One Life, One Decision. {Kirk Marshall Death Post}

[charade]

Kirk Marshall

district ten male

If I could set the clock back,
I wouldn’t be headed for a bodybag

“C’mon! Ya ain’t afraid of the dark are ya?”

He grinned, nodding to Crusader’s district partner as she drew near. She was small, maybe the same age as Esme. Maybe if they survived this Esme and her could be friends, might take the edge off of losing Emery.Then there was a sudden feeling of warmth on his neck. Kirk looked down in surprise to see Stella’s knife coated with blood. Blood that was coming from his throat. This he realized belatedly. He had a moment to look at Stella and then Crusader with confusion in his eyes. Just a moment. Then he was falling backwards, spreadeagled out on a bed of mushrooms.  The flashes of light blended together with the eerie glow of the fungus, creating a sort of miniature sun.  A sun that looked like it was setting on the rest of his life. 


                                                                    ***
Kirk Marshall was a blacksmith.

The kind that whistled while he worked on making nameplates for deceased tributes and hummed when he made horseshoes. The forge was where he felt most at home, surrounded by clangs and sizzles. It was when he was working with his hands that he felt the most alive. There was something about the weight of a hammer that was comforting. The same could be said for the heat, or the smiles on customers faces when they got what they came for.  These were the things that put a smile on his own face.

Kirk Marshall was a son.

Though if you asked him, he would have said he wasn’t a very good one. Kirk was just a kid when his folks split and he had sided with his mom. He had tried to be the glue that held her together, but working with people wasn’t the same as working with metal, and eventually Kirk had found himself alone. Sometimes people were sturdier than steel and sometimes they were more brittle than glass. And it was hard to tell which would turn out to be which. Kirk wasn't sure which kind he was himself to tell the truth.

Kirk Marshall was a friend.

Mace Emberstatt was the first person that ever made Kirk feel like he might be worth something. Esme Truss was the first person that ever made Kirk feel like he had something worth fighting for. Crusader Rhodes was the first person that ever made Kirk feel like someone understood him. Saffron Lowe was the first person that ever reminded him to appreciate the little moments. And Animus? Animus was the first person that ever made Kirk realize the effect he could have on people. They all meant something to him, even if he didn’t quite understand exactly what that was.

Kirk Marshall was a tribute.

Was it the right decision to pick a fight with the careers? Kirk liked to think so. Careers were bred to kill, and his grandpappy had always said that those who lived by the sword would die by it. The strong attacked the weak instead of defending them, which was why some people had to go against the grain. And it was those people that inevitably died trying to do so. The brightest people tried to share their light and burned themselves out in the process. The right thing was usually the hard thing. But it was worth it in the end.

Kirk Marshall was many things, but he was not a killer.

Killing was something he had never been able to come to terms with. As he had told Mace on that first and final train ride, he used his hands to create things, not destroy them. It just wasn’t in his nature. And he wasn’t going to change that. Not for anyone or anything. There are some things so deeply ingrained in what makes a person who they are, that nothing in the world could stop them from being them. And so Kirk had tried to protect Esme, and he had managed to get her through two days. Not nearly as much as he had hoped, but it was something. He hadn’t killed a single tribute, only sliced a few several times. Not nearly as much as he hoped, but it was something. And sometimes, that was all you could do.
                                                                  ***
Kirk blinked and stood up.

He was standing at the front of a line of people that stretched behind him into the distance. There was an old man sitting at a desk with a book. Behind him, a huge pearly gate, bigger than most buildings shined from a light source that Kirk wasn’t quite sure about. And in the sky? Stars upon stars upon stars. “Name?” the old man asked. “Kirk.” The old man gave him a look. “Kirk Marshall.” The old man nodded and started leafing through the book. While the man did that, Kirk looked around, trying to figure out where he was. He had the feeling that he was forgetting something important.

“Ah here we are, Kirk Marshall. Born the year of the fiftieth hunger games, died the year of the sixty-eighth.” Kirk blinked in surprise. “Ah’m dead? This is... tha city?” The old man gave him an admonishing look. “Well where did you think you were? Kansas?” Kirk was about to say that he didn’t know what a Kansas was, but the old man cut him off before he could say anything.


“Shush. I know you don’t know what Kansas is. But here, don’t believe me?” The man opened the book and Kirk watched in amazement as the open page turned into a television screen. It showed Stella slashing his neck the same way Esme had slashed Kendricks. Which meant he was undeniably dead. Fear gripped his gut. “What about Esme?” The old man sighed and changed the page. The screen showed Esme and another tribute fighting a giant monstrosity.

“No, you can’t do anything to help her now,” the old man said as if reading his thoughts. “You’re dead remember? The good news is that your name is in the book. So you can go in when you're ready.” Kirk felt flustered. Every time he tried to say something he got cut off. But the old man was right. There was nothing he could do now. At least there was someone else looking out for her.

Kirk fidgeted for a minute or two but couldn't come up with a good argument about anything. So he straightened his back, and tipped his hat, smiling at the old man as the gate opened, not having anything else to ask. “Shoot mistah, I been wondering about this place ma whole life! Darn tootin I’m ready to go in!” Kirk passed the threshold of the gate and immediately found himself enveloped in a feeling that he wasn’t able to describe.

But if he had to pick a word? He would have gone with,

                                                           Home.

                                                             ***

As the light left Kirk Marshall’s eyes, a smile formed on his bloody lips.

                     There was more than one way to be free of the arena. 

                                                 And he had found his. 

"Take my love, take my land
Take me where I cannot stand
I don’t care, I’m still free
You can’t take the sky from me
Take me out to the black
Tell them I ain’t comin’ back
Burn the land and boil the sea
You can’t take the sky from me
There’s no place I can be
Since I found Serenity
But you can’t take the sky from me…”