.:A {Crow} For A Boy:. [Ciram]

[Kire]

Does, Says, Thinks

He had been distant since her death, little more than a walking shadow aside from the fact that he was in full colour. His green eyes had dimmed some, as though the tears he had cried as she had lain broken and bleeding had washed life a vibrancy from them. A mass of disheveled light brown hair sat on top of his head, tangled due to lack of care just as his clothes were ruffled. It looked like he had simply rolled out of bed without a moment spared for his appearance. It wasn't far from the truth. The past month hadn't treated him with much care, and he had lost the will to properly look after himself. It resulted in a rough-edged copy of what used to be a sleek, strong career boy. In his stead there now stood a blank-eyed zombie-like creature of some resemblance.

Now he sat alone in the shaded corner of the training center, refusing the memories of her even as he clung to those of a time before she came around. Against everything he had been taught, he had turned his back to the main room, his forehead resting against the wall. Behind his eyes he could still see it, flecks of blood on his wall as more blood slid between his fingers. Absently he touched a finger to the opposite hand, touching his ring finger where he had broken it. The wall had absorbed so much more than his hand could, and the result had been a break that left the bone calcified and no longer a mirror of his other hand. The slight bulge in the once-injured finger would forever remind him of what had happened. It wasn't noticeable enough that others might see, but he would not - could not - forget it was there.

He shut his eyes, resting a moment as a feeling of sickening loss swept over him yet again. It left him dizzy, as though it had held him under water for too long. At a loss for air, wondering if he should go outside but feeling as though he would fall the moment he stood, he simply kept his forehead pressed to the wall and his eyes squeezed shut. Trying to steady his breathing he continued to hold still, his mind focused on the feeling of the wall against his face, the bump of his injured finger, the scent of the well-polished floor and years of sweat and blood. Anything to keep the image of her face out of his head. It wasn't enough though. Nothing was ever enough.

Slowly he opened his eyes, training them on the grain of the wood under his feet. He followed the curves and hooks down the length until it was out of sight, bringing his sight back to his hands as he clenched them. There was no point looking at either the floor or his hands anymore, he had mapped them a long time ago. A month of sitting in the same place day after day had left him a permanent mental image of both and, though he hate to think it, he was getting tired of looking at the same old thing in what may as well be an endless loop. Not that turning around would bring him any new sights, it was the same old gym with the same old careers training under the same old trainers. Same old same old. Boring, dull, uninteresting.

And there were too many memories strewn around. Every time he took a look around he would be struck by places where she had been. There was where he had taught her to hold a sword, and where he had blown up for some petty reason, and a thousand other little things. Then there was the spot where he had kissed her. His lip found its way between his teeth and his bit down, trying to replace one pain with another. It hadn't worked before, but he couldn't quit the habit. Standing up, wringing his hands as he did, he continued to face the wall for a moment as if to gather himself. Perhaps that trip outside would do him some good.

It was too much to be here, surrounded by places that had absorbed some of her, but fresh air might be able to clear his head. He turned, eyes still cast downward but now in a lower gradient as his gaze focused on the space beneath the doors. Stepping over the bench he had been sitting on he made his way toward that spot, ignoring the sounds and sights of training around him. No one called to him, and he wasn't even sure anyone spared a glance for him. His old trainer had moved to training someone else some time ago, so it wasn't as though he was under any supervision here anymore. It was one of the reasons why he came here - and it allowed him to get away yet again from his parents. Barely a year left before he could move out, but until then he was trapped.

As he drew nearer the doors he continued to hold the point of his gaze, that was until he spotted a flash of movement outside. It had been a bird, or a leaf, or a piece of garbage, that had flitted past and nothing more but it was enough to drag his gaze from the spot that was now between his feet. He pushed the door open and stepped outside, breathing in as he took two steps away from the building. No, the fresh air did nothing for him, but the change of scenery was at least a momentary reprieve and allowed him the calm to drop his hands to his sides. Moving to the side a couple paces he retracted the distance between himself and the wall so the rough outside of the building rested against his spine.

It was enough for the moment just to stand here with his back against the gym wall, watching the gray side of the building across the gray street. Everything was some shade of gray, and dubiously he noted it was much like his heart. In simple contentment, at least for now, he pressed his head back and shut his eye as his face tilted to the sky - which also happened to be a grisly shade of gray. As if to smite him, this sheet of tumbling gray sent down a pearl of liquid. It splatted between his eyes and made him curse softly. Two more droplets struck him before he looked forward once more. He sunk down to the ground as it began to rain, a small wry smile finally breaking the solemn frown that had sat there for more than a month.

Tags: New love | Words: 1126

[Deleted]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=000000]

- Saylor Cizek -

A grunt escapes my lips as I send the spear flying forward. It rips through the dummy, only inches away from where its heart should be. I bring a hand to my forehead in efforts to wipe away the beads of sweat that fall like rain from an overwhelmed cloud. My water bottle is already in my hands a moment later, my mouth savoring for each droplet as it enters through my silent lips. I put it down, and take a couple of deep breaths before leaning against the wall. There are spots in my vision, a dizzying lightness in my head, and I realize I may have overworked myself. It’s been several hours by now, and yet I’m still hesitant to take a break – especially after that imperfect toss. However, my body slips down the wall, and in only a matter of moments, I find myself sitting on the floor, still trying to slow down my heavy breathing.

