i can almost hear {harmony} // Chaos

[Stare]

The days of the new
Ticking sadly away
How much will it take?
Is it too little too late?

The frigid wind bites harshly through my clothes, slipping beneath my numb skin and weary limbs to freeze my very bones. I pull my threadbare jacket closer to my body, forcing myself to concentrate on the surprisingly large amount of effort I have to put into trudging through the deep snow. Just a short ways behind me I can hear the steady crunch of footsteps. Flight, who insisted on taking the rear. We passed through the fence of One less than an hour ago, and we're both wary of the luxury district, avoiding the streets and buildings we see and choosing instead to skirt around, investigating the new territory. It differs from Nine in almost every possibly way, with fewer trees and air corrupted by pollution. The wind tastes different, too, of wet concrete rather than the fresh smell of pines that reign back home.

It's been snowing for hours. Wet, heavy snowflakes drift down and cling to every surface they can find, including us. They catch in my hair, melting between the dark strands until I feel practically soaked, teeth clattering. I glance skyward, at the seemingly endless darkness above us, and shudder slightly before looking back over my shoulder at Flight, the scar on my throat aching only slightly. Ever since our encounter with the mad Peacekeeper we have welcomed the cold with open arms - anything to keep us from remembering the fire - but now it seems it poses an actual threat to our well-being. We spent the majority of our money in Six on new supplies for our journey. What remains jingles softly in my pocket, certainly enough for a night in one of the run-down inns of any other district. Here in One, though, I doubt we'll find anything so shabby. So instead of searching for a place to stay the night in town we soldier on, hoping to find some form of shelter out here in the wilder parts of the luxury district.

For once in our lives, we are lucky. Through the pale haze of snow I spot a large silhouette, and change our course so that we're heading directly toward it. As we get closer I can hear it shuddering and moaning as it battles against the wind, splintered skeleton complaining but not collapsing. The house is enormous, perhaps home to someone very rich at one point in time. When we've finally arrived, though, I see that point in time was not recent. The wooden boards on the outside are rotting away and splintering at their joints, the nails old and rusted. A few of the windows have cracked like frigid ice, shutters hanging loosely by their upper hinges.

Perhaps a different pair of travelers would have turned the house down, doubting its stability, but for Flight and I it will do just fine. It's been far too long since we've slept in an actual house, even if it is one as run-down as this. There are certainly worse places to spend the night.

The porch creaks dangerously under our weight and for a moment I'm genuinely concerned we'll fall through. It holds, though, and I swiftly pull my glove off to feel the icy handle of the door. It turns with ease, unlocked, but the door is stuck shut. A grunt of frustration rumbles in my throat and I glare at the house for a moment, as if it is an especially disobedient child, before throwing my weight against the solid wood. It shudders for a moment before bursting open, slamming against the wall and echoing through the house like a gunshot. It takes me only a moment to deem the house safe, and I quickly step inside. The air is still cold but here we'll be sheltered from the wind, and we have our blankets to keep us warm. With any luck, there will be a fireplace we can light.

I shrug my coat off, tossing it to the ground before turning and wordlessly helping Flight with the zipper of her own jacket. Her hands have been healing well, but I don't fail to notice the way she becomes slightly tense when she has to force them into especially painful positions. After we've finished removing our soaked garments I grab our packs and wander into the closest room, which happens to be a rather large living room. I can tell immediately that at one point it must have been very extravagant, but the paintings have since become dusty, the single sofa remaining broken and tilting to one side. There's a hearth, though, and my eyes light up. "This place will be perfect for the night. If you want you can lay out our blankets, and I'll start a fire."

For once, the heat of the flames will be welcomed rather than feared.

[/i][/blockquote]

So when, while skies begin to fall,
Will someone save it now?
Our world has been through it all
Lets keep holding on, let go

[/blockquote][/justify][/size][/color]

[sadniss everdeen]

Flight DeRicasho

[/size][/center]

| I could never break the chain |

who am I supposed to be?
if everything good was taken from me
who am I supposedly?[/size][/font]

We've walked for days.

My mind knows little other than the crunch of the cold snow under my feet, a tunnel of pristine whiteness and the fog of my breath as it leaves me in laboured pants. Whatever focus I would have had - hunter's instinct, killer's instinct - has been worn away by the days and nights trapped in different rooms, trying so hard to repair both my body and my brain. One comes along as it should, wounds sewing themselves together, but the other remains painfully raw. A gaping hole where pieces of me should be.

I know Luna notices it by the way I've gone sullen and silent more often than not, how she tries to bring me back to myself with soft touches and coaxing words. Some part of me appreciates it by the way I take her fingers with my own and bring them down to my lap, playing with the spaces between her hold, but other days I can barely summon the will to stay awake. I foolishly thought my physical scars would be the extent of my damages once we emerged from that seventh hell - an already fractured psyche is impossible to damage further, right? I've lost the voice I once held so dear to me.

