sometimes it kills {saffron!oneshot}
Mar 8, 2014 5:42:35 GMT -5
Post by ✨ zozo. on Mar 8, 2014 5:42:35 GMT -5
[presto]  [/presto] |
S A F F R O N L O W E
I hate this.
I’m torn between wanting to smile and laugh and feel something for once and wanting to shut it all out. Somehow I’ve hovered in-between this state of living and death for all this time. (Perhaps I haven’t even left the arena at all. Not quite alive, not quite dead.) I thought that it would get better after I talked with them on the train, after I hovered quietly behind them as they lived in the Training Centre, as I passed reassuring smiles and kind glances towards them whenever I could. I lied to make it easier. I lied to give them hope. I now know why Mace did it too. To give them something to hold on to, to live for. To know that there’s someone out there that wants them to live. But as they drifted from my protection so did my will to be. Slowly, surely I have faded back into the way I was before. I barely speak, I barely move. (Eye has gone too, and with him my short, sweet experience of feeling alive. God forbid he’ll leave for good without giving it back.) I want to laugh and shout and feel again, but I daren’t let myself whilst my two newest souls are still in the arena. Although I glance at the television screens for three figures I am only frightened for two. Eye can take care of himself, I’m sure of it. But children from District Ten can't. And I'm living, breathing proof.
My stylists tug and prod at me to make me into their plaything once again and I let them, although this time I scowl, I flinch, I mutter underneath my breath. (’Oh Saffron darling why can’t you smile for once?’ Because fuck you, that’s why.) I don't want to but I have to, like I have to say goodbye to Thistle and Aurora and sit in a Capitol lounge and stare up at the screens and violently shake, just as they are upon their plates, and watch them run to their doom. I have to and I hate it. I hate it so much that I could burst.
But I don't. I just sit, and watch, and wait, and hold my breath.
60 seconds is nothing to someone like me. 60 seconds is a blink in a lifetime, an intake of breath, a mere minute that I shall forget the very next day. For people who have a lifetime ahead of them, 60 seconds is nothing. But for those tributes standing upon the plates 60 seconds is all the life they've got left. You turn to stone the minute you step off of that plate. In that moment you become a killer or get killed yourself. I have spent my last minute upon that plate and my last minute screaming over Ewe Saw's dead body and this last minute as a mentor with two tributes still alive, and my lungs scream as the minute ticks down to one last second because I can't breathe.
"Saffron do you need anything? A glass of water? Juice? Anything at all-"
"No I don't need anything Olive. Shut up and watch."
The room tastes of tension as they take flight. Olive's hands twitch in the corner of my eye and other irrelevant Capitolites assigned to District Ten hover around the screen. (I don't care. I don't care at all.) I can feel my body shaking as I did this time last year - and just like before I am uncertain as to whether I will come out alive. They tell me I will. I can only hope that one of them will live, too.
Something inside of me tells me that I should let myself breathe. As they race toward the cornucopia and blood begins to spill I am reminded that I have done everything in my power to help them survive. Gifted advice, answered questions once they get out alive. My bones still rattle and my veins sting with heat and my own surging memories of the bloodbath threatens to pour from my throat but I tell myself what I told Klaus, and Mace, and Opal, and every other soul I've ever touched since my arrival into my new forever. It's okay. It's okay. I'll be okay.
I breathe. Thistle falls.
I awake from a darkness screaming and thrashing.
I've been asleep for 3 days.
They told me I broke down as his head was sliced clean and the rest of his body hit the ground. And as I clawed at the screen and watched Aurora's arm fly from her body and Eye's leg snap a glass that once sat in front of me shattered against the wall and three pairs of arms had to hold me down before they jabbed a needle in my furious, fragile arm. They did this. They all did this. They knew it was my first year, they new I was in charge, they knew that I was supposed to keep them safe and they hunted them down. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but this is all too much and I fling myself from the bed they tell me I should rest in and yank away tubes of liquid prison designed to keep me trapped and I stagger out of the door, all thoughts carried away by the floods that swept me to my victory.