My eyes skitter to the other Careers in the training gym. I watch them diligently, observing their aim, their throw, their stance. I’m better than most of them, but that’s not enough for me. It will never be enough for me. I want to be the best, with my name on the wall and my picture plastered upon the walls of every Panem citizens’ memory. And I won’t cheat to get my glory either – not like those stupid Morenos who kill just because they can. I have a brain, at least. If someone asked me to, I could put a name to every face in this gym. It’s good to know who you’re up against. Isaac Sanford over there, Tyler Perkins at the strength training, Angela Gardner at the swords – is it weird that I know these things? I hope not at least; I assume I just have a sharper intuition.

I scowl as I watch a group of muscular boys on the other side of the room, practicing their unarmed fighting with no sense of direction or skill whatsoever: just physical strength. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s some muscular boy, gifted by his genetics, who relies solely on his build and brute strength to get him through the day, thinking it just might get him a games victory or something stupid like that. I work ten times as hard as every half-wit in this training gym, and someday they’re all going to see it.

My eyes flicker over to a boy sitting in some oh-so-mysterious corner of the training center. I squint, until I can finally see his facial features. I know him, I know him; wait I know this! I watch as he stands up, knowing I should really get back to my training, but curiosity has taken its strike. I grab my tiny notebook and flip through the pages, notes filling each one – schedules, reminders, lists, more schedules, and finally…people. I scroll down some names and finally, Rolex Ghram: yep that’s him…Emery Moreno’s ex-boyfriend, as I’ve written down. Must be quite a crazy. I quickly close my book with a reddening face, slightly ashamed by my nervous habit of keeping track of people, keeping track of everything. The whole world is merely a puzzle: this has to go there and that has to go here. Either way, I hold my notebook tightly to my side and walk towards the door, following this not-so-unfamiliar stranger outside.

I frown as the rain hits my face and know that this was a terrible mistake; however, this boy, Rolex Ghram deserves to know what I think about the Moreno family. I watch as he falls against the wall of the gym, and immediately cross over to him. “Well, these knives aren’t going to throw themselves, Ghram,” I snicker as I pull a knife from my belt and throw it so that it sticks itself into the dirt just beside him. “Sitting here, moaning over Miss Moreno? It seems like she’d be a nice load to get off your chest, don’t you think?” I’m not intending to be rude, but maybe I’m coming off as a bit so? It would be much easier to bury myself back in my notebook full of schedules and plans – things with set results and definite answers, things I can actually understand.

What did I know about losing people? I’d never lost anyone or anything important in my life, really. If I ever lost my mother or my father…oh goodness, I don't even know how I'd keep living. But people like my mother and father – they’re different from people like Emery Moreno. They love me in a way that I know no Moreno could ever love anyone, especially not that girl on TV who set fire to trees with an unending desire not to win, but to kill. “The gym closes in an hour, and I don’t know about you but if an hour of training could be the difference between my life or death in the games -- which I will most certainly be partaking in this coming year -- then I'd surely want to take advantage of that hour." I move closer to him and grab my knife from the ground, sticking it back into my belt before holding out that same hand to help him up. Meanwhile, with my other hand I finger my notebook nervously, the book still held tightly to my side. I hate this feeling of not knowing what someone's going to say next or do next, when the future of this moment is still undecided. I feel my hand shaking as I wait to see if he takes it, although I'm quite about ready to pull it away.

[/blockquote][/justify][/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table]

[Kire]

Does, Says, Thinks

He didn't even know he wasn't alone until her voice reached around the rain to tap on his skull. "Well, these knives aren’t going to throw themselves, Ghram." Tempted to ignore her, he simply remained in the position he had been and continued to stare gloomily at the ground in front of him. Even when the knife thudded into the ground beside him he refused to shift his gaze. "Sitting here, moaning over Miss Moreno? It seems like she’d be a nice load to get off your chest, don’t you think?" More words that incessantly tapped on his head, just as the rain did. The only difference is that the rain felt like it cleansed him, while her words seemed to slather dirt right back on him. Still he ignored her. He wasn't sure what he was ignoring, her, her words, or the fact that they made more sense than a lot of things had lately. How he hated to think that, but it was still creeping through his mind, more than he could manage to push away. He would have to reply eventually.

"The gym closes in an hour, and I don’t know about you but if an hour of training could be the difference between my life or death in the games -- which I will most certainly be partaking in this coming year -- then I'd surely want to take advantage of that hour." Perhaps he was better off staying silent - she might leave him in peace for a bit so the rain could clean him. Was it the rain, or the memories? Had he not met her in the rain, and then had she not died in the rain? The beginning and end of their love had come and gone in the rain. He would forever be attached to this kind of weather, and despite what he would have believed he had actually come to enjoy it. Something about it was soothing to him, a balm to his raw heart.

The movement in the corner of his eye was her as she pulled her knife from the ground and stuck it back into her belt. His mouth set itself into a line, her proximity an uncomfortable thing. It surprised him, somewhat, that he would find any kind of proximity to a girl uncomfortable - he had been with enough girls of late that it shouldn't matter - but it may have been her blunt words that had set him on edge. Now she held out her hand to him, as if attempting to make up for her harshness beforehand with a small gesture of kindness. It wasn't enough. Rolex didn't even look at her, just continued to sit and ignore her. Surely he would have to respond somehow - somehow other than flat out pretending she didn't exist.