The District is beautiful in a tragic way. I watch the flashing lights on the towering buildings with a certain sense of wonder - they cast shadows upon all those that are inferior to them, hues of pink and green and purple upon the grey snow to lend it the magic it lost under the boots of these greedy citizens. But all is silent now save for the frozen wind that howls mournfully through the sparse, skeletal trees, lamenting the loss of nature. It feels unnatural to be somewhere without roots and open air now after so long within, too exposed. There are a million invisible eyes that watch from every gnarled knot of worn concrete and every shattered sidewalk. Never have I ever seen such broken magnificence, a place that once was absolute in its brilliance only to be led astray. (It reminds me of many people, surely, but that is another tale for another time.) We walk among what little cover the woods can provide - I know our footsteps are an obvious sign as to where we've been and who we are, but the numbing frost lulls me to forget. I've come to enjoy the cold where I can hardly feel my skin and the pain that it brings.

We step into the shelter of the decrepit house with relief - it is an old man, leaning heavily on its cane to one side, the windows creating the sad slope of tired eyes. The air is musty and unused with the distinct scent of aged books and stale animals snuffling about in the corners, chewing away at his foundation and pulling his broken hips into crippled balance. The backs of my fingers trail along the warped wood as Luna rids me of my sodden coat (like a little child unable to care for themselves) and mentions something about getting warm, her hands shuffling about in her pockets for a match. The sizzle of the flame makes me flinch back by instinct, my lips curling up into a grimace as I instead wordlessly make my way up the groaning staircase. Away from the light and the memories that come along with it, I feel a distant pang of guilt for leaving her so readily, but it's smothered as the hearth flares to life and casts its broken shadows upon the weathered walls. My steps echo as I haul myself to the second floor.

Nothing has lived here for a long time, that much is certain. Dust gathers in a fine layer over every surface and tickles the back of my throat when I inhale, filtering light through the grimy windows to form patterns in the musty air. Perhaps at one point it was a happy home, but nothing remains other than a shell.

A metal bedframe has been pushed up against the wall with no mattress in sight, two little night tables guard beside it. There were pictures once for they leave an impression upon the walls but somebody has since removed them and the memories that accompany them. Perhaps it's better that way - strangers should not share what should only be yours. The planks under my feet are scratched and worn, and there are the distinct impressions of little feet pattering along the ground, faded with time.

(This is what my house will look like eventually. Kaya's house... our house. It pains me more than I care to think.

We never had the chance to form those tiny feet, to make memories like these people. I turn away.)

I forget where my feet take me, but I sense her presence before anything else. She is the only thing I am completely tuned to these days, the only person my body still remembers. The distant heat from downstairs has not yet begun to creep through the rest of the house, and my skin is still as cold as ice - my palms welcome it. "I wonder if the ghosts in here will mind us using their home?"

[/size][/blockquote]

[Stare]

There's nothin' in the world that you can do
Come on up to the house
You've been whipped by the forces that are inside of you
Come on up to the house

I feel her absence before I see it - the sudden lack of something in the dark room that sends a chill through my body despite the fire that flickers to life before me. I close my eyes and the images flash past, fragmented screams and burning memories seared into my mind. The physical scars will heal and fade until they are almost unnoticeable (the body works well to hide its burdens) but I fear those moments will always remain close, if not for me than always for her. I listen to her footsteps above, stealthy even when she doesn't mean for them to be, while spreading out blankets in front of the broken frame of the abandoned couch. A loud spark cracks in the hearth and I jump, recoiling slightly before my eyes shift toward the staircase. It's funny how time warps with her - hours together feel like seconds, and minutes apart feel like years. I suppose that's what happens when you get that close to someone. You forget what life is like without them.

The stairs creak beneath my weight and I pause, listening to the wind thrumming and howling as it beats against the walls. The house may be worn, but it still stands in even the nastiest of conditions. A slight smile tilts my lips upward as I run my hand up the banister before continuing, treading lightly over the loose floorboards until I finally find her. My eyes soften slightly at the sight of her - she has always been strong standing alone, but I like to think that maybe I can relieve her of some of her shackles from time to time. Silence is our best friend, but sometimes words work, too.

"I wonder if the ghosts in here will mind us using their home?"

Again my lips twitch upward and I shrug slightly even though she can't see me, approaching her slowly until I'm standing beside her. "I don't think it matters." Ghosts are whispers, shadows, quiet remnants of thought drifting through empty places in search of a home. They are icy and hollow, forbidden to rediscover reality or experience the warmth of the sun. Sometimes I wonder if that's what we've deteriorated to - shells of our former selves, cold and weary, trying to carve out a life for ourselves in a place that isn't meant for us. We reflect home to each other, though, and for now that will just have to be enough.

The house carries an abundance of desolation and it claws at some deeper part of me, quietly reminding me of all that I've lost and all I am hopeless to become. Such negative thoughts are unwelcome here - frowning and shaking my head, I venture quietly into a room and peer through the broken window at the haze of snow flurries cartwheeling by on frigid winds. "It's getting worse out there," though my voice is soft it pierces through the silence like a gunshot, biting and abrasive. "We'll have to spend the night, ghosts or no ghosts, I'm afraid." Despite the fact that night has long since fallen a faint glow still emits from outside, casting an eerie light around the room, and I immediately gravitate back toward her warmth.

There was, of course, a time when we weren't so tired. When we weren't broken. I long for the sunshine and pine trees of Nine, where we began to carefully map out a friendship that would last for years. I remember how much easier it was to make her smile, and the way her fingers tap-tap-tapped against the table when she was deep in thought. I remember when she could see out of both eyes instead of just one, and how they would light up at the suggestion of doing something particularly forbidden, be it by Ari or the Capitol or both. I remember nights spent up on the roof, etching our dreams into the stars even though neither of us were quite certain what we wanted our future to hold. I remember when she first presented me the necklace, a radiant sun dangling from a golden chain.