I want to call out to Mace, but as his name dances at the tip of my tongue I catch it between my teeth and swallow it down. I failed him. I failed them. (Almost, almost, I didn't see Aurora die, nor Eye, almost, I can make it, she can make it like I did.) Some protector I am. I let the Capitol twist them out of my hands and fashion them to their own command. (Like Lucy, I think. I failed her once upon a time. I failed them all.) Down, went Thistle. Down, went Aurora. Down, went Eye. Down went Lucy, Ivana, Cerise. My world is blurred with morphling colours and painted with confusion but they're the only three things that have ever kept me going so with each step down the hallways I mutter their names through my head. Lucy, Ivana, Cerise. Lucy, Ivana, Cerise. Thistle is dead, I'm sure of it, but Aurora got out. Aurora could come home, she should come home, she must come home-
"And there's the cannon signalling the death of District Ten's final tribute, killed by a nasty mutt poison I believe. Didn't even survive the night! Such a shame for the District considering our most recent Victor - but oh well, there's always next year. Moving on..."
They're lying. They're all lying.
She's not dead. They're not dead. (Eye is alive but they are dead.) I should have given better advice I could have gotten her some antidote if I didn't go and throw that damn glass against the wall and watch it shatter like my world did and throw myself back into my memories and oh god oh god Mace is going to kill me no I killed them I killed them I did it they're dead no god no why Mace help no no no no I'm sorry help Mace help me they're dead help them I failed I failed they're dead no they're all dead they're all dead Thistle no Aurora no I'm a failure they're dead Thistle Aurora Ewe Sticky Jim Cassie Lucy Ivana Cerise Lucy Ivana Cerise "LucyIvanaCeriseLucyIvanaCerise LUCY IVANA CERISE-"
They are all I can see when I shut my eyes. Hands grasp at me - they've found me no doubt - and I can feel myself slumping forward under the weight of the world and the two souls I let down and the cracks that puncture my chest even before the needle invades my body and the drugs distort my vision to darkness. They're all I see, hear, feel. They're all I ever do.
"Lucy... Ivana... Cerise... Lucy... Iv... Cer... Lu..."
I sleep.
Because there's no nightmares to plague me when I'm already living one.
I’m torn between wanting to smile and laugh and feel something for once and wanting to shut it all out. Somehow I’ve hovered in-between this state of living and death for all this time. (Perhaps I haven’t even left the arena at all. Not quite alive, not quite dead.) I thought that it would get better after I talked with them on the train, after I hovered quietly behind them as they lived in the Training Centre, as I passed reassuring smiles and kind glances towards them whenever I could. I lied to make it easier. I lied to give them hope. I now know why Mace did it too. To give them something to hold on to, to live for. To know that there’s someone out there that wants them to live. But as they drifted from my protection so did my will to be. Slowly, surely I have faded back into the way I was before. I barely speak, I barely move. (Eye has gone too, and with him my short, sweet experience of feeling alive. God forbid he’ll leave for good without giving it back.) I want to laugh and shout and feel again, but I daren’t let myself whilst my two newest souls are still in the arena. Although I glance at the television screens for three figures I am only frightened for two. Eye can take care of himself, I’m sure of it. But children from District Ten can't. And I'm living, breathing proof.
My stylists tug and prod at me to make me into their plaything once again and I let them, although this time I scowl, I flinch, I mutter underneath my breath. (’Oh Saffron darling why can’t you smile for once?’ Because fuck you, that’s why.) I don't want to but I have to, like I have to say goodbye to Thistle and Aurora and sit in a Capitol lounge and stare up at the screens and violently shake, just as they are upon their plates, and watch them run to their doom. I have to and I hate it. I hate it so much that I could burst.
But I don't. I just sit, and watch, and wait, and hold my breath.
60 seconds is nothing to someone like me. 60 seconds is a blink in a lifetime, an intake of breath, a mere minute that I shall forget the very next day. For people who have a lifetime ahead of them, 60 seconds is nothing. But for those tributes standing upon the plates 60 seconds is all the life they've got left. You turn to stone the minute you step off of that plate. In that moment you become a killer or get killed yourself. I have spent my last minute upon that plate and my last minute screaming over Ewe Saw's dead body and this last minute as a mentor with two tributes still alive, and my lungs scream as the minute ticks down to one last second because I can't breathe.