It was when he realized her hand was shaking that he softened some. The rain still beat upon his head and shoulders, and everywhere else, but her words now tumbled inside of his head in a way that allowed him to sift through them. It was plain she was no fan of the Morenos, and that Emery had never appeared to her as she had to him, but there was something about her words now that made him look up. His flat green eyes met hers, and for a moment they looked like they had been shocked back to life again. A twinkle of his old humor flashed and died in them as he broke his gaze. Instead, he eyed the hand she held out to him, contemplating whether he should take her help or not.

Finally he came to a conclusion, having chosen one of the three options that had presented themselves before his eyes. Without the humor that had momentarily lived in him he placed his hand in hers and allowed her to help him up. In truth he used little of her strength, but the act of even slipping his hand into hers would hopefully be enough to satiate her some. Now standing - slightly more comfortable after finding he was taller than her - he looked at her. He was torn between offering a partially-felt thanks or remaining in stubborn silence. Was he that off-put by her words, or was it that she was the first person to press any kind of company on him since Emery's death?

It was then he realized he had used Emery's name in his head once again - something he had refused to do since she died. He had thought it might drive the pain out some if he didn't refer to her by her name. That had been false, but the habit had stuck nonetheless. He bit the inside of his cheek, the pain and the drops falling on him clearing his head for a moment so that he turned his gaze on her face again and muttered a hoarse thanks. His throat had gone unused for the past month, and with its first words after a month of sitting idle a rasping, burning sensation rose to scrape along the back of his esophagus. Coughing twice he looked at her once more. "You know all this about me, but who are you?"

It felt good to talk again.

Tags: Saylor Moon | Words: 876
Other: Long post on blitz day, blasphemy!

[Deleted]

saylor cizek

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok

He takes my hand, and the dreadful anxiety momentarily dies away. Surprisingly, things are slowly shaping into the image in my head and I realize that maybe I have more control over the events around me than I think. When Rolex stands up, I find that he towers inches above me, but it only motivates me to stand a little taller, a little higher. I particularly dislike the tall Careers who have it so much easier than everyone else just because they were born a little bigger or a bit sturdier. Emery Moreno was tall, wasn't she? At least from what I saw of her on television. Suddenly, Rolex is asking me who I am; do we really need the small talk? I have training to get to.

"Saylor," I answer shortly, fingering the edges of my notebook. "But I only have a half hour left of training today, so I really need to get back to work. I only came out here to make sure Emery Moreno wasn't off killing anybody else. You'd think four kills would be enough for her, but apparently not. So yeah...glad you're alright and all that. Sorry, no time to socialize, but if you want to swing a couple of swords with me, be my guest." I take my hand out of his, and reenter the training gym, wondering if he will follow. I don't really care much, I guess, although he does have nice eyes and nice hair and even nice hands, not that I put much value in those things. I don't understand the girls who waste their entire youth trying to find the perfect boy, rather than spending their time a little more wisely preparing for their futures.

I quickly stash my notebook over by my bag in the corner, and pick up a sword. I'd like to see Rolex swing a sword; the skill someone has with a sword can tell a lot about them because it's a weapon that uses not only strength, but precision and cunning too. You can toss spears around all you want, but all it truly requires is a bit of strength. Arrows? Who needs strength to shoot an arrow? But swords - swords tell the real deal. A sudden nervousness fills me as I wonder if Rolex is coming inside. What do I do if he does? What if he's better at wielding swords than me? After I've trained hours and hours, what if it all means nothing? I shake the anxiety away and pull myself forward, limbs weak, face red, and sweat-caked, using my worn strength as my sword rips through the dummy's body, again and again and again. Even when spots cloud my vision, I don't let them stop me. Weakness is for the weak.

♥

[Kire]

Does, Says, Thinks

She looked impatient, as though his simple question was a little too simple and it was a waste of her time to reply. "Saylor, but I only have a half hour left of training today, so I really need to get back to work." He noticed she was clutching a book of some kind in her other hand and he was struck with the memory of Emery holding a soaking book to her chest. There were too many similarities here, it hurt to uncover each one as it left him feeling as though he just wanted to meld into one of the puddles surrounding them. "I only came out here to make sure Emery Moreno wasn't off killing anybody else. You'd think four kills would be enough for her, but apparently not." This girl really did have her own opinions, and loved to express them. Just like Emery. No, this had to stop. He had to get away right now, or else he might just do something he shouldn't - though he had no idea what that might be.

"So yeah...glad you're alright and all that. Sorry, no time to socialize, but if you want to swing a couple of swords with me, be my guest." She pulled her hand out of his and it was then that he realized that their hands had been linked until then. As though her touch was what had caused him to recall so much of Emery, he began to feel more secure in himself as she moved further away. Breathing easier now, though he hadn't noticed his breathing being restricted in any way before, he watched as she disappeared into the training gym once more. He stood there for a time, getting even wetter if that was possible, thinking over what had just happened. The tickle of her words - the obvious invitation in them - pricked his mind over and over again until he sighed and shook his head. Droplets scattered from his bangs to splash at his feet but he paid them no mind. Instead, he wiped the rain from his face and followed her inside.

By the time he had spotted her by the sword-fighting area there was a pool of water at his feet. He was well and truly soaked, but it didn't seem to register in his head and he walked over to where she stood. Maybe he was imagining it, but she looked like she had been waiting for him. The dummy behind her told otherwise, yet there was something telling him that she was just passing the time until he came over. "Swords, interesting." He tapped two fingers together, thinking. "It's my best weapon." It was true, and he held himself from saying more. If she wanted to know something about him surely she would ask. For all he knew, she had already known that. His reputation wasn't as huge anymore, but it should have still held - even if it was just to say how his talents were wasted on someone who moped so much.