Things have changed. Time has taken its toll on us, stealing away our vibrant youth, making it harder to laugh. The only antidote to our sorrows lies in our past, beaten and broken, but sometimes I wonder if we can't make new memories. "We should head back down before we freeze." I'm tired of lingering in the cold and the dark. I've hidden from life for long enough - tonight will be the night I reenter the world of warmth and light.

And I'll drag her, kicking and screaming, right behind me.

Well you're high on top of the mountain of woe
Come on up to the house
And you know you should surrender but you can't let go
Come on up to the house

[sadniss everdeen]

Flight DeRicasho

[/size][/center]

|My eye is my sanctuary|

I've wept and I've stumbled
I've fought and I've prayed for the beauty of your soul
but all I wanna do now is walk among the barren trees and fields of snow[/size][/font]

This miserable house is the salvation from the squalor outside, but I would gladly brave the frozen winds if it meant staying away from the destructive light I now here crackling away from downstairs. Its burning heat has not yet reached up these floorboards and I welcome the cold damp, letting my breath escape me in one long rush and paint mist all along the walls. Still, Luna welcomes the light after all of this, and I am never one to deny her; my steps are soft as I follow her downstairs and away from the gloom.

Once settled, I take the furthest corner from the fireplace, huddling into a ball to warm my icy skin and glaring at the flames from a safe distance. Unable to curl my hands for heat, I instead stuff them under my arms and scowl in an attempt to ignore the hunger gnawing deep in my stomach. It seems no matter where we go the hardships are the same.

"It's so fucking cold." I grumble to myself, hunching further and discarding the obvious fact that the bones of my spinal cord stick out from under the skin of my back. Staying in District Six did little for our health, mental or physical, and the cold helped none. People there are hard like in Nine and would rather save their our skin that aid two bedraggled strangers who look like Death has stamped over them and left them out to rot; I heard that the Peacekeepers there are brutal, and any attempt to aid possible runaways could result in brutal and unforgiving punishment. My scarred fingers wind nervously in the blanket pulled up to my knees, shuffling my feet anxiously along the floor until my back hits the freezing wall and I feel some comfort against the heat, faint but smothering all the same.

Sometimes I wish I could see the ocean - people say it is warm but never hot, cool but never cold, and the salt stings your eyes and the sand gets into your toes and for a few precious moments you feel your worries drain away. I want to take Luna to the sea.

(el mar, il mare, la mer)

We traveled far but not far enough it seems - some part of me always thought that escaping the places that haunted us would relieve us of our burdens; a foolish notion, I know, but I would give anything I could ever cut away to forget the pain of remembering Kaya's smile, silver-sharp on a bruised canvas, brushed and blushing in the light of dawn. Or even the brittle reeds that I ran through before all of this that now bear a startling resemblance to Desma's hair as I held her for the last time, the ends of it brushing my bare arms and sending cold chills down my spine. Everything I do brings up a memory; a lovers exhale, the sweetness of morning, the sin of night. I long to scrub it all from my skin like words that have embedded themselves far too deep and Luna is both the brush and the soothing balm that heals all wounds - she must see the apology in my eyes whenever I pull away from her touch, for she is the only one still able to read me in ways I would rather her deny. All the others have gone, lost to the threads of time and the deep, angry caverns of my tortured memory.

"How long are we going to stay here?" I mumble in question, tossing my damp hair behind my back that has just begun to melt. Wind howls through the cracks and the old house moans its discontent, slanted roof creaking dangerously in the gale. From outside it looks like an unhappy old man, slumped to one side and supported by a rotting cane jutting from his lumpy stomach - his mouth gapes oen to welcome us into his cold and aged belly, begging us to spark life back again within his core. I'm unsure as to what we can offer him now, as dulled and disused as we are, but anything could be better than fading away into obscurity and light-washed wooden boards.

[/size][/blockquote]

[Stare]

I climbed this hill watching so still
I took to the fears of all I held dear
But up on this height, a majestic sight
Flooded the skies, and how I could feel you near

The fire flickers and spits in the hearth, welcoming us back into the room with a satisfying snap. It might have been considered comforting if it weren't the way it makes our scars ache beneath our skin - almost unconsciously I note the way her footsteps pad into the room and pull away from the circle of warmth as if she is approaching a beast. My own feet pause in the doorway, eyes flickering around the room as a patiently wait for her to get settled before drifting back out into the darkened hallway. The heated glow of the fire battles icy emptiness here, presenting fevered gold to contrast the silver chill that has already etched itself into the seams of the walls. Even my warm breath, appearing in the form of pale, wispy tendrils, wages war against the frigid air.

My heels click against the floor loudly, echoing through the desolate house. I approach the front door in an almost cautious manner, carefully stepping over our discarded winter garments and attempting to peer through the darkness and clouded window into the world beyond our new and empty home. I can't make out anything, though, and step forward, pulling my sleeve over my hand and rubbing it against the fog on the window pane to no avail. The wind intensifies, causing the house to groan mournfully. I draw back silently, hesitating before carefully wrapping my fingers around the icy doorknob and yanking it open.

