Just a Measurement [luke]

[Deleted]

Reverie Lane Fosco

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I tremble from head to toe, yet no one seems to see the fear that overcomes in times such as these. All my insecurities are hidden beneath the scowl upon my face. The number of people swirling incessantly in and out of my vision is agonizing.

Even after the wound is healed, there are always scars left behind: scars that will never vanish. Even after the events are through, there are memories that one cannot forget: memories stored in the one thin bracelet digging into my wrist.

She gave it to me: my sister did, the last time I saw a smile cross my parents’ faces. It was my tenth birthday and all four of us were sitting in the living room for what seemed like the first time in ages. Her present was unwrapped, but I couldn’t even let myself care as she let the bracelet slip from her hands and into mine. I had to admit, I wasn’t expecting it. It was simple enough, nothing extravagant: just silver with a small heart charm. However, I cherished it in those few moments, overjoyed that she had even had the time to think of me.

I still wear the bracelet now, refusing to take it off. However, I do not wear it in order to honor her or keep her in my memory. I wear the bracelet to remember my mistake, as excruciatingly painful as the memory can be.

Unless I can rip the bracelet from my wrist, the memories will never leave me. They are bound to my incessant and unceasing insecurities. I won’t take the bracelet off because I am afraid.

I am afraid of leaving my strength behind. I fear forgetting the past, as much as I want it to disappear from existence. Without my memory, I will be just as vulnerable as anyone else. Although the bracelet feels as though it is weighing me down, I am afraid of finding myself weak without something to carry, something to prove that I can still hold myself up.

These harrowing thoughts fill my brain, as I slip through the hallways of my school. Being in the middle of a huge flock of people, in an instance such as this one, is my worst fear. I fear the abilities of others, the evilness inside their heart, because I know that’s what they all are—evil.

I let my reddish-brown hair fall in front of my face, concealing myself from the crowd. I hug my textbooks to my chest, trying to push my way into the next hallway. I shiver each time I feel the slightest contact with another human being. After what seems like a year, I make my out of the crowd, but instead of heading to class, I flatten myself against the nearest wall. Somehow, I can’t get myself to move; feelings I didn’t know I could feel overcome me.

It’s her birthday.

I look down at the floor, waiting until everyone has headed to class. Then, I fling myself towards the door, feeling dizzy all the while. I let the wind rush through my hair as I catch my balance. Leaning against the front of the school I slide down the wall, my books scattered around me. I hug my knees to my chest putting my head down.

A blurred image of my sister fills my mind. I can’t erase it, for the image is haunting. I can’t even remember her name, yet I remember her birthday. Today.

I’m not sure what this feeling is that consumes me. Maybe it’s regret. I cannot tell. Either way, I’m glad I did what I did. I’m glad I killed my sister.[/s]

I haven’t once ditched class before, but today, it seems necessary. I’m a straight-A student, probably one of the smartest girls in my class. Yet, I have no strength to pull myself to my feet. I don’t want to: not today.

I look down at the bracelet hugging my wrist, but I can’t get myself to undo the clasp.

Tegan was her name.

I’ve erased so much of her from my memory, making it difficult for me to remember such basic details. Yet, her birthday is so clear in my mind; because it was only a week after her birthday that she brought the knife into my room, a week after her birthday when my world came tumbling to the ground.

However, there are some experiences, such as that one, that only make a person stronger. Maybe that’s what Tegan did for me: she made me strong, confident, poised.

How can I call myself strong when in reality, I fear every person who walks past me?

I sigh, lifting my head up and seeing a figure in the distance. I would get up and walk away before they get closer, but I can’t. So instead, I just put my head back down on my knees.

I try to erase the memories from my brain, for they are just measurements: Just measurements of the past.

OOC: Sorry, I'm not too proud of this post, so please excuse some of the random ramble. Haven't roleplayed with Reve in a while xP[/color][/blockquote][/justify][/size][/blockquote]

[cyrus]

Cyrus Malloc

Cyrus tolerated school. It was a distraction from the monotony of day to day work. He shuffled in to class early in the morning, after his father had breakfast and after he had taken care of his mother. He walked with his brother to school, only to fall behind in his usual and casual pace. He would watch Naif join his friends and disappear ahead, happy to be heading off to school. The bell would ring as he was coming up the steps, and he would disappear into the throngs of people to make his way to class. It was the comforting routine that one as Cyrus enjoyed. Cyrus was of the opinion that school presented only so many challenges, most of them unappealing.

