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dead man walking { 70th train thread
May 30, 2015 16:39:43 GMT -5
Post by D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza] on May 30, 2015 16:39:43 GMT -5
LXX
Alone is a word which I've learnt to befriend. Saying it aloud is no different to the voices inside my head repeating it over and over again. I've felt the word around me many times, but now that I sit in this deafening silence, it has a new meaning, a harsher meaning, something beyond you or me.
I have no older brother to take me into his arms and reassure me of the world, his touch to run through my hair when I am low. I am deprived of my younger sister, Anya, who I can hug and listen to. Where they were has been replaced by a blank space in my heart, so deep and gaping that nothing could ever substitute it. Fuelled by a heartbeat which is weak and shattered, a mind which is tired and battered - I begin to ask myself how I am still present in this life.
But Snow has offered me a new meaning, now. A meaning which is cryptic and enigmatic, so much so that the meaning is obscured to me. Was I chosen to die like twenty-two other teenagers, or was I chosen to win and return home to my family like a ghost which haunts so heartlessly?
I won't let myself think about it. Dwelling on the future creates dreams, dreams which I've learnt can be beaten and bruised in thick seconds. I can't help but think back to where I stood. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth as the concrete air moved like a soldier in and out of my lungs. I make it feel so mundane, so recognizable that it is like history is repeating itself.
I can't think like that.
A hand diving into an ocean of white paper slips, contaminated with jet-black ink, one with a simple name on. I never thought luck would drain from my wounds so easily, but in the seconds in which my head was down, I could hear the dripping of it all pouring out of me. Each drip reminding me that no one is safe, the last reminding me that safety is a lie.
It has brought me here, to a train which is so pristine it makes my skin crawl. It's a work of art, yet I feel the cursed memories of dead tributes sink into my skin and my mind provokes thoughts which are impure and harmful. My hand runs over the edge of my chair and I hear their voices call, I see their faces struck with fear and confusion.
Is that what I look like?
I shuffle slightly in my chair, bringing my legs upon to my chest as I turn to gaze out of the window. A world of misfortune is just beyond the glass and as it cascades past my eyes, I ask myself how people have managed to survive this long. We are forced into poverty and are made to suffer the devilish consequences. How do people survive this?
I remember that it can only get worse from here, I'm stuck in a cart with loose wheels which is headed down a steep hill. There's no escape for me any more, just a destiny which is plagued with heartbreak and disgust. The odds are stacked up against me now, I've fallen too far to feel and remember anything about everything.
All I have is myself and the blood which is slowly fading into view on my hands.
All I am is alone.
I have no older brother to take me into his arms and reassure me of the world, his touch to run through my hair when I am low. I am deprived of my younger sister, Anya, who I can hug and listen to. Where they were has been replaced by a blank space in my heart, so deep and gaping that nothing could ever substitute it. Fuelled by a heartbeat which is weak and shattered, a mind which is tired and battered - I begin to ask myself how I am still present in this life.
But Snow has offered me a new meaning, now. A meaning which is cryptic and enigmatic, so much so that the meaning is obscured to me. Was I chosen to die like twenty-two other teenagers, or was I chosen to win and return home to my family like a ghost which haunts so heartlessly?
I won't let myself think about it. Dwelling on the future creates dreams, dreams which I've learnt can be beaten and bruised in thick seconds. I can't help but think back to where I stood. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth as the concrete air moved like a soldier in and out of my lungs. I make it feel so mundane, so recognizable that it is like history is repeating itself.
I can't think like that.
A hand diving into an ocean of white paper slips, contaminated with jet-black ink, one with a simple name on. I never thought luck would drain from my wounds so easily, but in the seconds in which my head was down, I could hear the dripping of it all pouring out of me. Each drip reminding me that no one is safe, the last reminding me that safety is a lie.
It has brought me here, to a train which is so pristine it makes my skin crawl. It's a work of art, yet I feel the cursed memories of dead tributes sink into my skin and my mind provokes thoughts which are impure and harmful. My hand runs over the edge of my chair and I hear their voices call, I see their faces struck with fear and confusion.
Is that what I look like?
I shuffle slightly in my chair, bringing my legs upon to my chest as I turn to gaze out of the window. A world of misfortune is just beyond the glass and as it cascades past my eyes, I ask myself how people have managed to survive this long. We are forced into poverty and are made to suffer the devilish consequences. How do people survive this?
I remember that it can only get worse from here, I'm stuck in a cart with loose wheels which is headed down a steep hill. There's no escape for me any more, just a destiny which is plagued with heartbreak and disgust. The odds are stacked up against me now, I've fallen too far to feel and remember anything about everything.
All I have is myself and the blood which is slowly fading into view on my hands.
All I am is alone.