The mechanism has barely released when the door slams open and I am assaulted by frostbitten winds. Unwelcome winter whips into the front hallway, snapping my hair back as it howls in my ears. It presses up against my weakened frame, freezing itself into my features and causing me to stumble back a few steps before I steady and brace myself against the power of the storm. Snowflakes cling to my lashes, my sweater, my hair, somersaulting across my skin until I finally manage to throw my weight back against the door and shove it shut. Tiny fragments of ice lie beneath my feet, refusing to melt upon the algid floorboards. I frown at them, a hint of irritation prickling at the back of my mind. I used to be able to predict a snowstorm with great accuracy, for being caught in one while hunting means almost certain death. This one, however, caught me off guard, and now it seems our minuscule chances of leaving tonight have become completely nonexistent as a result.

When I return I discover Flight was thinking along the same lines in my absence. "How long are we going to stay here?" My lips twitch up into a smile despite the way my eyebrows knit together slightly when I see that she has bundled herself up in the farthest corner of the room. I cross over to gather up the blankets I had laid out, dancing away from the most intense light cast by the flames and returning to drop down beside her, pulling the warmth over both of us and leaning in against her in an attempt to share heat. Her skin is damp and cold, but I don't mind. "Long," I reply regretfully, heaving a sigh. "This storm is wicked. I wouldn't be surprised if we have to dig ourselves out tomorrow, assuming it'll be over by then."

I pause, and the silence that greets me is deafening. I tug the blanket up further, shrinking down slightly and leaning my head back against the wall. My eyes flutter closed for a moment, memories jumping and jerking like a projection from an old movie reel. I see the flash of a knife, shimmering stars, wide golden eyes, and tall grasses dancing to the tune of a warm summer wind. Those moments always felt so pure, so gentle. We felt like children but that was okay, because back then we were. Now any wasted breath feels like a crime worthy of death - we've grown old and wary, having finally met true cruelty and insanity. (It's been too long since she's felt truly happy. You'd do anything to make her smile again, like she used to.)

Uncertain of what else to do I allow my fingers to find their way to my throat, exploring the dips and curves of the golden pendant that rests there. I glance in her direction, taking in the hardness of her face and the set position of her jaw. I don’t even need to state the obvious - that something is wrong. Everything is wrong. It makes me feel uncertain and helpless, a little girl who has wandered too far from home, but Flight has always been there for me and I’ll never, ever leave her again. Not after all the horrors we both experienced without each other. I’ve never been very good at fixing things, but I’ve spent too many years remaining silent to not know how to listen. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Oh I could sail the world
Search through the darkest waters but
I'd never find
These golden eyes

[sadniss everdeen]

Flight DeRicasho

[/size][/center]

| I don't wanna feel this overwhelming hostility |

metaphor for a missing moment
pull me into your perfect circle
give me one more medicated peaceful moment[/size][/font]

Does a sinner ever want to talk of their past? Does a dying man wish to speak of the future? I grit my teeth together and clench my hands the best I can, glaring so hard into the rotting walls they threaten to burst into beautiful flames. We are the only living beings in this white-washed world, encased in our own little universe of frost and darkness... what was that poem? Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice?

(from what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire)

This place is close enough to that, enclosed in a tiny space with so many unsaid things suffocating between us. Things have not been the same since we were released from our own little hell; we operate silently, Luna often trying to fill the voids between us with words that mean far more than they say. I barely find the energy or the will to respond and simply watch her watch me with unblinking eyes. We dance on a fault-line primed to explode and it is thick in the air between us that taints all we breathe until I can scarcely draw air into my starving lungs. I hate what this has become, a mockery of a friendship because I am unable to crawl over the mountains of my fears, but the Detention Center has exposed to me the undeniable fact that I am achingly human, able to be torn down and battered like the rest of them. It haunts what used to be my unbending whim, taunting it with sickly sweet barbs of what used to be. I can't look in a mirror these days for fear of what I'll find.

"No." I mutter sourly, but she shouldn't be surprised - when do I ever want to talk these days? I find the cadence of her voice soothing, a balm to my weeping wounds that are as much on the soul as the body. Sometimes I urge her to speak with a brush of my fingers against her wrist, or an unwavering stare. At night I hear her voice in the dark and it lulls me into a state of twilight that is so much better than my dreams, light and airy. I wonder if sometimes she grows tired of it, the constant barrage of noise. But she never stops regardless and I am grateful for that. (Among many other things, unable to be put into fragile human words.)

(but if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate)

Despite all her ways that say it is not so, I wonder to myself when she will leave. Will I close my eyes tonight and she will slip out, like a shadow in the snow? Or perhaps later, days from now, when the storms have passed and we enter a strange new land? She tries to paint all the things she wants me to know in her words that mask their meaning and her eyes that always say what she wishes, but her light hurts my eyes and I shield it from the glow and her message is lost in the background. I used to embrace it, be warmed by it, but I want no warmth anymore.