He was not one who stood out in the crowd. Rather, the further he had gone in school, the more he drifted to the margins of day-to-day life. He had been capable of playing the imaginary and pretend games so many played in lower schools, but now so many had drifted to other things that Cyrus felt left behind. The few boys that took the time to speak with Cyrus were focused much more on the opposite sex than anything else. At the age of 16, he thought they focused entirely too much on the fairer sex and not enough about the work that was in front of them. He couldn’t understand the world of girls and what they wanted. This was a common theme with Cyrus. He very much couldn’t understand people in general.

He was content with situations that went without human interaction. That way he wouldn’t be uncomfortable—this happened more and more frequently—and he didn’t want to slide out of his invisibility to become a nuisance. He’d learned that the others would leave him alone, despite his peculiarities, if he said nothing at all. He grew quite anxious when he had to participate in anything, and knew that he must have seemed strange to all the others when he was forced to show himself. He would keep his eyes down and hand in his work when it was due. He would never take too much pride in what he did—he lacked this type of passion, anyway—but instead make sure that he was seen but not heard.

Today he’d been forced to interact with others, and it was of the usual result. They were being separated, and Cyrus felt his palms grow sweaty and his heart beat faster. No one wanted to be in a group with him, much less have to work on a project. He was terrible at writing and expressing himself. When he heard his name called, he felt the eyes turn upon him and his stomach start to churn. He didn’t move from his desk, thinking that perhaps he could remain there and be ignored. Something about his eyes staying on the ground and not moving angered those around him. They wanted him to look up, pay attention. Look them in the eyes. Look at them when they were speaking to him.

He took in a few breaths, faster and faster, and felt himself hopelessly slipping into his own twisted world again. He stood from his chair and looked around. Air. He needed air. He didn’t want to talk to any of them. He wanted to hide.
He wanted to slip away. The others would go about breaking off to learn what they needed to, and he slipped out the door into the hallway, away from having to deal with others. He dragged himself along the lockers and paced back and forth. Why was it so difficult for him to have to be with them, why was it that he so readily tried to escape any form of participation? He couldn’t handle having to be here—school was too much anxiety, too much having to interact with anyone.

He at last disappeared out the front of the school to step outside and be away from anyone. He turned with his arms fold in front of his face, taking in a few more breaths to calm himself. Perhaps he would be able to return to them when they were nearly finished, and he wouldn’t have to say anything. He would stay out here, mind his own business, and he would never have to say a single word to them. Yes, he could stay out here and he would be safe. That was a wonderful plan, not to be ruined by anything.

Of course, until he felt the presence of another sitting on the steps near him.

Cyrus turned to look at Reverie, with his hands still in front of his face. She had her head between her knees, and it alarmed Cyrus somewhat. Shifting from not wanting to be around anyone, he wanted to make sure that she was all right. She was sulking in the corner outside of the school. This was not normal, no, he did not usually see anyone when he would disappear from class and try to hideaway himself. His grades reflected that he was not the stellar student (albeit his own talents belied the fact). He was torn between his own anxiety and saying anything to her. Would she wonder what he was doing there? Would she get him in trouble for coming outside? Maybe she had a reason for being outside, unlike him?

He kept his hands in a praying position in front of his face and made a murmering noise, trying to see if he could get her attention. He did not want to say anything, but he did not want to leave her here if she were hurt. Cyrus may have hated having to say anything to anyone for fear of them thinking him stupid or worse, but he could not abide someone being hurt.

“Excuse me. Are you all right? What are you doing here?” Cyrus asked matter-of-factly. His monotone drifted in the air and he blinked, looking down at Reverie. “Aren’t you supposed to be inside?”

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(no worries, just hope you're okay with this result! )

[Deleted]

Reverie Lane Fosco

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I am like the deer that scurries away from every human it comes across: the deer that watched the others as they fell into the hands of the hunters. I don’t want to be the deer with the hole through its stomach, lying in a pool of blood. I don’t want the hunters to crush my dignity, everything I have left. I’ve already seen a bullet fly past me once; I don’t need to see it again.

I am like the rabbit that hides in the bushes, feeding off of flowers and gardens when no one is looking. I am living in the shadows, letting my hind legs take hold of me when those almond eyes are pointed in my direction, those shrieks, those footsteps, shooing me away.

