{ S t a t i c } - { Preston's Last }
Jul 30, 2015 2:24:05 GMT -5
Post by flyss on Jul 30, 2015 2:24:05 GMT -5
[googlefont="Cabin:400"]
table by anzie
preston
tribute of the 70th hunger games
tribute of the 70th hunger games
We should go to sleep now
You should stay the night
I'll be up to watch the world around us live and die
Lying on the grass now
Dancing for the stars
Maybe one will look down on us and tell us who we are
My fingertips are painted bruise red, yet they don't feel anything like a masterpiece; after all, when the puddle of blood that pools at my feet takes the place of my shadow, I can't quite tell if it's my own or Asher's that makes it all the more sickening. "We're dying," I whisper to him when I stumble back a step and fall to the ground, nearly finding my place in the water. "Doesn't it feel like everything they said it would be?" A dry laugh falls from cracked lips, but this is no laughing matter- my chest is a waterfall, and I'm drowning from the inside out.
The shirt that was once white on my abdomen has turned red by now, and again, I laugh in a way that isn't entirely there because isn't that just the perfect testimony to how I've changed as not only a tribute, but a person? Crimson was such a gorgeous colour until it doused itself upon me, and I've come to think that black is so much more fitting when you, yourself, are dying and not the children on the TV screens.
The games is not about killing others, you see- it's about killing yourself. They want you to be as vulnerable as possible because the moment you step foot on that stage, you are no longer human- you are a creation of bright colours and make-up and one too many hidden tears, of fake smiles and steel toed dress shoes and making friends with your enemies, of chocolate cakes and missing home, and wishing that you could hide even when you know that you can't. A machine, they will have made you by the time you leave their grasp because that's all they know to do. Truthfully, it's all anyone knows to do when they have handfuls of glitter shoved up their asses like stuffing.
It's thanksgiving day and my appetite has diminished into the soft pitter-patter of rain on the ceiling and words that are too loud being shared between two children like bullets from a gun. Fists that are balled and white knuckled knot themselves in my shirt like they'll mute the noises, but each padded tip simply finds comfort in a colour that I can't stand because what else are they supposed to do when it hurts so damn bad. I'm ripping into two, my flesh and bone working against each other as if they were magnetic, and the only thing I'm able to do is sob into the cement and whisper the names of those who don't care.
"Emil-ie.." Bile rises in my throat when I say her name because fuck- I'll never get to see that beautiful face of hers again; I didn't even bother to tell her goodbye. I left her wide open and broken and cracked, and for that, I will never forgive myself. "Emilie," I start again, whispering to what is left of me with a confidence that if heard, would shatter into a spiderweb of glass. "I- I'm sorry." When I speak, the sound is broken because the pain in my chest is no longer only what's tangible, and I can tell it- through the choked sobs and open wounds, I can definitely, certainly, tell it. And again, I repeat those words that I've already said once before because no matter how hard I swallow, no part of me wants to believe that they're true. "I'm dying."
I can only hope that she knows I'm talking to her.
There's so much more I want to say, but I can't, and it feels like I'm already gone even though I'm still very much there. My voice has left me alone in the dark and even though the illumination of Kiena's lantern leaves me with a warm glow somewhere deep inside, it also allows my eyes to travel to the one person who I've been avoiding since the moment I watched him fall to the ground.
"Asher.."
And suddenly, it all comes crashing down to me. He's dead, I scream to myself even though I'm the only one that can hear- the only one that will ever hear- and for a moment, I can do nothing but sob dryly because I ended this kid's life and he trusted me. When I look to his chest, I can see the crusted blood playing tag as if it didn't carry the weight of his death on broad shoulders, back too full that if anything was added, it would break. Canons mingle with the thunder above us and I'm not sure if any of them are his or not, but even if he were alive, there's no guarantee that I would have any words to say besides the automatic I'm sorry that comes to mind. Just like he had said, it was time for me to learn the meaning of betrayal- joke's on him, though; I already had.
And it was in times like these, where I cannot move anything aside from my lips, and my arms have long since given out from holding me up, that I realise I learned that lesson long before it was even an issue; it's not that hard to lose others' trust, when you don't even have your own.
Please forgive me, Emilie, and Asher, and Gunner, and Nat, and so many others that I never got the chance to learn the name of because just like you, I couldn't win this fucked up game, either- nobody can, I've come to learn, and it's sickening because I sure as hell would have liked to see some of you guys shine. I swallow hard and frown because I don't have the energy to say any of that, to give myself a proper goodbye, and even though it's the last slice of humanity that I'm allowed, I refuse to finish the cake that I never started. Instead, I stop holding back the tears that have long since brimmed my eyes and look up to the only person that my voice can audibly reach the ears of.
She thinks I'm disgusting, my thoughts run rampant as I stare up to her with half-lidded eyes and vision that can't seem to focus on a single thing for more than a second. I killed my ally, and hell, I'm going to die here by his side, our blood mixing into some concoction from a story book.
And then it hits me- I'm going to die here by his side. I do everything I can to keep my breathing steady, and it works for a brief moment, but when the tidal wave that I had been suppressing comes and washes over me with the force of a thousand men, no longer can I place on my mask of 'okay' and convince everyone around me that I'm old enough to be held accountable for my actions. I'm thirteen god-damn years old and I'm going to die in the moist and death-ridden labyrinth that I killed the only person I trusted in.
So with a choked sob and every last bit of will I can muster behind my words, I pull up my head up from it's rocked pillow and face the giant that had sent my world crashing to the ground with the flick of her wrist.
"Get me away from him."
And then I hear her response.