"You, uh..." I swallow hard and look to the fire as a way to distract myself; anything to take away from the heat of her body against my side and the rise of her chest as she breathes and the gentle heartbeat of her thigh against mine. We fit so perfectly together that there is not a soul in the world who could worm their way between us, not like this, sitting in the dark with nobody but each other for company. It is something so perfect I can't bear to part with lest I be the one to take it away - the blow softened if I let her leave before she does so herself. Cut away the wound before it festers. "You can take the big coat, if you want. When the storm clears and you can go. You need it more. "

I try to make it sound neutral but it is ruined in the way my voice cracks at the end; I clear my throat and turn away, running my hand through what remains of my hair before I forget about my wounds and flinch back with a hiss. It's so pathetic that it brings tears to my eyes but instead I bite down so hard on my tongue it bleeds to fight it away. I've cried enough in front of her to last me small eternities. "I won't be mad."

(to say that for destruction ice is also great
and would suffice)

[/size][/blockquote]

[Stare]

I've watched you break yourself in two
and try to give me half.
And I seem to wonder what it takes to work,
to make this last.

I've stayed awake for days hours on end trying to decipher my own intentions on the day I left. The trees screamed freedom and beaten paths through the wildflowers and over a carpet of debris promised a kind of heaven on earth where my regrets would fall away like autumn leaves and allow me to once again breathe in peace. I was a huntress weighed down by my emptiness, and somehow I thought that severing myself completely from those who had given me things and then taken them back would heal my scars. (They left. One by one, they drew away from me as if suddenly realizing how toxic I truly was. Jasik vanished, the rebels perished, my mother fled. Eventually only Flight remained, and even she seemed to grow distant as I lost myself in my own personal darkness.) Leaving was just as destructive as shooting myself through with poison, though, and I crumbled on the inside as my body withered away. It's a mistake that still haunts me, writhing in my chest every time I remember the pain in her voice when she found me. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever forgive myself.

That is why her words make me inwardly recoil, though physically I only draw back a few inches so that I can see the flames reflected as two pinpricks of light in her golden eyes. The way she refuses to meet my gaze stings, a brand new wound that joins in the chorus of pain that still echoes from past experience. She can't possibly think I'd make the same mistake twice, can she? That I'd just leave her behind when she's the only thing left that gives my heartbeat any kind of purpose? She's my last thread of sanity, one of the few things that I've actually done right. (I'd like to be your friend.) Maybe it's selfish to cling to her in this way, but she's been strong enough for both of us for so long that I can't help but feel in her debt. I've forgotten how to live without her.

Without hesitation I reach forward, fingers following one of the three chains that hang at her throat until they reach until they reach the clasp. I struggle with it for a moment, unashamed of our proximity, until it finally comes apart and I pull it away. The silver chain pools in my hand, the fire making the pendant glint. I quickly undo my own necklace and gently lay the sun beside the moon, holding them carefully between us so that she, too, can see how they look next to each other. "When I was little, my mum used to tell me a story about the sun and the moon," I say quietly. The fire crackles softly in the background, but it dares not drown out my words. "She said that they were once lovers on Earth, but their love was so great and powerful that they had to be separated."

I never understood that part. Why couldn't they just be happy? Why was such pure love feared? My understanding only developed slightly with age. The real world is harsh and cold, so such love shouldn't exist lest it be corrupted by all the evils hiding in the shadows. And yet, even with the threat of darkness looming over it, I still believe that love deserves to exist. I've seen so much sorrow and heartbreak in this world that I long for a brightness and beauty of contradict it, and if that beauty must come from something as unstable as love then so be it. "They were banished to opposite ends of the sky so that they would never be able to see each other, and it is to be their destiny that they will eternally chase each other around the Earth."

I cradle the two pendants in my hand, shifting closer to her. "They're meant to be together, though. Even though they've been separated, they still try to reach each other. Sometimes they do, and their embrace is viewed as an eclipse." I've heard of such a thing, even if I've never seen it. They say there is nothing more beautiful or enchanting than the sun and the moon dancing together as one. (Perhaps that is what love looks like.) I lift my chin, boldly meeting her gaze. "I'm not leaving you, Flight. Not now, not ever." I pause. "The sun and the moon are meant to be together."

It's a truth that half hurts, half heals. Deep inside of me I know that such closeness can only end in pain, but our lives have become permanently wound around each other. She's inevitably a part of me now, and that's perfectly okay with me. Our friendship is something I cherish, and even though we've been through so much pain I find I have no regrets. Life with her has been painful, but life without her was so unbearable that the thought alone makes me cringe. I don't know what I'd do if we were ever separated again.

I need her.

And do you think that I've run out on you now?
Cause I still yearn, if we pretend.
Can we go back to when broken things
only needed plasters to mend.

[sadniss everdeen]

Flight DeRicasho

[/size][/center]

| I drown in you again |

don't speak as I try to leave
cause we both know what we'll choose
if you pull then I'll push too deep
and I'll fall right back to you[/size][/font]

"Aren't you?" I snap back, harsher than intended because she needs to stop doing this, talking to me like I'm something about to be broken and saying things she can't keep. Everybody leaves in the end, whether it be of their own volition or through death or another means; even if somebody else takes them away. "That's funny, because I remember you saying something like that in the District before you ran and never looked back." It hurts to speak like this to her, but her words have broken something in me that has kept me silent until now. I boil in my misplaced fury, hot under my collar despite the freezing cold and the damp clothing that sticks to my skin.

