empty is the head that wears the crown
Oct 17, 2022 10:51:25 GMT -5
Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Oct 17, 2022 10:51:25 GMT -5
My chest feels like I just opened a pint of ice cream to find it empty. Not that this is a well-known experience in Panem, but I know it by heart.
The excitement you feel when you're thinkin' "I can't wait to eat that salted caramel!" during a hot summer day in Ten. You get to the store, happy to find it empty for the most part, and make your way to the break room, where we keep our stashes of ice cream. You have a spoon ready, and you take out the pint. Huh, weird. You were expecting it to feel a bit heavier. Maybe you ate a bit more than you remember last time. It feels almost as if there's nothing in there to start with. Opening the lid with doubt, your thoughts are confirmed. With a heart empty, the ice cream fates have given their score. Some son of a bitch stole your ice cream. The cooler slams shut with an initial thud and a smaller one to follow. "Gosh darn it, Dustin!" An exclamation comes out, frustrated that, once again, Dustin took the last of the ice cream. That three-scoop-tall-oval-shaped son of a gun has got to stop stealing your food! It's easier to train a damn cat than that boy.
Okay, well, maybe that experience is just my own. But you know what I mean. That empty heart, low-gut feelin that your body gets. When you realize you fucked up. The only difference is that I didn' fuck up by being here. I didn' have a choice. This time, the ice cream fates decided I should just get killed. Generous. I don't have ta deal with Dustin's fatass takin' all the ice cream.
But I would also like some salted caramel ice cream. Hear that, you rich two-foot-tall-wigs? Get me somethin' sweet up in here. It's too dark. It reminds me of Delilah's latest breakup. Talk about needing some damn earplugs.
I wonder if those seeds I skipped out on would taste good. A rumble in my stomach accompanies the thought. My mouth dries up for a moment, causing me to give a quick lick to the lip to dampen the surface. My tongue graces my teeth while doing so, and it causes me to raise my hand to my mouth. The texture of my teeth is... different? That's impossible. There's no way my teeth are jagged, but it feels that they are starting to peak. As if they were made to tear flesh. The idea would normally disgust me, but something within me flickers at the temptation. It's inviting, almost tasteful, but I know human flesh isn't right. It can't be.
I force my hand away from my teeth. It's probably that serum that they gave us. It's to make us hallucinate, right? Place us in this sad, greyscaled world and turn us into psychological nightmares. I've been walking for a while now, following some red river that smells like pennies. Which isn't a good thing, I assume. The scarlet color of the river reminds me of the fountain held behind the corpse in the cornucopia. How it trickled out as if it came from an infinite supply. This river rushes along as if the blood that supplied it means nothing. Maybe it's symbolic. We all become a part of the rushing river one day. We may already be in it. The tributes that will die in this arena will be the river, with blood pooling out as the life it contains does not matter anymore. A field of blue flowers extends its reach along both sides of the river. One would wonder how to get to the other side, but I don't want to test the depth of this blood basin.
I take a seat in one of the fields. Sitting in the wide open isn't the smartest idea, but there's gonna be a fight anyway. Come at me if you're that desperate. It's pretty here - or at least the plants are, so that suffices. The first thing my hands find themselves doing is moving to the flowers, plucking them out to start weaving them together. When our family gets together, we tend to have picnics in this big ol open field by my uncle's place. The one that runs the dairy business. When we (Delilah and I) were younger, we often sat together near the flowerbeds. She taught me how to make a flower crown one day. Said she learned it from her classmates during recess. At least she did something worthwhile during it; I was typically getting my shit kicked by Luis for some free ice cream.
The blue flowers kinda remind me of Delilah anyway. She always loved this galaxy-type ice cream that would be all sorts of purples and blues in color. If there were some purple flowers here, it'd make it even better.
"Hope you're watchin' this, Del." I look around, a part of my inner child hoping that she would appear, but it was no use. "This is for ya'." I hold up the flowers and weave them together, continuing the pattern. "If I can get them home to ya, this is yours." A light wobble appears in my breath at the mention of home. I wonder if business at the store has started to boom because of me getting reaped. I keep talking to the world, hoping that she's watching, that she's okay. Delilah has always had a tough outer layer from trying to keep the perfect daughter gig up. "Is Dustin okay? Have you fed Scoops..." my mind wonders, and it's almost as if I never left the picnic blanket. I just keep talking, hoping that somehow it'll fill the void.
