revenge never felt so empty // theo 8
Apr 9, 2023 15:35:02 GMT -5
Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Apr 9, 2023 15:35:02 GMT -5
I feel like I should be happy.
I spent so much time hating Haizea for what she did to my friend. Like she had a chance to do otherwise. Trying to plan revenge and thinking it was oh so sweet to be able to carry it out. The cannon that followed Dorothy released a cycle of violence I had seen before back in eight. Gangs circle each other like wolves, howling at the same spot, aiming to claim the territory while staring down the other kanines.
By reclaiming Dorothy’s name in the fall of Haizea, I should have finalized that cycle. I should roar, that bottle of pride that I opened being the belt of volume.
I should be thankful that my hands end the cycle. But my hands grip the spear, thanking the world for the life I still have, and I want to fall. I leave her body, then, and it takes a couple yards to be out of sight of my vengeful kill. The world was quiter than it was before. Maybe the world has turned toward the other two, watching a fight that must be more entertaining than mine. The gamemakers had seen my drive, and thats all they needed, it seemed.
I rest my body against a pillar. It faces out toward the rest of the arena, and albeit being dark, the serenity that lasts is the best thing I can have right now. Hearing the distant wind, the water, it all feels so peaceful. I know the potential that tomorrow brings, so maybe the serenity acts as my own funeral. A goodbye to a world that has air that tastes sweeter than it does at home. It’s up to me to celebrate my life as the night hums. Svelory heightens the hum, a whir that’s almost mechanical continues to remind my hearing that this all isn’t real. I wonder what my life is if I go home. What’s real for me to come home to. Who do I want in it, who do I not want in it.
Who I want in it:
a. Woods
Somewhere, I hold a hesitance towards my momma.
She’s a bitch, yeah. She makes it hard to believe in passion, and love, and giving people a second chance. Mariah wasn’t a loving mother to her one son. But the world didn’t expect her to. It expected my father to be the lover. A part of me hopes that my dad appears out of the woods, into the sunlight and on my doorstep. Though I can’t imagine that I should accept a request to move in. He wasn’t there for me when I got onto the team. Or when I’d lose a tooth. If he deserved to be in the home I risked my life for, he should have been there when I didn’t have a life to lose.
My mom deserves a room because she cared for me when my dad didn’t. My dad deserves a room because he loved me and my mother didn’t. She stood for me.
Woods, well, he’s pretty self explanatory in my head. But I wouldn’t share a bed with him. Not until I know how nights will feel again.
Who I don’t want in my life:
a. Aytac (fucker)
b. Sinatra
c. Axton
d. Marshall
The BASE has been a home for me for a while. Those guys mean so damn much to me, providing a safe haven when my own home didn’t feel like one, but I wasn’t there if Woods wasn’t. I know that they would expect me to give the rooms up in the Village for them. The rooms that I gave my life, my sanity, my blood for. I don’t think I can expect the same from them. Not in a single damn lifetime. If there’s anything my momma taught me, it’s that people aren’t worth shit. If my dad could leave me for no reason I don’t have any damn loyalty to the BASE.
But without them, I am left with three people. A flake, a fuck, and a fat chance of ever feeling the love his father ever provided. His father provided a circle of friends he misses having. The parents of the college Isaiah taught at spent a lot of time together. With that came their children. If my father ever ate in the common room the professors all had, there was another table, closer to the ground. The children typically sat here to eat. They were all normally smarter than me, which meant my face was too busy eating more than talking. A rarity that few could imagine being fathomable. I remember some of the kids. I remember that we swore that what we talked about at the table stayed at the table. Those kids were much more loyal to the table than anyone at the BASE would have been.
I didn’t belong at the table, though. One kid, Pearl, liked to worry about the color of her braces. Lincoln would tell all of us that his dog died, or that his piano classes got canceled. The Horners’ could never afford braces. Or dogs of our own. Or piano classes. The only classes I took were for free, no tutors, no financial aid to support my learning. I was not like those kids, but they listened, or at least tried to. They wouldnt knock on my doorstep and expect a room after all of this. Something Aytac would do.
But I don’t expect a knock on my doorstep anyway. I can already imagine Aytac’s glass waste pyramid in the living room. Dorothy, Haizea, Elm, Svetlana, Mirage; they were not worth building pyramids out of alcohol. Especially with a lying, ungrateful fuck like Aytac creating the blueprint. The trees rustle, tickled by the wind, and I’m tickled by the idea of slamming a door in Aytac’s face. He doesn’t even belong at my doorstep, let alone belonging in District Eight.
But I can hardly imagine wanting to ever be in Eight again. I’d be the first in nearly twenty years, ignoring the eightieth. What the hell am I gonna do for the next twenty?
[kaitlin]