Once upon a time there was a god named Mars in the sky; he ruled over his volatile descendants and was forever cemented into time and space and void. I am raised into his legacy of anger and hatred; his fury is mine from a million miles high, his burning passion that we see even from our ground. My eyes are pinpricks in the gloom as I turn to her, studying her face in the firelight. She holds our two pendants like it could solve everything (maybe it could but I am too stubborn to try) and her gaze is strangely combative, firm in the ways I'm not used to. Though she has toughened herself on the months we've been on the run it's never been so open like this - the notion that she would fight for us sends a chill crawling up my spine.

"We're meant to be together, huh? Tell me how we can be together when we're stranded in a foreign district with no money, no contacts and no clue? You could pass now, but I'm ugly as fuck with these scars and they won't look twice before throwing me away like trash. You should escape while you can so that you can start a nice new life like you wanted to when you left the first time." I've gotten up in her space now, rising to my knees like an angry dragon. It's ridiculous to think that after all we've been through, all we've seen, that she thinks we can just throw everything we used to be away and start over. Ghosts of the past always haunt the present no matter how firmly you try to keep them at bay; I know that Kaya ended up here and the mere thought of being in the same district as her makes my heart scream in my chest with a lonely boom that's been left disjointed ever since she went away and left me to rot. It won't ever stop, not even now that it tries to latch onto Luna's warmth like a greedy child. I won't let it, not again.

Everything that I've ever thought about everybody seems to want to come from me at this moment but I have always spoken in silence; this strange new need to speak makes my throat hurt where the words all jam against each other, fighting for dominance. I know I say things like angry bitter disappear finally but in them are hidden darker things (pathetic lonely unsure asphyxiate) that I never truly learned but came to me anyway as a product of my inherent nature and proven nurture. Everybody who says you can beat their upbringing is full of shit - I ruin every good thing that I touch because that was what I was born to do, to be like the opposite of Midas and shatter what he turns golden.

"And besides," I mutter bitterly, turning back to glare at the flames, "the sun and the moon were lovers, right? I don't think it applies to friendships." It was no secret that my heart wanted her, first, before it was blinded by all the other things that came along. Perhaps it is for the best, as those kind of bonds are so easily broken, lacking the tenacity that years of friendship brings. Despite the fact that I am so eager to chase her away, I want her to stay more than anything in this world; she has been my stability when I lack it, my voice when I am silenced. Losing her would leech the colour out of this already monotone world.

But why would I tell her that? Weakness is easy to obtain and difficult to admit, refusing to be voiced aloud let it ruin something good. Maybe we aren't good, not right now, but we are... alive? Yes, that seems the only way to describe it now.

[/size][/blockquote]

[Stare]

you know even stones change shape in time,
willingly they compromise
and the sacrifice is mine,
for your eyes

I was sixteen years old when I first met Flight.

Spring had just been blossoming into summer, the surplus of sunlight encouraging the leaves to form canopies in the woods of District Nine. Already people were talking about a prosperous summer, not because of the warmth but because of the strange sixth sense all citizens had etched into their bones. That was back before the industry change, when Nine was still worn but wild and free, as well. (Things have changed since then. We’ve considered returning, but the place we remember is gone. There’s nothing left for us there. We can never go back home.) The birds were singing their age-old hymns that hunters’ ears never tired of, and the bright skies promised new beginnings. That was always my favorite time of year. Somehow, even in the shackles of Panem, people always seemed a little more free. I had been teaching Jasik to throw knives, trying to prove my worth as a rebel even though I was injured as a result of my own foolish and clumsy behavior, when she appeared out of nowhere.

I was young, ignorant, over-enthusiastic, and self-critical. She was brave, brash, strong, and dangerous. Perhaps we were destined from the start to get into all kinds of trouble together. There was something deeper than that, too, though. We were empowered and encouraged by one another, building a tie that was deeper and stronger than any ordinary friendship. During the day we would train beneath the summer sun, teasing each other and learning our weaknesses and strengths, and at night we would sneak out, perhaps simply to spite Ari’s rules, and trade stories beneath the stars. It wasn’t just a comfortable living - it was safe in ways that neither of us were used to. She took me to my first party on the lake, and I helped her when she got into her own personal trouble. That was the summer we learned of peace, friendship, and trust.

But summer could not be eternal. Autumn came, and our lives changed with the leaves, starting with our first argument. It was well over a year ago, but I can still hear our screams clearly in my head, starting with “I’m pregnant” and ending with a slammed door. I couldn’t leave her, though. I just couldn’t. And it was a good thing, too - she might have died if I had not found her on the bathroom floor seeking out an end to the madness. (She kissed me, too, but we never mentioned it again. I managed to convince myself that it was a result of the drugs she had taken.) And then, later, she found love in a red haired girl named Kaya. I saw less and less of her, though she was there when we heard the drumming of Keepers’ footsteps against the cool earth. We fled before they reached us, but we were too late to save the rebel’s base. It went down in fire, thick black smoke rising for all to see. They took Ari, Alec, and many of the other rebels. We never saw any of them again. That was the autumn we learned of change, hardship, and loss.

Winter was brutal. I lost touch with Jasik, never to see him again, and was forced to wander the streets and mug or beg in order to earn the few coins I needed to get by. Her love, Kaya, left, though she promised to return. We were both alone in ways that we had become unfamiliar with. She longed for scarlet locks and an angel’s smile. I dreamed of Jasik’s wedding ring and Ari’s smile. Gone. She found me, angry and afraid and alone, outside of my mother’s old home. Our bond was strained and cracked, but it still existed. (That night, we did horrible things. I cringe, trying not to remember.) A few weeks after that, I left District Nine, hoping severing myself from it all would ultimately save me. That was the winter we learned of sorrow, regret, and loneliness.

