy runs away before anyone can get a word in. Maybe he's just the true loner type and keeps himself to himself because himself is all he's ever known; I've always thought of those people as weird, but that weird becomes the new normal when I too am in the same position. Because trust does not exist in a place like this: it is made to be broken, and though many take the risk, it never pays off. No matter how big the crown of a victor, they will always frown, because they too have lost.
"Well, darling, I hope you'll accept a rain check for the rest of our little fight. Maybe another time?" Dark eyes twirls her blade away in an effortless fashion and I stand across the way from her staring in an attempt to size her up. What beast is this—one of beauty and brutality rolled into one?
The worst kind, I tell myself, because temptation in an arena is torture.
"And as much as I love the mystique behind dark eyes, the name's Maggie."
"I like calling you dark eyes more," because putting a name to the face gives it a weight I don't want to hold should I have to kill her. The aura of a nickname creates a sense of mystery that has intrigue, sure, because I'm sure there's a story behind those dark eyes—but a name evokes emotion. There's significance in that, a significance that involves responsibility and responsibility for anyone other than myself is treacherous. I am in this with me, myself and I; there is no time for anything else.
"You might want to learn how to kill, I'm not going to do it for you next time." I take a few steps to signal my leave before turning over my shoulder and shouting back to her as we part. "Dark eyes can only get you so far."
[ laurel flees ]