Tags: Swords | Words: 508
Other: This is a Rolex blitz!post... woops.

[Deleted]

saylor cizek

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok

"Swords, interesting. It's my best weapon," a voice says and I quickly turn around to see him standing there. I expected him to come - I mean, why wouldn't he? - so I really shouldn't be quite so startled. It must be the fact that I'm not used to conversing with people who pose a mystery to me. I don't know Rolex Ghram (but if you look in that little notebook of mine, it might beg to differ). I bring my sword down and lean on it, using it to hold myself up, as I am nearly ready to collapse by now. My mother would tell me to keep training, but my father would see my red face and tell me I've done enough work for today; I'll hurt myself if I don't stop.

I wait for Rolex to pick up a sword and give it a swing, since it is so obviously his best weapon, but he doesn't. Instead, he just stands there, watching me. My face reddens, and not because I'm exhausted. I drop my sword and walk closer to him. "Oh, so you're just going to stand there. You know what? I can't stand people like you: people who think they're all that because they're oh so skilled, and then just sit around and pretend like they're training when really, they're just hiding behind their stupid name. Is that how it is for you, Rolex Ghram? Because it sure sounds like it." My face is contorted into a look of pure rage. I point my index finger at him, and move closer until that finger is right on his chest, my voice softer but still just as angry. "I train six hours a day and I work twice as hard as every asshole in this gym because being 5'2'' apparently doesn't cut it for a Career. Do you know how many people told me I couldn't do it? Well they're all wrong, because I'm going to win these games next year. And you - everyone thinks you're so great, but I guarantee you'd be dead by Day One. And I'd laugh. Even Moreno girl thought she was all that, and look where she is."

I haven't been this nasty in a long time. I don't know where these words are coming from, but it's almost an alien voice pouting from my mouth. I rarely speak to people like this, but I suppose this feeling of rage has been bottled up for long enough. I take my finger from Rolex's chest and quickly trample over to my stuff before allowing Rolex to say anything more. I grab my jacket and pull it over my arms, wiping beads of sweat from my forehead before leaning down to pick up my notebook. I don't look the other way - not at him - even though I know he's still there. I don't need to waste my time with assholes like this. I'd rather just end my training early than have him disrupting me with his obvious lack of effort.

♥

[Kire]

Does, Says, Thinks

It surprised him that she was so startled he had shown up, or at least that he was now there. His approach hadn't been planned to be silent, and yet it seemed as though she hadn't noticed him until he spoke. The feeling he had gotten of her waiting for him faded some and he wondered if she even had hinted at anything after all. She looked tired too, worn out from the little frenzy of attacks that had lead to the dummy being ravaged. The flush that had risen to her cheeks from the activity also brightened her eyes and he gazed at her silently. That, however, seemed to bother her. The flush in her face grew darker and she dropped her sword, it clattered to the floor and made quite the noise as she stalked forward. "Oh, so you're just going to stand there." Taken aback some he did just that, not knowing where that little outburst had come from. This definitely didn't help.

"You know what? I can't stand people like you: people who think they're all that because they're oh so skilled, and then just sit around and pretend like they're training when really, they're just hiding behind their stupid name." He tensed, knowing she was upset but not understand what part exactly that he had played in that. For a moment he thought that might be all she was going to say on the issue but it wasn't. "Is that how it is for you, Rolex Ghram? Because it sure sounds like it." His hackles were up now, an instant defensive position sprung to his form as all of the insults she had said were suddenly directed right at him. His mouth twitched into a frown and he crossed his arms. Her face was now full of rage, taking him aback as much as it pushed him to get ready to fight.

She came forward more, on the attack, index finger pointed at his chest - perhaps in an attempt to gouge into his heart, he wasn't sure. Another step closer and her nail pressed against his chest, putting a dip in his shirt. Her voice softened but he still heard the hours of frustration in it, "I train six hours a day and I work twice as hard as every asshole in this gym because being 5'2'' apparently doesn't cut it for a Career. Do you know how many people told me I couldn't do it? Well they're all wrong, because I'm going to win these games next year." He was tempted, sorely tempted, to interrupt and not-so-politely explain that he knew about being teased for height. He was only 5'9" after all, and most of the other boys towered over him. She was pretty short, yes, but he knew size was always an advantage somehow, she just didn't seem to see that.

He was about to try and cool himself down, try to talk her down from the fight she was roiling for, but she kept going. Ripred, this girl was a runaway train. "And you - everyone thinks you're so great, but I guarantee you'd be dead by Day One. And I'd laugh. Even Moreno girl thought she was all that, and look where she is." There was no way he could convince himself to back out now, even if his pride had allowed it. She turned away just as he was about to retort and he ground his teeth. Flashing green eyes - finally having regained some spark of life, even if it was anger - followed her incessantly as she gathered her things. When he couldn't hold his tongue any longer he stomped forward to stand right beside her, glaring down. "Her name was Emery," even his own use of the past tense in conjunction with Emery's name couldn't disrupt him at this moment, "and she wasn't like what you think. Don't judge people you don't know."

It had been so long since he had felt anything besides misery and gloom so this flashing anger was something he relished in. "You talk about having to put in hours of work each day. Don't you think I had to do the same thing? You may be only five foot two, but I'm only five foot nine. Each and every male older than fourteen is taller than me, think about that." His breath caught in his throat as he was hit by the memories of similar fights he had had with Emery, each ending in silence before they came back to each other as though nothing had happened. The look on his face contorted to one of pain for a moment before he mastered himself again. His resolve tightened once more. "Don't talk about others being assholes and thinking they're so great when labeling them like that makes you the same. Hypocrisy is not an attractive quality."