Spring’s offering of a fresh start for both of us was tainted. I was learning to live my life alone, in the woods, but every night when I traced patterns in the stars I could only find the ones she’d shown me, and it made my heart ache. Kaya was gone but Flight had found another - a delicate but strong-hearted girl named Desma. They were doomed from the start and they both knew it, but they were drawn toward each other regardless, and a more timid, tender love was formed. That was the spring that we learned of independence, new beginnings, and perseverance.

Our second summer was not as bright or brilliant as the first. I’d somehow become ill, and temporary blindness was beginning to strike me as a result of the anxieties of living on my own. I was only saved by Amarië and her strange medicine. As I struggled physically, Flight struggled mentally back at home. Desma was fading, as they’d both known she would, but still it was a pain unbearable. (I don’t ask. I know she doesn’t like to talk about it.) When she finally did leave our world, Flight fled to the woods, broken and more alone than ever. That was the summer we learned of illness, heartbreak, and separation.

We didn’t find each other again until that fall. Rebuilding our friendship was bitter work, but we’d never truly broken apart. (Some hidden piece of me knew I would never be able to truly leave her. The sun and the moon balance each other out. We do the same.) But just as we were starting to figure things out and make right our many wrongs, we were caught and taken to the place all citizens of Panem fear, where we were tortured mercilessly with fire. I remember watching through the window, screams bubbling in my throat, tears streaming down my face. Her pain was my pain - we weren’t just friends but something stronger, and they understood that and used it to their advantage. That was the autumn we learned of redemption, cruelty, and fire.

And now, here we are. Nearly two years later, broken, battered, but still together. We’ve learned lessons of joy, of pain, of love, and of loss. And we’re still trying to convince ourselves that we are nothing more than friends. We’ve suffered apart and together, grown in ways we never would have imagined, and survived all kinds of wild adventures together. “I don't think it applies to friendships." I blink at her, at the way the firelight curves over familiar features. I can clearly picture every expression, every smirk or frown or grin or snarl, that it has worn since I’ve known her. And for some reason, that fact alone solidifies the thought in the mind. We’re not just friends, I want to tell her.

I don’t.

Instead I lean forward and press my lips into hers.

’cause the feeling you bring home,
is comfort in the coldest stone
like a wish I go, I go
to be yours, oh

[sadniss everdeen]

Flight DeRicasho

[/size][/center]

| This is all for you, don't wanna hide the truth |

your eyes they shine so bright
I wanna save that light
I can't escape this now unless you show me how[/size][/font]

They say a star is brightest in the moments before it dies.

All that matter that expanded to swallow suns collapses on itself in a split second, its own gravity its undoing as it condenses into a small, singular point of origin - in the silence before the chaos it fades from existence only to return in an explosion that shatters worlds and outshines suns, pushing inwards and outwards all at once until the whole galaxy bears witness to its power. They said it is God's finest creation, giving such a magnificent thing a final act of glory before it vanishes into the threads of eternity. Sometimes I am the silence before the storm but she has both taken my power and stoked it anew, pulling me into the vacuum of rapture her mouth creates.

After a moment of indecision I fist my hand in her hair, uncaring of the way it aches, pulling her closer by the hip like an artist would sculpt his finest creation from clay. I do not know how long I have been waiting for the touch of her against me, lain across my body, knees to knees and chest to chest and lips to lips. I breathe in and all the dead stars relight in my chest from where her palm presses until I burn with another fire entirely, searing incinerating burning away the fear and the doubt and the cold that has sunk into the deepest ridges of my old bones. The house creaks in approval as I shift slightly, desperate to draw her closer to me.

Sometimes when we first met I would take her in with both of the eyes that I possessed, watching her with all the focus I owned at the tender age I was. She was a mystery and a martyr and I was drawn to her unexplainable gravity until I orbited her smaller frame like my own god. When she couldn't sleep I would secretly thank the stars and roll onto my side so I could whisper across the rift that held our beds apart and let my words travel through endless eternities to meet her ears, watching the hesitant smile bloom bright on her face that only grew as time went by. My new obsession was coaxing it from her expression which would often grow sober and serious, haunted by ghosts of the past. I knew all too well what it was like to be smothered by such a burden it threatened to swallow entirely and gave my sympathy by brushing my hands along the solid curve of her shoulder or the arc of her back.

Time went and we fell apart and came back together as matter always does, blowing apart and coalescing until they lose all sense of time, known only by the moments they are bound through something mankind cannot tear apart. I sense her in every thread of my core, every atom of my being, her warmth worming its way down and integrating into my blood until it colours indigo like the nebula of her eyes and every vein of me is stained, altered, forever untouched. I welcome the corruption that feels too much like purity to be wrong and smile against her lips that press to me, unsure and yet not shaken at all.

As all mortals must I heed the passing of time and reluctantly pull away, lessening my iron-grip in her hair that sends sparks of pain down my arm. My eyes travel and I expect to see something so close to regret it sours the back of my mouth but there is nothing but an expressively blank canvas, awaiting my reaction. She has closed the divide I was too afraid to toe and now I must cast myself, ask myself; can I jump? My mind says no but my heart says yes - my heart has been wrong before, truly, but somehow... not this time.