Yet most of the time, I am more like a wolf, biting when someone gets too near; or a bee, stinging when I am absolutely irritated. Because I never give up as easily as a rabbit or a deer. I merely continue fighting until I’ve convinced myself I’m the only one right. However, I do not live in a pack or a hive. I work alone.

Maybe that is why it is so difficult for me to let go of the past that haunts me incessantly. I have nothing else to complete myself, nothing else to fill that crevice of my life. I have trapped myself in my own prison, closed all of the windows and secured the lock. I lost the key a long time ago.

When I hear a voice, I look up. My first instinct is to shoot the boy a glare and move somewhere else. This is not a good day to talk to Reve Fosco. However, I recognize him distinctly as a boy named Cyrus. He isn’t in any of my classes, but I’ve seen him around. Something about Cyrus’s stance tells me he’s more so on the introverted side of the spectrum.

I think about my own actions for a couple of moments, but the gaping hole that consumes me just continues to grow. Somehow, I doubt that sitting here is going to fill it. Just because I have refused to trust anyone, does not mean that I can’t hold up a conversation. Just because I’m stubborn enough to be continually haunted by my past, doesn’t mean I can’t take two seconds to think about something else.

I rise from the ground, my books still lying on either side of my feet. Something quivers inside my stomach, like that moment of insecurity when you feel like you just need to sit back down and curl up into your own little ball.

In all honesty, I don’t like facing people; I don’t like confronting them, or talking to them, or answering their questions. Though, I used to like people. In fact, I used to love getting up in front of the class on “All About Me” day, flashing a confident and daring smile the entire time; I used to love being the one who made sure that everyone was included in our game of hopscotch during recess; and most of all, I used to love walking my sister home from school, informing her on the ins and outs of the second grade.

I had been an easily hurt child, but I often failed to let my true emotions show. Every time I was denied a spot in other children’s noontime games, I would sink a little inside. However, I was always too selfless to cry.

The days that my sister decided to walk home with a different group of friends were always the disappointing days, when I would realize I was losing the girl I cared for almost too much.

But back then, I had been blinded with happiness. I had believed that the world was just another fairytale book, that although I was forced to watch kids fight to death on television every year, and although there were men in white suits that patrolled the neighborhoods each day, and although I was constantly scolded for going to near to the fence that surrounded the district, there would still be a happy ending.

I sigh at the thought of this, shaking my head in disgust at the girl I had once been, long ago. There was no happy ending, because there were no good people. Even when I gave myself so fully to the idea of caring for others, the idea of being selfless, no one ever returned the favor. I never got a “thank you” or an “I love you too.” Instead, I got a last-resort bracelet and a knife…

I had been lucky, you could say. I had learned something that night my sister had tried to kill me that most people may never learn. Those ignorant people, who haven’t yet seen the things I have, may spend their entire lifetime living for someone else, never fulfilling their true callings. They will be the ones who end their lives with broken hearts, cracked souls. They will be the ones who look back, thinking, “If only I’d known sooner,” for by then, it will be too late.

Never trust anyone and you’ll never get hurt. If more people understood this, then maybe Panem would be a better place; there wouldn’t be tears and dysfunction. There would just be people.

That would be nice.

“Aren’t you supposed to be inside?” Cyrus asks.

I focus my attention back on him. Is there really any purpose in talking to him? We’re just people, in the same place at the same time, assigned to two different lives. However, a life without words would be an odd one, so I decide to speak up.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” I let the words flow from my mouth, with a touch of sarcasm. “But since I’m pretty sure we’re both breaking school rules here, no need to go pointing fingers at me.” I slip my hands into my pockets reclusively, centering my gaze back on the ground. [/size][/blockquote][/justify][/color][/blockquote]

[cyrus]

Cyrus Malloc

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Cyrus was never good at the interpretations of turn of phrase and shook his head in response to the girl in front of him. He was sure that he hadn’t pointed his fingers at all, but had merely stated that she was outside and that was probably against the rules. He nodded knowing that he too had walked out of class, and that most certainly was something that he wasn’t supposed to be doing. He hated breaking the rules, but he had gotten so anxious there really wasn’t any other acceptable response than to walk out of the situation. Unless they wanted to deal with another breakdown by Cyrus, who was seen at best as a distraction and at worst a nuisance for those trying to learn.

