The Inevitable Fate [Julian vs. Kiara, Day 7]
Mar 25, 2012 17:46:04 GMT -5
Post by pthalorarity on Mar 25, 2012 17:46:04 GMT -5
[/i][/color]there’s no remedy for memory
your face is like a melody, it won’t leave my head
your soul is haunting me and telling me
that everything is fine
but I wish I was dead
Wasn’t planning on it
“Good,” Julian replied with disdain as he looked down upon the dying girl. He watched her as she used her remaining strength, clawing her way through the dirt, dragging herself to some unknown grave. So she had lost someone to the Games too… had she come here for vengeance as well? He waited for the cannon to fire before raiding her belongings.
With his numerous wounds, and ever-dwindling supplies, Julian quickly rummaged through Kiara’s backpack for anything that could be useful. His heart leapt as he found what remained of her medkit and he quickly stitched up what wounds he could, also replacing his soiled bandages with clean ones. After fixing himself up, Julian also helped himself to Kiara’s water, purifying it with iodine and waiting to drink. His stomach churned as he forced himself to slowly finish the bottle. He decided he would wait until the night to finish the rest of his pygmie cattle. With the sound of cannon fire during his recent battle, Julian knew now only two tributes remained; he would need his strength for the grand finale. This was a Quell after all… the gamemakers wouldn’t let this ending be so easy.
When at last he could avoid it no longer, Julian stood and gazed upon the rows upon rows of gravestones. Traveling straight ahead would lead him to the more recent Games. Midas’s Games.
His legs seemed to have morphed into one hundred pound boulders as he forcibly propelled himself forward, step by step. His breathing grew shallow and his heart rate quickened as he grew closer to his destination. He passed the Fifty-seventh…. the Fifty-eigth… and then the engravings on the tombstones became all too familiar. Names of tributes he had followed far closer than any other. Sperring Kapow… Aesop Bloom… Elise Wheaton… Berkeley Ichabod… Julian bit down on the inside of his mouth as he approached the tombstone of Midas’s assailant. He glared down at the name, moisture burning his eyes as his tear ducts kicked into action. Julian bared his teeth aggressively, clenching his jaw tightly before spitting upon the gravestone. Killing Shrol had not been enough, and neither was spitting on a dead boy’s grave. Julian squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Nothing will ever be enough, will it?
As Julian opened his eyes, there it was, almost mocking him as it stood right next to the grave of his killer. Julian slowly moved over to stand before the tombstone of Midas Farrow. He stopped a foot away, staring down at the name, dropping all of his belongings to the ground with a clatter as he read the inscription.
Midas Farrow
District 2
8th Place
Killed Elise Wheaton
Killed by Berkeley Icahbod
[/b]District 2
8th Place
Killed Elise Wheaton
Killed by Berkeley Icahbod
Julian’s bottom lip began quivering as he fell to his knees before the grim reminder of his loss. His light eyes stared vaguely into space as his tears finally over spilled their containment and ran freely down his cheeks.
The sun was glistening in scattered rays of light through the foliage of the two boys’ favorite mountainside trail. Julian would never openly confess it, but he loved it for all of the vivid wildflowers that bloomed for a majority of the year, filling the area with the most beautiful sights and aromas. Midas would always take him here on the off chance he could convince Julian to take a break from their rigorous training routines.
Julian lay beside Midas in the grass, enjoying the warmth that his large boyfriend always exuded. The seasons were changing and the winds had become more biting of late, but not in Midas’s arms. The fearsome blonde looked so tiny beside the bulk of Midas that it might have been comical to those who didn’t know what the boy was capable of.
Lost in his own daydreams as he gazed up into the canopy of leaves above, it took him a while to realize just how quietly Midas was being at the moment. While Midas was certainly shy around their peers, it was often hard to get him to close his mouth when it was just the two of them. Julian cocked his head to the side to find Midas staring into space as well.
“Are—“ Julian began to ask if he was all right, but Midas had chosen the same moment to face his boyfriend and speak.
“I love you,“ Midas blurted out nervously. Julian stared back blankly as Midas continued, “I’ve loved you for longer than I can tell… probably since the day you stood up for me in the schoolyard all those years ago.”
Julian sat frozen, his cold eyes meeting the warm, soft brown eyes of Midas. Love. What a stupid concept. His parents had never showed him much affection, other than praise on his athletic conquests, as well as his appearance in his mother’s case. His peers admired and envied him not for who he was, but for his ruthless and competitive nature and the ease at which he achieved victory. How could he know love?