He hissed his last words, taken aback by some of what he had said, and by what he hadn't. Normally he would have said more in defense of Emery - or he believed he would - but he had focused more on other things. Was he moving on, or just simply continuing to try and forget? His fists clenched and more memories of fists and walls rose to his mind, including the time he had washed Emery's hands after she had punched a wall in anger. Would he ever be able to have a moment when he wasn't bombarded by memories of her? It seemed that in the minutes that this girl had so abruptly thrust herself into his life that he was being hit harder and more often by those memories. What was going on? He had no answer to that.

Tags: Anger | Words: 952

[Deleted]

saylor cizek

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok

Every word he says is a tiny pinch on my heart. I can say as many nasty things as I want, but I honestly do care what others think of me. "Don't judge people you don't know," he says, and I can't help my mouth as it reaches for the retort. "Oh, I know Emery. She had two weeks on TV, two weeks to let the entire world get to know her. Just because you can tolerate a lower level of morality doesn't mean you should turn this all around on me." I didn't tell him that I knew Emery Moreno further than just the television screen, that she'd lived in the house across the street from me, that sometimes I'd looked out my window to see the chaos and hear the commotion.

Rolex keeps talking, and I look down at my feet, my hand gripped onto my notebook for dear life. I don't need to hear anything more about how I'm a hypocrite. The worst part of listening to this is hearing it come from a mature, composed human being, not an angry bloodthirsty asshole. It's like when your mother says "I'm disappointed," rather than saying "I'm angry." The hurt is just a tiny bit deeper. I examine Rolex's eyes closely, wondering how someone so seemingly mature could ever fall in love with a monster like Emery Moreno. I notice that his fists are clenched and realize that I don't really want to start a fight here. I'm not a fighter, really, not unless I'm in my training mode or I'm trying to win the hunger games. However, I'm not like the Morenos, who fight day and night until they have no breath nor strength to spare. I don't see the point in wasting my energy on such petty things when I should be saving it for the arena, where it will really matter.

"I'd say something more, but I'd rather save my rage for the arena." There's a piece of me that wants to impress Rolex Ghram, a piece of me that wants him to like me, see something good in me. I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that he'd loved Emery Moreno, and the thought makes me jealous. Why do people like her get all the love - people who don't give anything back? Why is it that I can try so hard to be the ideal human being, the ideal Career that my parents want me to be, and yet they're the only two people who can ever love me? Why? "And I'd say sorry, but I don't really like apologizing to people I don't know." Although who am I kidding? Of course I know him. I look down at my feet and pull my notebook to my chest. "Well, I should probably go...I'm on a tight schedule and all..." I mutter, an awkward sort of silence having enveloped the room.

♥

[Kire]

Does, Says, Thinks

She hadn't even had the decency to wait until he had finished before she started spitting back at him. "Oh, I know Emery. She had two weeks on TV, two weeks to let the entire world get to know her." He had finished his piece, but she hadn't finished hers and so she threw another cruel sentence at him. "Just because you can tolerate a lower level of morality doesn't mean you should turn this all around on me." He slammed his fist sideways against his leg, a near miss for her as it could have been her face it had struck. There would be something wrong with hitting her, though, and it wasn't just that she was a girl, or that she was smaller than him. She certainly had enough spunk that she might be able to take the hit, yet there was still a tug on his mind that told him he really shouldn't hit her. Perhaps it was the way her eyes gazed at him, fierce and bright like Emery's were when they had fought.

He snapped his attention away from his ex-girlfriend and looked at her darkly. More words tumbled from her mouth and it was all he could do from storming off and showing her that he had enough control to take his anger out on something non-living - it might shut her up about his lack of activity too. "I'd say something more, but I'd rather save my rage for the arena." Brave words for a small girl, but it would mean nothing if she ever did go into the Games. Emery had been the bravest person he had known and even she had been left stripped of her courage and her stubbornness by the horror she had been dealt in the arena. A girl like Saylor, who reacted so flippantly, would not last nearly as long. "And I'd say sorry, but I don't really like apologizing to people I don't know." If she hoped he would feel insulted by that then she must be losing her touch. His frown turned into something like a sneer, though it might have been a smirk, and he kept his narrowed eyes on her.

Her defenses seemed to have faltered and failed her right at the last moment because where she had once been a little spitfire she now bent to pick up her things, spluttering. "Well, I should probably go...I'm on a tight schedule and all..." His sneer grew more malevolent for a moment, watching her now struggle with what to say. "You knew the person she wanted you to know, two weeks of a girl too stubborn to let anything and anyone in. I knew who she really was. You can claim anything about her facade, but the actual person is beyond foreign to you." You remind me a lot of her. He stopped those last words from leaving his lips, instead moving to block her exit. "Nice try, out of things to say? Any more grievances you have with me that I should know about?"

Ripred, she was so like Emery, even in the way she made him feel. He was clutching at anything to keep himself from falling into the pit of a thousand frustrations that Emery had thrown him into. Each time he had tried to climb out she had kicked him back in, and he had grown to call that love and take pleasure in it. Still, there had been more than that to their relationship, right? He looked at Saylor now, comparing her to Emery in the way she moved and how she looked at him. Memories flashed before his eyes and all he could see was Emery as he stepped forward and cupped the back of her head in one hand. He bent down, touching his lips to hers. He pressed his mouth harder against hers for a moment before he realized that it felt nothing like the times he had kissed Emery and the moment's illusion shattered.

