Silhouettes of a Common Man : : {ani

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One day? That was it? After all the words she had spoken in favor of victory and surviving until the last day, and she was cut down before the first sunset? First she brought up a filth of a score, such as a 6, and then decides to die just in spite on day one? Maybe had that one boy from eight not gotten himself killed, Siana would not have to been ganged up on. Of course, there was more than a single "maybe" in the equation, such as what if that Beatrice would have gotten beheaded two days earlier than planned. Maybe if she had gotten out faster, her death would not have followed. Maybe if I hugged her before she left, I would not feel so guilty. The death of her was quick, but not silent, even if the air that surrounded our house was. The thicket of air had not wrapped around us like a blanket, but like a noose hanging between us. Had I not left first, I would have sworn that I was not affected and could get away with it. At first, her death had not affected me, besides pissing me off a boundary I would rather not cross, until the fact finally sunk in. Missing out on the simple things, such as her never shutting up until I walked in or her room being filled to the brim with deafening nothingness, forced those silhouettes of despair further along. Despite the already intimidation factor radiating off me, somehow the others living among this house seemed to practically fear walking across me. Different, being tired of hearing all the idiots bickering, until one never starts speaking again and then all I started to wish for was for them to continue speaking. Besides the in-often meowing between Delaney and Ibidaious, even my own room too began to play on mute. Somehow, trying to cover sorrow sadness with music played to fill a room rather than the heart failed each time. Having the checklist of things to things to ignore the silence and changing atmosphere dwindle to ash left me watching whatever was left. The droning continuing of two cats with nothing better to say than "how's the weather" drifted my attention elsewhere. A change of pace, difference, to learn how the other side lives perhaps? Something. Imbeciles of a lower knowledge used to talk about "yelling at the trains", of how the freeing voices were some form of relief for frustration and society. The directions to my destination were not complex, just to follow the tracks near the oasis of a tone dead home. Outside of my near home was an empty train yard, as the only two operating munitions circle through seven loading their shipments with every wooden object in site. Unlike the twin floors of the sanctuary soaked in my escape, the train yard is vastly untidy and shaking in noise, each pile of ruckus containing spare gears, parts, rockets and dreams ran dry of gasoline. Each clapping footstep of heel against Utopian hell echoed past the arena, fusing with the distant bells and whistles in the corporal tunnel winding itself together. Each side of the railing marked long enough to act as a head and foot rest, to sit as a podium for me to speak at, and for once not be heard. Echoes faint in each mock trail of my voice, echoing to the distance but still hidden under the dominant relations with each layer of noise covering me and the stacks of scrap. Second verse had not been a test of the microphone at hand, the echoes read my message clear, even if the only words were to be written as onomatopoeia. Lastly, the third verse erupted, no longer hidden under the delicate fillings of ignorant chimes. Every pang of hoarse aftermath wheezing had not acting as residue, for the dirt under the tips of my fingernails were not out of vain or vengeance. For a change of pace, I was the one hidden under louder noise. Instead of hushing, my waves of frustrations were not heard from under the mufflings of someone else's. Singular picks of rocks and gravel failed to trigger shock or disgust, since now I was the foundation for something else. Maybe being able to live as the shadows of the world instead of each living one was just as honorable.

[Sage]

WE WILL NEVER BE ROYALS

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AZEA FELIES
DISTRICT7 | EIGHTEEN | FEMALE

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Since the death of my sister, a silence hangs like a cloak over my home. Suffocating all of us that live under this roof, questioning daily Why her? Why did it have to be Siana's name drawn from the reaping ball and not some other name? I look down at my sleeping cat, running my hands through her silky fur and she purrs, soothing my nerves. It's been almost a year since she was taken from us but you can still feel the sorrow hanging in the air. Abyss, I'm so worried about my older brother, he's so torn it seems like. He's looking after Delany, Siana's kitten and the mere sight of the poor creature crying for a girl who won't come home makes tears come to my eyes. It's not fair, it's not fair that she had to leave us the way she did or be killed the way she was, bleeding out onto the grass, her blood staining the green a crimson color. I look at my reflection in the mirror, my dark hair is a mess. I should brush it but when my hands wrap around the handle of the brush, I notice that they're shaking. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before taking my brush and running it through my hair. I wince as the bristles catch a tangle but force them through, just trying to smooth my normally cooperative hair. Once that's done, I fold my legs so that I'm sitting cross legged and I again run my hands through Shiva's fur, letting her purrs calm my shaking hands.