The excitement you feel when you're thinkin' "I can't wait to eat that salted caramel!" during a hot summer day in Ten. You get to the store, happy to find it empty for the most part, and make your way to the break room, where we keep our stashes of ice cream. You have a spoon ready, and you take out the pint. Huh, weird. You were expecting it to feel a bit heavier. Maybe you ate a bit more than you remember last time. It feels almost as if there's nothing in there to start with. Opening the lid with doubt, your thoughts are confirmed. With a heart empty, the ice cream fates have given their score. Some son of a bitch stole your ice cream. The cooler slams shut with an initial thud and a smaller one to follow. "Gosh darn it, Dustin!" An exclamation comes out, frustrated that, once again, Dustin took the last of the ice cream. That three-scoop-tall-oval-shaped son of a gun has got to stop stealing your food! It's easier to train a damn cat than that boy.
Okay, well, maybe that experience is just my own. But you know what I mean. That empty heart, low-gut feelin that your body gets. When you realize you fucked up. The only difference is that I didn' fuck up by being here. I didn' have a choice. This time, the ice cream fates decided I should just get killed. Generous. I don't have ta deal with Dustin's fatass takin' all the ice cream.
But I would also like some salted caramel ice cream. Hear that, you rich two-foot-tall-wigs? Get me somethin' sweet up in here. It's too dark. It reminds me of Delilah's latest breakup. Talk about needing some damn earplugs.
I wonder if those seeds I skipped out on would taste good. A rumble in my stomach accompanies the thought. My mouth dries up for a moment, causing me to give a quick lick to the lip to dampen the surface. My tongue graces my teeth while doing so, and it causes me to raise my hand to my mouth. The texture of my teeth is... different? That's impossible. There's no way my teeth are jagged, but it feels that they are starting to peak. As if they were made to tear flesh. The idea would normally disgust me, but something within me flickers at the temptation. It's inviting, almost tasteful, but I know human flesh isn't right. It can't be.
I force my hand away from my teeth. It's probably that serum that they gave us. It's to make us hallucinate, right? Place us in this sad, greyscaled world and turn us into psychological nightmares. I've been walking for a while now, following some red river that smells like pennies. Which isn't a good thing, I assume. The scarlet color of the river reminds me of the fountain held behind the corpse in the cornucopia. How it trickled out as if it came from an infinite supply. This river rushes along as if the blood that supplied it means nothing. Maybe it's symbolic. We all become a part of the rushing river one day. We may already be in it. The tributes that will die in this arena will be the river, with blood pooling out as the life it contains does not matter anymore. A field of blue flowers extends its reach along both sides of the river. One would wonder how to get to the other side, but I don't want to test the depth of this blood basin.
I take a seat in one of the fields. Sitting in the wide open isn't the smartest idea, but there's gonna be a fight anyway. Come at me if you're that desperate. It's pretty here - or at least the plants are, so that suffices. The first thing my hands find themselves doing is moving to the flowers, plucking them out to start weaving them together. When our family gets together, we tend to have picnics in this big ol open field by my uncle's place. The one that runs the dairy business. When we (Delilah and I) were younger, we often sat together near the flowerbeds. She taught me how to make a flower crown one day. Said she learned it from her classmates during recess. At least she did something worthwhile during it; I was typically getting my shit kicked by Luis for some free ice cream.
The blue flowers kinda remind me of Delilah anyway. She always loved this galaxy-type ice cream that would be all sorts of purples and blues in color. If there were some purple flowers here, it'd make it even better.
"Hope you're watchin' this, Del." I look around, a part of my inner child hoping that she would appear, but it was no use. "This is for ya'." I hold up the flowers and weave them together, continuing the pattern. "If I can get them home to ya, this is yours." A light wobble appears in my breath at the mention of home. I wonder if business at the store has started to boom because of me getting reaped. I keep talking to the world, hoping that she's watching, that she's okay. Delilah has always had a tough outer layer from trying to keep the perfect daughter gig up. "Is Dustin okay? Have you fed Scoops..." my mind wonders, and it's almost as if I never left the picnic blanket. I just keep talking, hoping that somehow it'll fill the void.
[damion gets him a flower crown!]
[damion collects bundle of medicinal & edible plants]