“I... I don't...” I lick my swollen lips and sweep my distracted gaze down the definition of her cheekbones, shadowed in the flickering light of the fire. It makes her seem regal, ethereal. Untouchable. (But my hands all over prove her otherwise.) “Why did you... I'm not complaining,” my laugh startles me, nervous but real, “not at all. But... why me? You know what I've done and who I am, how much shit I carry with me... I don't understand.” There are so many other people, so many other burdens to bear. She knows of my past but not of my future, uncertain and flimsy after these months have broken me down and worn me away into the dust that gathers in the creases of this house. I tilt my head back to better watch her expression, waiting for even a flicker of regret or uncertainty - there is a part of me that begs to run before she hurts me in a way I cannot shoulder, not again, but she stays where she is and the seconds tick by as the distance between us aches with a palpable heartbeat.

Even separating for seconds are seconds I cannot bear, and wonder to myself if I will ever be able to stop this crumbling she makes of me, yanking my supports until I have no choice but to fall into her arms. But this time it is my arms doing the pulling, ignoring the agony as I pull her closer once again and connect our mouths together, lips curling into a smile. With a sigh, I give my borrowed bones to the stars that form anew from this collapse and allow her touch to pull away all uncertainty that remains.

[Stare]

and meet me there, bundles of flowers
we wait through the hours of cold
winter shall howl at the walls
tearing down doors of time

Ours is a gentle collision that somehow manages to make the world explode.

I once saw, on a shaky television, grainy footage of the shores in Four. Waves clashed and crashed against the rocks, harsh and vicious and angry. Spires of sea foam were born from these violent encounters, pirouetting over the water like elegant white dancers. Perhaps we are akin to the sea and the stone, destined to forever be wild and passionate and fierce in our interactions. The touch of her lips against mine makes something within my chest bloom and my souls suddenly rises like the tide, brought forth to express itself in every movement, every shift closer into her warmth. Her taste is ambrosia, an addictive quality that makes me so gloriously dizzy that I wonder how I ever lived without it.

I distantly register the winter winds tearing at the walls of our beaten shelter, but the house holds true and only complains in the groaning of its ancient wooden skeleton. With the heat spreading through me I wonder how such frigid could have ever existed against my skin - it's a wonder we don't melt all of District One with our compassion. It burns through my veins like blissful fire, like silken sunlight spreading just beneath my skin. There is warmth in every fiber of my being and I want nothing more than to hold it there forever.

Her every movement is grace and I suppose I always knew that, but only now do I truly understand it. I want to hold this dance with her forever but my lips eventually draw away, breaths coming quickly to sooth aching lungs. My eyes blink open, tracing every angle of her face and burning it into a memory where it already exists. She could leave me tomorrow (though it aches to think such things), but I would never be rid of her. She's etched herself into everywhere where I was once blank - the space between my heartbeats, the childhood that seemed to end too quickly. My thoughts will always somehow return to her, to golden eyes and mischievous smiles, and I would be lying if I said that I wish I didn't carry such tattoos upon my soul.

And yes, I know her. I know her reckless nature, her wild personality, and the aching fear hidden beneath that doubts herself more than she deserves. I know her past, clouded by mistakes and heartbreak. I know her nightmares, and the way she fears that her fingers can do nothing but hurt and break. She doesn't understand that to me her touch is tonic, only ever healing the scars I try to desperately to forget, and every mess she gets me into is one I would gladly sort through if only because I know she'd be there bearing the burden with me. We see ourselves as broken but each other as something better, and if that isn't an indication that we we belong at each others' sides than I'm not sure what is.

Even when we were young we were like that. Back at the rebel's base we could talk for ages about nothing, and even in silence we were comfortable. Our remarks were teasing during the day but gentle at night, when our flaws began to shine through the cracks of the perfection we tried so hard to achieve. We spun entire seasons into a thread that bound us deeper than friendship, though we never dared to call it anything else.

"Because you know me," I say softly. "And I know you. And when I'm not with you everything just falls apart, but when we're together I feel like..." I duck my head slightly, embarrassed. She's always been fantastic with words but I struggle, never sure when the syllables sound graceful or clumsy. Nothing I could say seems worthy of her, words too cheap to describe the way my heart hammers against my chest or the panic I feel when I can't find her. "I'm lost without you. I don't know where to go or what to do or who I am. When I left I was so alone and scared because I realized just how broken I was. You're the only person who knows how to fix me. You exhilarate me and listen to me and make me laugh and I - " I cut off, laughing shakily. "I don't know what life is without you in it."

Thoroughly frustrated with words I lean into her again, pressing my mouth into hers and hoping it can explain everything that my words can't. Everything within me hums with approval, drinking in all that she is until we are practically one being. I press into her until there is no space left between us, feeling whole for the first time in ages. Old stories and songs speak of a connection that outshines the sun, the moon, and the stars. It puts the heavens to shame with a beauty unmatched by anything on Earth. Wars were inspired by it, blood shed for it, bodies shattered in its wake. It was destruction and rebuilding all at once, the greatest contradiction man has ever known. It's been said that a life without it is a life unlived. At the time, I did not understand.

But now, with her, I think I'm beginning to.

shelter as we go
and promise me this
you’ll wait for me only
scared of the lonely arms