“I know you think you’re not capable of it, Julian… but I know you are. You may not be ready to admit it—and that’s ok—but I know you love me too.”
“No, I don’t,” he had said flatly and cruelly as he stood up, brushing stray leaves from his backside. Julian couldn’t look at Midas now; it stirred too much inside of him… it made him feel weak.
“Julian, wait—“ Midas began as he picked himself off the ground as well.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning at training.” And without another word or glance behind, Julian walked back down the trail, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as the warmth of Midas was left behind, and he was vulnerable to the cold once more.
[/color][/color]Julian let out a sob as he fell forward, placing his head between his knees. “Why did you love me, Midas? I don’t understand! Why?” he cried out. Another memory of Midas’s words engulfed him.
There is so much good in you that you think no one sees, Jules. But I see it. I see you.
[/i][/color]A scream of pure, tortured agony rang through the graveyard as Julian doubled over, wrapping his arms tightly around his stomach to cradle himself.
“Midas, I am so sorry!” Julian cried out between sobs, “This is all my fault! I should have told you I loved you sooner! I should have— I should have!” He let out another cry of agony. “Winning didn’t matter! The Games didn’t matter! I pushed you away so many times… I didn’t realize…! I should have told you how I felt sooner! Midas, please forgive me! Please!”
Losing all sense of time and place, Julian rolled onto his side, huddled in a ball, trapped forever in his bedroom as the cannon fired for Midas Farrow as he lay forever still in the bloodstained snow on his television. “[/color]Don’t leave me like this! Please, Midas! I need you! I still need you! Please! Come back! Come back!” He continued to cry out desperately for Midas to return, but of course his cries were in vain.
When at last his tears ran dry and his body was too weak to sob further, Julian sat upright. He sniffled and wiped roughly at his cheeks to hide the stain of tears, but it wouldn’t matter anyway. All of Panem would have just witnessed another first class Julian Bryze breakdown, and once more it was over the same boy…
If he had thought forcing his legs to propel him to the grave was hard, tearing himself away from the spot was even harder. His body sore from many long days and his head light from sobbing, it took all of Julian’s effort to push himself back up. He had no way of knowing just how much time had passed, but he certainly didn’t want to wait around to find out. The Games were not yet over. He looked back down at the grave for his final goodbye to a love that lasted forever, yet ended so soon.
Midas, Julian thought to himself, not willing to share his sentiment with the entirety of the nation. Thank you… Thank you for believing in me in a way that no one ever has nor will again… I do love you, Midas Farrow… Always have, always will.
“I promised Panem that I was going to win for us, big guy,” Julian spoke softly aloud, forcing his cold smirk to mask his pain. It was time to remind the viewers that tears or no tears, Julian Bryze was not a tribute to be trifled with. “It’s time to finish what I’ve started… twenty two down, one to go…”
He brought his right hand up, gently kissing the tips of his fingers before touching them softly to the top of the gravestone. Julian had his cry, made his peace, but his emotions must still remain at bay. His expression remained stony as he re-gathered his supplies to move forward. The audience would accept his pain over Midas, but not the rest of his emotional conflicts. No one wants a weepy victor who regrets their kills. No. The trauma and questions of morality he would have to face would be his alone to bear in silence for eternity. It was his hell. Terrible people meet terrible fates… Being trained to kill twenty three people for your entire life came with a cost that Julian could never have known until payment day. Again he had to wonder, had his parents been simply hiding this from him? What would they say if—no, when he got home?
The quickest way out of the northern tower now would be to just continue forward, to the end of the many rows of tributes’ graves. As he continued slowly through the maze of cement tombstones, through the dense fog he came across another large, imposing figure on pedestal. The victor of the Fifty-ninth Games himself… Mace Emberstatt. Despite his thoughts willing him otherwise, his heart forced his feet to stumble up to the bronze sculpture of the boy who had taken on a new, strange role in his life this past year.
When he was close enough, Julian grazed the top of the ornate stone pedestal with his fingertips, before taking a step back and looking up to the face of Mace’s eerily accurate replica. Unlike his parents who had aged plenty since their victory, Mace’s statue still embodied him so well. As he looked closer however, Julian had to admit the statue looked far more fearsome than he had ever seen the real Mace Emberstatt. The victorious tribute from District 10 stood tall, glaring forward as he raised his sword in triumph, frozen forever in this stance of glory. As he gazed into the cruel, bronze eyes of the statue, all Julian could recall was the sorrow and emptiness of the pale, gray-blue eyes that had looked back into his own every time the two had met.