Feeling guilty and sheepish, like a cowed dog, he drew back quickly. He put a stride's length between them and looked in the space over her shoulder. "I'm sorry.. it's just that you remind me so much of..." He couldn't even bring himself to say the rest of it, too ashamed of himself and too aware that it was probably the last thing she wanted to hear. Shuffling awkwardly, he twisted and untwisted his hands, linking and unlinking his fingers as the already off-put silence now was a full fledged moment of discomfort.

Tags: Kiss | Words: 758

[Deleted]

saylor cizek

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok

He keeps talking, saying that I don't know anything about Emery Moreno. Maybe it's true; maybe I don't. I mean, it's not like Rolex Ghram knows everything about me, especially not the anxieties that fill the pages of my notebook. However, I still know what Emery Moreno did. She didn't just kill people; she murdered them. Forcing Shadow to eat his own tongue, setting fire to trees because she could, standing above Hope as she was engulfed in flames, leaving Ewe behind...that wasn't what a normal, sane person would do, even a normal Career. I shrug, trying to erase the thought from my head, but it doesn't really go. The thing about me is that when I find a thought to latch onto, I can't let go out of it. When I find something to love, I love it until I can't anymore. I over-think and overdo everything, and my mom tells me that's what I need to change, that's the one thing that could get me killed someday.

"Nice try, out of things to say?" Rolex says as he moves in front of me so I can't slip away. I'm about ready to push past him, but I'm stopped by his bright, glowing eyes as they stare into my own. He's moving his face closer to mine, and I can't fathom why he would, but I don't stop him. I don't run away. I just let the oncoming future lay itself out without following orders from the little schedules in my notebook. Finally, his lips touch mine and even though I'd so obviously seen his face moving closer to mine, even though I'd seen it coming, surprise fills me. It's a good kind of surprise though, like a package on your doorstep from someone you didn't expect. The feeling of being wanted - wanted so much that a boy would put his lips onto your own - is such a relieving sensation, especially because I've never experienced it before. His lips press harder, and I drown in the feeling, forgetting the last few moments, forgetting the little words that line my tight schedules. Who knew there was something so beautiful about living in the present moment?

Suddenly, he pulls back. "I'm sorry... it's just that you remind me so much of..." Of Emery? I step back and put a finger to my lips shamefully, feeling vulnerable and gullible for ever thinking he'd...admired me? What reason did he have to? He was just a broken boy looking for someone who was long stripped from this world. A disappointed look crosses my face, and regrettably, tears fill my eyes. I try to stop them, but they're already starting to fall down my cheeks, and I want to tell Rolex Ghram how disappointed I am in him, how nobody's ever loved me in my life besides my parents, and when someone kisses me, that doesn't just mean nothing to me. Maybe it might mean nothing to him, maybe he kisses every girl on the streets, but things like that hold value to me. And now I've wasted my first kiss, my first bout of feeling. The words that I want to say never escape my mouth, my throat wet with tears. I should have left while I could. I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, shake my head in utter disappointment, and then push past Rolex Ghram in efforts to make my way towards the locker room and grab my stuff before making a quick escape. This is why I don't fall into the path of spontaneous events and rash actions.

♥

[Kire]

Does, Says, Thinks

He knew he had done the wrong thing as soon as she stepped back from him, a finger on her lips as though trying to comprehend what had just happened. It seemed it had finally sunk in, both what he had done and then what he had said, because a look of disappointment plastered itself onto her face. Before he could think of anything he could do or say she began to cry - tears starting to crawl down her cheeks as they would crawl down the face of a dam before it burst. He watched as she, with the kind of strength he didn't possess himself, wiped away her tears. Awkwardly, he shuffled and glanced around in an attempt to look anywhere but her face. It was hard, when the memory of her mouth still lingered on his like a ghost. Swallowing, which was difficult due to his suddenly dry throat, he made a sound in the back of his throat like he was attempting to say something. Nothing but a hiss of air came out, so he gave up and kept shifting his gaze from spot to spot.

Her shoulder against his side announced her departure, and he let the relatively gentle blow spin him to face where she was headed. The entrance to the change room loomed before him, Saylor's small figure framed so it was as though he viewed a picture of solemnity. Yet another memory struck him, an image of Emery coming out of that very same change room, wearing his spare clothes while hers dried. Suddenly he felt like he wanted to cry too. Instead, he took a step towards Saylor an apology he hadn't yet come up with on his lips because all he wanted to do right now was try to make it right - she shouldn't have to suffer for his stupidity - but he had no idea what he could do. A growl of frustration came from his throat and he just wanted to hit himself somehow. How had he managed to be so foolish, and cause a girl he had only just met so much grief.

It was too like what had happened with Emery, everything was too much the same and it was making him feel trapped between two moments in time. Neither one was good for him and still he wanted them both. Stuck in limbo as he was, he wouldn't get anywhere. It was time to break away from one of them. He could let Saylor slip away and not speak to her ever again, then he would be alone with his memories. The flash of loneliness that came with that idea hit him in the face like a well-aimed punch. In his mind's eye he saw blood dripping from his nose and knew it was only a fraction of the pain those memories caused him. What was his other option? He could go after Saylor, try to make up for what he had done, make new memories that might dull the ache in his heart. He brought a hand up to his nose absently, wiping away the blood that wasn't there.