"Okay... okay."
You should stay the night
I'll be up to watch the world around us live and die
Lying on the grass now
Dancing for the stars
Maybe one will look down on us and tell us who we are
My fingertips are painted bruise red, yet they don't feel anything like a masterpiece; after all, when the puddle of blood that pools at my feet takes the place of my shadow, I can't quite tell if it's my own or Asher's that makes it all the more sickening. "We're dying," I whisper to him when I stumble back a step and fall to the ground, nearly finding my place in the water. "Doesn't it feel like everything they said it would be?" A dry laugh falls from cracked lips, but this is no laughing matter- my chest is a waterfall, and I'm drowning from the inside out.
The shirt that was once white on my abdomen has turned red by now, and again, I laugh in a way that isn't entirely there because isn't that just the perfect testimony to how I've changed as not only a tribute, but a person? Crimson was such a gorgeous colour until it doused itself upon me, and I've come to think that black is so much more fitting when you, yourself, are dying and not the children on the TV screens.
The games is not about killing others, you see- it's about killing yourself. They want you to be as vulnerable as possible because the moment you step foot on that stage, you are no longer human- you are a creation of bright colours and make-up and one too many hidden tears, of fake smiles and steel toed dress shoes and making friends with your enemies, of chocolate cakes and missing home, and wishing that you could hide even when you know that you can't. A machine, they will have made you by the time you leave their grasp because that's all they know to do. Truthfully, it's all anyone knows to do when they have handfuls of glitter shoved up their asses like stuffing.
It's thanksgiving day and my appetite has diminished into the soft pitter-patter of rain on the ceiling and words that are too loud being shared between two children like bullets from a gun. Fists that are balled and white knuckled knot themselves in my shirt like they'll mute the noises, but each padded tip simply finds comfort in a colour that I can't stand because what else are they supposed to do when it hurts so damn bad. I'm ripping into two, my flesh and bone working against each other as if they were magnetic, and the only thing I'm able to do is sob into the cement and whisper the names of those who don't care.
"Emil-ie.." Bile rises in my throat when I say her name because fuck- I'll never get to see that beautiful face of hers again; I didn't even bother to tell her goodbye. I left her wide open and broken and cracked, and for that, I will never forgive myself. "Emilie," I start again, whispering to what is left of me with a confidence that if heard, would shatter into a spiderweb of glass. "I- I'm sorry." When I speak, the sound is broken because the pain in my chest is no longer only what's tangible, and I can tell it- through the choked sobs and open wounds, I can definitely, certainly, tell it. And again, I repeat those words that I've already said once before because no matter how hard I swallow, no part of me wants to believe that they're true. "I'm dying."
I can only hope that she knows I'm talking to her.
There's so much more I want to say, but I can't, and it feels like I'm already gone even though I'm still very much there. My voice has left me alone in the dark and even though the illumination of Kiena's lantern leaves me with a warm glow somewhere deep inside, it also allows my eyes to travel to the one person who I've been avoiding since the moment I watched him fall to the ground.
"Asher.."
And suddenly, it all comes crashing down to me. He's dead, I scream to myself even though I'm the only one that can hear- the only one that will ever hear- and for a moment, I can do nothing but sob dryly because I ended this kid's life and he trusted me. When I look to his chest, I can see the crusted blood playing tag as if it didn't carry the weight of his death on broad shoulders, back too full that if anything was added, it would break. Canons mingle with the thunder above us and I'm not sure if any of them are his or not, but even if he were alive, there's no guarantee that I would have any words to say besides the automatic I'm sorry that comes to mind. Just like he had said, it was time for me to learn the meaning of betrayal- joke's on him, though; I already had.
And it was in times like these, where I cannot move anything aside from my lips, and my arms have long since given out from holding me up, that I realise I learned that lesson long before it was even an issue; it's not that hard to lose others' trust, when you don't even have your own.
Please forgive me, Emilie, and Asher, and Gunner, and Nat, and so many others that I never got the chance to learn the name of because just like you, I couldn't win this fucked up game, either- nobody can, I've come to learn, and it's sickening because I sure as hell would have liked to see some of you guys shine. I swallow hard and frown because I don't have the energy to say any of that, to give myself a proper goodbye, and even though it's the last slice of humanity that I'm allowed, I refuse to finish the cake that I never started. Instead, I stop holding back the tears that have long since brimmed my eyes and look up to the only person that my voice can audibly reach the ears of.
She thinks I'm disgusting, my thoughts run rampant as I stare up to her with half-lidded eyes and vision that can't seem to focus on a single thing for more than a second. I killed my ally, and hell, I'm going to die here by his side, our blood mixing into some concoction from a story book.
And then it hits me- I'm going to die here by his side. I do everything I can to keep my breathing steady, and it works for a brief moment, but when the tidal wave that I had been suppressing comes and washes over me with the force of a thousand men, no longer can I place on my mask of 'okay' and convince everyone around me that I'm old enough to be held accountable for my actions. I'm thirteen god-damn years old and I'm going to die in the moist and death-ridden labyrinth that I killed the only person I trusted in.
So with a choked sob and every last bit of will I can muster behind my words, I pull up my head up from it's rocked pillow and face the giant that had sent my world crashing to the ground with the flick of her wrist.
"Get me away from him."
And then I hear her response.
"Okay... okay."
Now that we are older
I remember you
Reaching out to show me all the things that I must do
Now that we are older
I remember youth
Now that we are close to death and close to finding truth
I remember you
Reaching out to show me all the things that I must do
Now that we are older
I remember youth
Now that we are close to death and close to finding truth