In the silence of the graveyard, Julian’s heartbeat became more apparent as he continued to stand before this statue that should have been for Midas. His chest tightened however as he thought of a world where he had not met this boy from a District he had previously thought nothing of. I wonder if he’s watching… what does he think of me now…. Like it or not, he had unwillingly become emotionally bound in a way to the boy who stole his fallen lover’s crown. Of course he would deny it a million times over, not only to the world but to himself. Something stung Julian’s heart as he let out a small gasp for air. There it was again, that strange foreign emotion… guilt. But why? His line of sight flickered back to where Midas’s grave stood, and he felt the pain once more. Julian winced for a moment before turning to look up at the face of the false Mace Emberstatt once more. He could hear the subtle buzz of a camera zooming in on him when he began to speak.
“Well, do you hate me yet Mace Emberstatt?” he said in a hollow voice as the memory of their last encounter wounded him once more. He looked back down at his bloodstained hands, clenching his jaw. Turns out I’m just the monster you thought I was after all…[/color] The devastation he had felt as he realized, or assumed rather, that Mace thought this about him swept over him once more. He wanted to cry, but knew better. The audience could accept his tears over Midas, but certainly not over a boy they had no idea he even knew. So to mask his pain, he continued on in the only way he knew how. His expression contorted to one of malice as he answered his own question quietly, “Good.”
Without another glance at the statue, Julian stalked onward, moving now into the gravestones of the tributes that had been his own competition. The names rang bells in his memory as he passed the fallen. Vague faces swam through his memory as he recalled the few he had contact with. His stomach wrenched as he remembered tormenting so many in the training center as they prepared for their grand arena entrance. Mace was right to think I was a monster… I am one…
Then of course there were the names of those he had killed himself. His heart felt as if it might explode, but he forced himself to gaze coldly upon each for the cameras. The audience still needed to believe in him, and no one would support him for regretting his victories. The hardest of all of course was Shrol… Shrol the boy who’s death was supposed to restore Julian to peace of mind, but instead left him more burdened than before. Worse yet was the boy’s final wishes and his blessing of forgiveness. The agony and guilt threatened to burn Julian alive from within as he forced his cruel stare upon Shrol Raidan’s name for a few extra moments to remind the viewers he had gotten what he wanted. No tribute could stand in his way.
At last, the arch of the exit stood in sight as a glimmer of red light shone through the fog ahead. Just as he was bout to leave however, a final statue caught his eye. There was no victor yet of the Sixtieth Games… how could there be a statue? Julian quickly walked over, his stomach dropping as he approached close enough to make out the statue’s details. There before him stood a gloriously posed Reyes Moreno. Julian’s eyes widened with horror. No… NO! This isn’t real… this is… it’s just the gamemakers…right?[/color] Julian swallowed hard and clenched his jaw, trying to suppress his fear with a look of rage instead. In fact, it wasn’t hard as his anger did truly began to simmer within. He looked behind him to see that indeed beside Kiara’s newly risen gravestone was that of Avon Lightwood. He had to admit he was surprised to see her there; he could have sworn it would be them in the final two.
Julian reached behind him for one of the numerous weapons he had sheathed along his back. His hands found one that was unfamiliar, yet powerful—the morning star.
“So I guess it’s you and me, Reyes… Happy Hunger Games,” he said as a sinister smile curled upon his lips. He leapt forward and lashed the morning star upon the stone head of the false victor. With a BOOM and the rumble of crumbling stone, the statue exploded from the chest up, stone rubble soaring in all directions. The head of Reyes Moreno hit the ground hard, exploding to dust upon impact. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”
Again Julian heard the subtle buzzing of a zooming camera nearby. He turned in the general direction of the device, flashing a cruel, victorious smile and finally left the graveyard to deliver to the gamemakers the finale they craved.
[Julian used one needle and thread twice, bandages and first aid, bringing him -14 damage to a total of 0 damage. He also ate and drank water.]
there’s no relief, I see you in my sleep
everybody’s rushing me, but I can feel you touching me
there’s no release, I feel you in my dreams
telling me I’m fine
every time I close my eyes
it’s like a dark paradise
no one compares to you
I’m scared that you won’t be waiting on the other side
everybody’s rushing me, but I can feel you touching me
there’s no release, I feel you in my dreams
telling me I’m fine
every time I close my eyes
it’s like a dark paradise
no one compares to you
I’m scared that you won’t be waiting on the other side
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