The more time he spent in this limbo, the more time Saylor would have to slip away and then his decision would be made for him. His eyes snapped into focus as the choice became clear to him. He hurried after Saylor, hoping to catch her before she had walked all the way out of his life so soon after she had put herself in it. "Saylor, I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me. Please." In his head he saw Emery gazing at him with her big dark eyes, a gaze he had never seen on her face before - pain. I'm sorry, Emery. I just can't live the rest of my life alone. He drew closer to Saylor, putting all of his effort into not losing her. "Wait, please!" He didn't know it, but in his eyes the spark of life had returned and a desperation flashed in them. Feeling lighter than he had since Emery had left, he caught up with the fleeing girl. "Saylor," he panted, slightly out of breath, "let me make it right."

Tags: Cici | Words: 703

[Deleted]

saylor cizek

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok

"Saylor, I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me. Please." I keep walking. His words only deepen the unsettling feeling in my stomach. "Wait, please!" But I don't have time to wait. My mom's probably got dinner on the table right now, and I need to get home in time so that I can come back for my after-dinner training later, before the gym closes. I try to ignore the urge - the itching sensation within my brain, my chest, and my shaking form, to go back, to listen to that voice that says my name in a way I've never heard it spoken before, in total and utter desperation. However, I quickly push the sound from my ears, knowing that it's only an auditory illusion. Words can mean nothing, especially from a mindless stranger like this boy who probably lies his way through everything. I'm so close to the locker rooms, my hand only inches away from the knob. I'm so very near to leaving this boy, leaving this sound, these tears, this moment I don't want to relive again. Of course, Rolex swerves in front of me and I'm suddenly stopped in my tracks by the panting boy.

"Saylor, let me make it right." The tears are still trickling their way down my face, and I immediately wipe them away, ashamed that I could be crying over such a little thing. There's an entirely unstated, preconceived notion among a lot of the teenagers in District One that any Career who cries, especially in public, is obviously weak and unstable and if put in the games, would be first to die. It's stupid how everyone tries to put on some mask of total unfeeling as if we're all just zombies and not humans. I don't quite understand why every Career just wants their name spoken more frequently than everyone else's, when that's not what's going to keep them alive in the arena. I cross my arms and wait for Rolex Ghram to say something more, but he doesn't. I suppose it's my turn then? My turn to say something? To spit out some sarcastic retort? I struggle to pull words from my tear-choked throat, still pulling my bearings together as I restrain the last of the tears in my eyes.

"Make it right?" I ask, shaking my head. "But it isn't right, Rolex, and running after me so that you can have me for yourself, so that I can just be your backup plan B, isn't going to make anything right. I'm not Emery Moreno, and I don't want to be." Somehow, my voice is calm and composed, but inside, there's this lusting feeling that just wants his arms around me and his lips on mine again. I feel the tears coming to my eyes again, but I hold them back for the sake of my own sanity.

"Don't feel sorry for me." Seeing as I don't feel all that sorry for you. Emery Moreno was a bitch, anyways. "I'm...I'm happy, Rolex Ghram. I have everything I need - great parents, a nice house, food on my dinner table, a good future ahead of me and...I really don't need you dismantling that happiness with your little reassuring lies. I can make things right for myself." I clutch my notebook so tightly to my side, my other hand balling itself into a nervous fist. I know my words aren't all truth. I am happy - yes, that's truth - happy most of the time, I guess. Yet, there's a part of me that wants to know what it's like to be free, and to share that freedom, to feel someone's lips on yours and know that the elated feeling in your chest is real, to know that there's someone out there who sees how hard you work and loves you for it. For now, though, I have to suppress that desire. I have to focus on my future, not my damn feelings.

One final tear falls down my cheek after being held in for minutes, and I quickly wipe it away, ashamed that Rolex is seeing any break in my composure whatsoever. It's about time I slip past him and get my stuff from the locker room, but for some reason I can't bring myself to do it. I have something more to say to him - I know I do - but I don't know what. It's somewhere on the tip of my tongue, my mouth half open as I wait for something to come out. I can't leave this moment behind: this moment of mindful chaos, of confusion and hurt and feelings I can't quite understand. Maybe because I've never known any moment like it; maybe because I know the remaining moments of today and tomorrow and the day after that will be moments I've already experienced before.

But this one...this one is definitely new.

♥

[Kire]

Does, Says, Thinks

The tears had resumed to trace glistening lines down her face, and he stared at her as he caught his breath - with her glistening cheeks and over-bright eyes he saw a beauty in her face that he hadn't noticed before. As though she had only realized now that she had begun to cry again, she gruffly wiped at her eyes. His mouth fell into a small frown, disappointed in himself for his thoughtlessness that had lead her her feeling so hurt. Once again, a strength appeared to rise in her and she stood a little taller and crossed her arms. He had mostly gotten his breath back, but he continued to stay somewhat bent over, like a dog who had been scolded by his alpha. When he didn't speak she seemed to shift and he wondered what was going through her mind.

Finally, he watched as she gathered herself. In his mind he saw a new storm of angry words form within her and braced for what he knew he deserved. "Make it right? But it isn't right, Rolex, and running after me so that you can have me for yourself, so that I can just be your backup plan B, isn't going to make anything right." She shook her head and he felt slightly cowed, shrinking back slightly instead of issuing a challenge as he had done before. What she was saying wasn't far off from what he wanted, and yet she was reading so much into this. Did he really want to make her his? He had merely wanted a friend that might show him what it was like to truly live again. "I'm not Emery Moreno, and I don't want to be." He opened his mouth, searching for some way to explain what had happened - why it had happened. It was then he realized he didn't really know.