He saw the expression on her face now and moved back, folding his hands up some and staring down at the ground and back at her. He paced back and forth some, calming himself down and looking back at her. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone else being outside when he came outside. It was hard for him to concentrate on calming down when there was someone else in front of the school. He chewed on his lower lip and kept his palms in front of his face as he watched the girl begin to ignore him. He was certain that her name was River or Road or something to do with nature, but being that he rarely ever talked to girls at school he couldn’t be entirely sure.

Cyrus was a difficulty to teachers who couldn’t figure him out. He was anxious all the time, and never spoke more than a few words in class. He never stared any of them straight in the eyes. He was exceedingly shy and didn’t like to be touched. He hated writing anything and was nearly failing his language and literature sections. He excelled in some subjects, like math and science but couldn’t tolerate being made to stand up in front of the class. He would have what his teachers so affectionately liked to call episodes—times when he would get so anxious he would have to leave the class for fear of becoming disruptive to others. Many were happier when he was gone than to have anything to do with him.

He was too much work for anyone to babysit. After all, what was the point of pulling him along when he was obviously dragging everyone else down? Year after year, however, he progressed enough to move onward toward the march of adulthood, when he would never have to take classes again. That was, unless he was tapped to do math and science for the district. He was inconceivably bright in those subjects, but his introversion completely erased the thought of using his talents. He was a flower that hadn’t yet bloomed—and no one had ever wanted, nor had the time to help him bloom. And so in his disability, Cyrus had fallen to the shadows. Leaving class may have been a problem for most, but for those in class with Cyrus it was a boon.

“I am sorry. I did not mean that I was accusing you of doing something wrong.” Cyrus looked at her again, shaking his hands in front of his face. “I am Cyrus. I think I have seen you around school before. I came outside because I like it out here. I like it more than I like it in there. They don’t mind when I come outside. I do this all the time. I think they would rather that I come outside than be inside. Sometimes there is too much going on inside. I like it out here.”

Cyrus knew that his thoughts were going around in a circle, and he wondered if he had explained himself well. He often had a hard time communicating with people, and he wasn’t sure if she would get it. He also didn’t quite understand that she seemed to want to be alone. He knew now that she wasn’t hurt, so she must have a reason for being outside like he was. He could not tell that there was something bothering her immensely.

“Why are you outside? Do you not like it inside? Are you supposed to be out here now? I have never seen you out here when I come out here,” Cyrus said all of this as he moved closer to her, invading her personal space. He blinked a few times. He didn’t like to talk that much, but he found that by talking to River or Lake or whatever her name happened to be, he was taking his mind off of his own anxiety.

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[Deleted]

Reverie Lane Fosco

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If I could only remember how to laugh, I would. Yet, the painful events that have dictated the mood of my continuous life seemed to have washed away this wonderful ability. I can surely smile, but not in that full-hearted way when you feel your stomach rising and your cheeks turning red and a buoyant sound escaping your throat that is inevitable for several minutes.

Some distant piece of me wishes to laugh again; there’s that hope inside of me that one day, I’ll find enough reason and enough comfort to giggle with joy once again. However, as I listen to Cyrus’s childish words, the most I can do is smile.

I wouldn’t say my smile is mocking, but it is definitely the type of smile that appears on your face when a child says they love you, or when a little kid complains about how difficult it is to be a first-grader, or when a young girl flashes a smile your way and you just can’t help but return the favor. As cute as people find children, I’m very rarely moved by their actions. They’re just ignorant; can’t people see that? There is nothing to love about ignorance.

Yet, there’s something about Cyrus’s ignorance--his childish demeanor—that causes me to realize that he honestly means no harm. In fact, his escape to the outdoors proved that much: he was only doing the same thing I was, myself. He’s just trying to find somewhere he can call his own.

Suddenly, my smile begins to fade as I remember Tegan. Somehow, my memory of her always seems to distance me from the rest of the world. It’s always the one thing that gets in the way when I finally start to open up and climb out of my shell.

Tegan was only a child when she tried to kill me; she seemed practically harmless. However, she had still done it. Just because she was ignorant in some aspects of life, didn’t mean she wasn’t smart enough to bring a knife into my room. Monsters can still be found within the most innocent of people. That’s what I learned. That’s what I’m still learning. That’s why I must be careful with every step I take.