"Saffron do you need anything? A glass of water? Juice? Anything at all-"
"No I don't need anything Olive. Shut up and watch."
The room tastes of tension as they take flight. Olive's hands twitch in the corner of my eye and other irrelevant Capitolites assigned to District Ten hover around the screen. (I don't care. I don't care at all.) I can feel my body shaking as I did this time last year - and just like before I am uncertain as to whether I will come out alive. They tell me I will. I can only hope that one of them will live, too.
Something inside of me tells me that I should let myself breathe. As they race toward the cornucopia and blood begins to spill I am reminded that I have done everything in my power to help them survive. Gifted advice, answered questions once they get out alive. My bones still rattle and my veins sting with heat and my own surging memories of the bloodbath threatens to pour from my throat but I tell myself what I told Klaus, and Mace, and Opal, and every other soul I've ever touched since my arrival into my new forever. It's okay. It's okay. I'll be okay.
I breathe. Thistle falls.
I awake from a darkness screaming and thrashing.
I've been asleep for 3 days.
They told me I broke down as his head was sliced clean and the rest of his body hit the ground. And as I clawed at the screen and watched Aurora's arm fly from her body and Eye's leg snap a glass that once sat in front of me shattered against the wall and three pairs of arms had to hold me down before they jabbed a needle in my furious, fragile arm. They did this. They all did this. They knew it was my first year, they new I was in charge, they knew that I was supposed to keep them safe and they hunted them down. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but this is all too much and I fling myself from the bed they tell me I should rest in and yank away tubes of liquid prison designed to keep me trapped and I stagger out of the door, all thoughts carried away by the floods that swept me to my victory.
I want to call out to Mace, but as his name dances at the tip of my tongue I catch it between my teeth and swallow it down. I failed him. I failed them. (Almost, almost, I didn't see Aurora die, nor Eye, almost, I can make it, she can make it like I did.) Some protector I am. I let the Capitol twist them out of my hands and fashion them to their own command. (Like Lucy, I think. I failed her once upon a time. I failed them all.) Down, went Thistle. Down, went Aurora. Down, went Eye. Down went Lucy, Ivana, Cerise. My world is blurred with morphling colours and painted with confusion but they're the only three things that have ever kept me going so with each step down the hallways I mutter their names through my head. Lucy, Ivana, Cerise. Lucy, Ivana, Cerise. Thistle is dead, I'm sure of it, but Aurora got out. Aurora could come home, she should come home, she must come home-
"And there's the cannon signalling the death of District Ten's final tribute, killed by a nasty mutt poison I believe. Didn't even survive the night! Such a shame for the District considering our most recent Victor - but oh well, there's always next year. Moving on..."
They're lying. They're all lying.
She's not dead. They're not dead. (Eye is alive but they are dead.) I should have given better advice I could have gotten her some antidote if I didn't go and throw that damn glass against the wall and watch it shatter like my world did and throw myself back into my memories and oh god oh god Mace is going to kill me no I killed them I killed them I did it they're dead no god no why Mace help no no no no I'm sorry help Mace help me they're dead help them I failed I failed they're dead no they're all dead they're all dead Thistle no Aurora no I'm a failure they're dead Thistle Aurora Ewe Sticky Jim Cassie Lucy Ivana Cerise Lucy Ivana Cerise "LucyIvanaCeriseLucyIvanaCerise LUCY IVANA CERISE-"
They are all I can see when I shut my eyes. Hands grasp at me - they've found me no doubt - and I can feel myself slumping forward under the weight of the world and the two souls I let down and the cracks that puncture my chest even before the needle invades my body and the drugs distort my vision to darkness. They're all I see, hear, feel. They're all I ever do.
"Lucy... Ivana... Cerise... Lucy... Iv... Cer... Lu..."
I sleep.
Because there's no nightmares to plague me when I'm already living one.
[presto]  [/presto] |