One day, that was how long she lasted in that bloody arena. I remember listening to her screams as she died, they haunt my nightmares. It's hard to believe that the girl I used to share a room with is gone. I need some air, I need to get out of this house. I haven't seen Bay in a few days, he's probably out drinking away his problems, sometimes I wish I could do what he does, just drink until I can't remember my sorrows but I have to be strong, I have to be strong for everyone else. My eyes open slowly, taking in the room around me and pushing down the rising tears that are threatening to spill down. I uncross my legs, being careful not to disturb the sleeping cat beside me. I silently pad down the hallway to the exit, slipping on my worn runners and my jacket, and leaving the house. Icy air blasts my face, waking me up completely. My feet carry me in no particular direction and before I know it, I find myself in an abandoned train yard. What is this doing here?

Resting my hand on an older beam, I pick my way through the place, the only other inhabitants the ghosts of the past. Who would have thought that some place like this could exist in district seven. I guess it kind of makes sense, the Capitol had to have some way of getting wood. The Capitol, I hate them. I hate what they've done to our family, they've torn it apart. Out here, nobody can hear my cries, my anger at what they've done to my sister, the monsters that tore her apart without so much as a second thought, my sorrow at the roommate that will never again inhabit the empty bed in my room. I let the cry out, the sound echoing around me. "Why did you have to pick her? Why did it have to be her name drawn? I hate you all." the tears begin to fall, dripping over my cheeks in hot torrents. My tears stop short as I hear a voice close by, it sounds familiar. I sniffle, trying to stop the running nose and carefully pick my way towards the voice. What I see shocks me. My older brother, Abyss, sits on some railway tracks, talking and letting out his frustration, speaking as if he is at a podium and speaking to an audience. I knew it hurt him, Siana's death, but I hadn't realized how much it hurt him. Cautiously, I make my presence known. "Abyss?" I call softly. I've never been very close with my oldest brother so I don't know how he'll react to me. I wipe away the tears, not wanting to be seen as weak to the most regal of all my family members.

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Ebbing waves of both frustration and brazen shouts continued to signal throughout the train yard, tucking into the fissures founded between scrap metal originating from rusty cars, and the ears longing to be covered from the biting air. The repulsive boys taunted with these abominable emotions deriving in my chest, how they persuaded maniacally over how running my throat hoarse out here would fill this metaphorical hole. To great depth, neurons knew of the results prematurely, that no matter how much the pain throbbed, Siana's would still be there. Except, not there, and that was the problem, the pain deceived perception, it was not a literal pain like the weapons used to force her into oblivion, but a chemical release to force torture on anybody sane enough to feel. Perhaps the problem failed to be that Siana was no longer herself, but that I was still sane. Sane enough to feel the things the brutes and their chemicals neglected to object to, and they could continue on without thinking twice. Yet, the hole was still there, even though it was tempting enough to drive me insane in order to fill it, like a tooth that was chipped. These tears developing over the film of my eyes made almost as much sense as the hole, because my body felt the need to over work enough to force me to feel worse. Pathetic. How was I to become head of house if I could barely resist acting out something as childish as a temper tantrum. Besides, this was who we were, our family, what we were supposed to be. Martyrs for bastardly state of luxury, to make people realize us for our glory, but forget about the ones who were left behind. These words felt different on paper, like the cold clawing my cheeks, because I never imagined that it would hurt as bad. Since birth, I was supposed to lavish in the outcomes of objectives, but when a human becomes just an object of worth, do they still matter? Siana was made out to be a clay soldier instead of a somebody, the only bodily freement she possessed was the cat that became just another ornament to boast about. Was I the same? Just a brain washed android, fit to fill out somebody else's intentions? No. Because had I been, my eyes would have found a different past time to participate in rather than coating itself in water to be soaked up in a press of a sleeve. Nor would I have been found by my sister, as if I had to be found like a goddamn child. Each repressed blotch of collected water mass seemed to appear at once on the clothe, along with Azea, as if my crying had lasted hours rather than short minutes. "Abyss?" Greeting the calling with a sniffle in order to assemble anything trying to escape instead of the unrequired grief holding the both of us loosely together, the muffled "Azea, I-" was consequently softer than intended. The phrase sat unfinished, either by pride or shock, but either way the ego sitting like a crown above my head refused to admit to the tears attempting to be exiled from view.