Conflicting thoughts overwhelm me. All I want to do is lock myself in my room and let the tears pour from my eyes. I don’t know who to trust or what to do or where to go for help. I’m afraid and I’m hiding it from the world, and even more so, I’m hiding it from myself. I think I can trick myself into acting fearless, but it never works. These memories haunt me day and night, they fill my dreams, and I can’t rid myself of them. Yet, who am I supposed to go to? What am I supposed to say? I don’t want to discuss my problems with anyone, as troubled as I may be.

The slight whisper of the wind brings a shiver down my spine. Tegan is still alive and I can’t kill her spirit. I don’t want to.

I look away from the boy for a second, hiding the expression on my face from his view. I give myself a moment to just frown and keep frowning until I have enough nerve to look back at him. I don’t like smiling and I don’t enjoy frowning either.

I just like being Reve Fosco.

“I don’t like it in there,” I say simply. For a few moments, I pause, letting my eyes gaze off into the distance, focused on absolutely nothing. “Out here it’s safe, but it’s dull. I guess that’s better though.” I gulp down the insecurity that sways me into thinking that being out here alone with this boy is safe. Nothing is safe, and that’s something I should have learned by now. Have I?

I take a step back like a deer about to scurry away. Yet, as I take my next step, my extremely cautious behavior causes me to trip over a branch on the ground, falling backwards. I nearly shriek as I hit the ground, but immediately pull myself back to my feet. My nerves are starting to get the best of me—or maybe they already have—because I can feel my heart beating as the bracelet digs deeper into my wrist. I can tell my hair is a mess without having to look at it and there are definitely dark circles beneath my eyes. Sweat lines my forehead and anxiety begins to conquer everything I have left. I have locked myself into an inevitable trap with no exit.

I am just the fragments of a torn page. Of all the pages in this book we like to call life, I was the one torn and ripped. I am the one with the folded ends and the words split right in half. I tried to tape myself back together, for all I can do to make sure that I don’t rip again. All I can do is make sure I stay in one piece.

But it’s a difficult task. I won’t let anyone read me; I can’t let anyone read me. This world isn’t safe. Nothing is safe. What is safe?

I just want to know that I’m safe.

But I am convinced that I never will be.

OOC: Sorry it's not the best. Something really needs to happen. xD[/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/size]

[cyrus]

Cyrus Malloc

He was not good at reading people. That was for certain. Cyrus had a problem when it came to judging the expressions of his classmates. When he was younger he got into a lot of trouble for misinterpreting when someone was happy or sad, and controlling his often unintentionally insensitive comments. He was very direct with his way of thinking, and he couldn’t help it if some of the things that he said might be misconstrued. This was why he often said very little at all, as he’d become accustomed to upsetting people when he did.

The scream doesn’t shock him, but instead he stands there dumbfounded. Perhaps that was something else that was scaring her. He didn’t think that he was that scary to anyone. He didn’t think anyone even noticed him most of the time, so for someone to be scared of him was quite strange. He furrowed his brow and extended a hand to River. “I am not trying to do anything to you, but I am trying to be outside and not cause trouble. I think that if you yell people might come and join us and then we will both get in trouble. So you shouldn’t yell like that if you don’t want to get caught.”

His anxiety was still building from the incident inside, and he flapped his arms a little bit to settle himself. It wasn’t just that he was forced once again to work with people he absolutely had no interest in, it was all that had happened in the past week for him. He’d discovered perhaps the brightest inspiration of his life—and for one evening, held her—only to lose her and be left with the aftermath. He was a lost puppy, to be sure, when it came to understanding love and life. He wanted so desparately to make things right, to understand just what had happened to him, but he was in no one near the level of processing it all. He just knew he had grown up some, whatever that meant.

“Do you want to talk? I know that you may not want to talk. But I think if I talk it will help me. I’m sorry, I talk a lot when I’m not supposed to, because it helps me get rid of my anxiety.” Cyrus said this in his usual monotone as he got especially close. He thought this girl may have needed to talk to, in his limited way of understanding her. “When I talk it’s like I have a lot of thoughts flowing out of me and I think it helps to get some of it out. Because then I can think again, and I don’t need to talk. I don’t really like talking at all.”

He liked much more to just sit and be contemplative. And now he wanted someone who would sit with him and hold his hand, and to stroke his hair. He wanted someone that would tell him he was all right, and that he could go underneath the covers with again. He looked down at Riverie and smiled. She wasn’t unpretty. Maybe she would want to hold his hand? Maybe she too could understand Cyrus? Though he figured no one else would understand him like Tatum. Still, he would love to hold someone’s hand again.