aksel lundquist | d6m | 9th games | fin
Aug 30, 2023 22:19:31 GMT -5
Post by lance on Aug 30, 2023 22:19:31 GMT -5
A K S E L
Born too late to fight in the glorious revolution against a fascist tyranny and born too early to avenge the fallen when memories of such a time have long since faded away, there's precious little opportunity to release the anger and hatred burning up inside of you in anything other than a suicidal manner. That may have been you, once, but your poor mother has already buried one child ahead of their time and you're not heartless enough to make it two.
Too young to join your sister in the local youth resistance movement, too old to forget the sight of her pretty face and white-blonde hair stained with her own blood when the Capitol's axe came swinging a little too close to home, there's precious little in the ways you can avenge her. There's no telling which one of the Keepers did her in, all hiding anonymously behind their silver visors and pristine white suits, and though the idea is tempting, even you cannot stomach the idea of killing the wrong person.
Fate has never counted amongst your beliefs, yet it's too much to be a coincidence when your name is called at the Reapings, mere days after your latest work of art was completed. Spray paint was rarely in short supply in Six if one knew where to look, and marking down old buildings and abandoned lots was a surprisingly therapeutic way to process your emotions. You'd stopped showing your mother after one of them had driven her to tears, yet that did little to blunt your momentum. Every great inferno started from a single spark, and you'd dreamed that one day, your art could be one of those sparks that threatened to burn the Capitol in righteous vengeance.
You'll never get that chance, not now, not if your hunch is correct. Yet for the first time in your life, you finally think you're in the right place in the right time. Whether you die in three thousand seconds or thirty, one thing's for certain.
Those fuckers are going to regret putting you on live television.
Too young to join your sister in the local youth resistance movement, too old to forget the sight of her pretty face and white-blonde hair stained with her own blood when the Capitol's axe came swinging a little too close to home, there's precious little in the ways you can avenge her. There's no telling which one of the Keepers did her in, all hiding anonymously behind their silver visors and pristine white suits, and though the idea is tempting, even you cannot stomach the idea of killing the wrong person.
Fate has never counted amongst your beliefs, yet it's too much to be a coincidence when your name is called at the Reapings, mere days after your latest work of art was completed. Spray paint was rarely in short supply in Six if one knew where to look, and marking down old buildings and abandoned lots was a surprisingly therapeutic way to process your emotions. You'd stopped showing your mother after one of them had driven her to tears, yet that did little to blunt your momentum. Every great inferno started from a single spark, and you'd dreamed that one day, your art could be one of those sparks that threatened to burn the Capitol in righteous vengeance.
You'll never get that chance, not now, not if your hunch is correct. Yet for the first time in your life, you finally think you're in the right place in the right time. Whether you die in three thousand seconds or thirty, one thing's for certain.
Those fuckers are going to regret putting you on live television.
17 years old
fc: paul craddock
fc: paul craddock