The control she had impressed him, the fact that she managed to hold her voice steady and sound almost calm made him wonder what real strength looked like. Perhaps it wasn't even the ability to win a fight, or wield a weapon the best. Maybe it was the ability to grasp your feelings and take control of them. "Don't feel sorry for me." He didn't, and he hadn't been. There was no way he could pity her, only admire. "I'm...I'm happy, Rolex Ghram. I have everything I need - great parents, a nice house, food on my dinner table, a good future ahead of me and...I really don't need you dismantling that happiness with your little reassuring lies." His eyes slid to the book she held at her side, the same book he had seen her holding before. It looked like she was clutching it for dear life. "I can make things right for myself."

The steadiness of her voice didn't falter, and he wondered if maybe she might actually be better if he just left her alone. When he saw her other hand was clenched in a shaking fist he paused with the thought that she might punch him - perhaps the bloody nose he had envisioned before would become a reality. That was when a final tear rolled down her cheek and he straightened, something telling him that she was not about to sock him one. A desire to wipe away the tear for her rose in him but he clamped down on it. Sure enough, she wiped it away anyways and he was left standing there in the middle of a whirl of thoughts. He had no clue what he should do now, but he thought over her words in search of something to say that might help.

His mind locked onto what she had said about Emery. "You aren't Emery." There was no way to know where he was going with it, he only followed his mouth. "I don't want another Emery. I want to know someone new. I've been haunted by her memory for a month now and I want to experience something different." Ripred, he was lost in the words tumbling from his mouth and he had no clue as to whether anything he was saying was doing any good or not. It probably wasn't. "Then you walk over to me and you hit me in the face with a call to wake up." The thought of her sharp tongue now made him smile where before it had stung. "I felt alive for the first time in a long time, even if it was just due to frustration." His eyes searched to gaze into hers, an attempt to show her the new life that had made the dullness fade into a vivid green. He went to touch her on the arm but snatched it back quickly when he realized she might not want to be touched.

"Just let me start again, please?" Slowly, as though attempting to stroke an ill-tempered cat, he extended a hand to her. It was an invitation for her to shake his hand, to let him begin anew and help them to maybe become friends. The fluttering memory of her lips danced around his head and the internal question of just friends? rose in his mind. His mouth was set in a small half-smile, betraying the fact that he was nervous about her answer along with the slight shake in his extended arm. Had Emery ever made him feel like this? A kind of jitter that pricked him like a string of static shocks down his spine. Somehow he didn't think she had. A pleading look crept into his eyes as he stood there, and he tried to prepare himself to watch her move around him and walk away. He wouldn't stop her if she did, he had caused her enough grievance without chasing after her like a stray dog.

Tags: Second chances | Words: 934

[Deleted]

saylor cizek

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok

Rolex says some things about how he doesn't want another Emery, how he wants to move on, how he feels alive around me, even if only because of frustration. Alive around me? He's looking at me as he says all this, in a way I've never seen someone look at me before, as if he wants to see something in my eyes too. "Just let me start again, please?" He asks, and I look down at the ground, a small smile playing onto my face that I'm not sure I'm ready to show him yet. I shift my feet nervously a little bit, trying to let everything settle in. He extends his arm out to me, and for a few seconds I contemplate my options. This feeling of wanting to say "yes," of wanting to take his hand and smile and let this feeling inside of me, is almost overwhelming. I want to be wanted, just like all the other girls I know who have an incessant smile plastered on their face, who dance their way through life saying they're in love. Whoah, okay. I'm getting a little ahead of myself here. All I need to do is take his hand and give him a nod and then we can be...friends. It's not that hard, right? I have a lot of friends, but I can have another.

However, something inside me tells me that if I take his hand, I'll be entering something that I'll either totally regret later or love later. The jittery feeling in my stomach isn't the kind that you get when you make a new friend. My parents are probably wondering where I am right now and goodness, if I let this escalate, if they found out I was wasting my training time talking to a boy, think of what would happen. I don't need another distraction in my life. Just friends... I keep telling myself. It's that simple. I finally look up from the ground and let Rolex see the grin I've been hiding. He's been too good to me, after all the crap I've just put him through. I finally bring my free hand up - the one that isn't busy clutching my notebook - and place it into his, my face reddening slightly as I do. I open my mouth, struggling to get out the few words that I want to say. "I'm sorry for...some of the things I said." Then, I use his hand to pull myself forward until I'm close enough that I can let go of his hand and embrace him. I know I'm digging a deep hole - a deep hole that I'm going to get myself stuck in later - but it feels good not to think and worry and have it all written down in a schedule. I wrap my arms around his back and whisper the few words he deserves to hear. "And I'm also sorry about...losing her. I guess I can't really imagine what that's like..." I clutch him tighter, but if he knew that this comfort I was giving him was not just to make him feel better, but to fulfill the emptiness inside my own heart, he'd know how selfish I am.

And in that moment, I can already see that I've trapped myself in a future I haven't once written inside my notebook. This isn't how the story's supposed to go. This isn't where it's supposed to lead. And yet for a moment, I don't care, I don't want to care, and I can't let myself care, because I'm desperate for something new.

♥