almost { a l i e n } . cass . blitz

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[attr="class","congrats"] Quadrys Lexig H E I R  T O  T H E  L E X I G  T H R O N E Your little brother never tells you, but he loves you so - you said your mother only smiled on her TV show The next time I see him, his eyes are lines, his face is stilled, and his bed is but a wooden box upon stone slab. There's something oddly peaceful about death, and the way it chooses its victims, but I have no room to complain in this instance; this is my fault, I remind myself and it saddens me to think that some how- some way- this could have been prevented. The sun peeks out from behind a clique of grey clouds to say hello, and check on how I'm doing; I shoo it away with a splayed-out hand over my eye and presume my examination, but it does not flee. I laugh softly to this and run a finger over my likeness' forehead. It shouldn't be so cheerful out on the day that my brother is finding his new home six feet under.  The idea of Septys Lexig seems almost alien, now, and it terrifies me.  Off to the left somewhere, I hear a quick clash of childish giggles, the innocence held in pipe-whistle voice a luxury to the man who lost his friendly demeanor the second his mother put a bullet through her head. I envy them, but don't wish anything bad upon their enjoyment of life. A wave of nausea rushes through me at the thought of growing up, and I sit at the foot of where one-forth of the Lexigs rests in silence. I'm drawn to the sight of another box six or so feet over, but I'll see her later- I'll see Ruth Foster later- because now, I'm spending time with the boy who I hated up until this very moment. How hilarious it is, that things change when brought on by the death of someone who cared so little but loved so much.

You're only happy when your

sorry head is filled with dope
I hope you make it to the day you're twenty-eight years old

made by remi of rilla go! & adoxography

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[cass]

OPAL

She was finally home. After those weeks within the confines of the Capitol she could finally try and pretend that the following year wouldn't be as disastrous and painful as the next. But, just like every year the nightmare of the Capitol was still tied to her bones, and  it didn't matter, it was the same, every year. Her heart was going to be torn once more, as she looked around the graveyard. The black clothes that clung to her were as stained as her heart. No matter how many times she had to do this it would always be this hard. 

The worst art was trying to look at the siblings, the parents. Trying to find the right words to say she was sorry, but knowing that no apology at all could make up for their loss. She knew what it felt like, to lose a sibling. She clutched the dress tightly in her hands, the bitterly cold air snapping at her exposed skin as she headed into the building by the graveyard. The amount of headstones that lined the ground made her chest ache, it was always a battle to resist the urge cry when she was here, especially when she knew the names. Another death because of her.

Septys, Ruth, two more names she wouldn't forget, and yet her heart hoped she could.

[flyss]

[googlefont="La Belle Aurore:400"]

[attr="class","congrats"] Quadrys Lexig H E I R  T O  T H E  L E X I G  T H R O N E Your little brother never tells you, but he loves you so - you said your mother only smiled on her TV show I can't stand silence- I've never been able to, truthfully, but in the past few weeks, there's always seemed to be too much of it. Days spent locked in my room, weeks spent ignoring the others who mourn just as much as I, and years of wishing him to be gone, only to get just that. So this is our alone time, I guess, where we don't yell, and where it's just a one-on-one. The purest of conversations, yet the most consuming; you don't have to make a deal with the devil to talk to the dead. "So," I sigh and lean my head back onto the stone that he box rests on. I'm sure others can hear me- it's impossible for them to not- but I can only hope that they have the dignity to leave me alone. Of course, I would welcome contact here- anything to get my mind off of the evident- but not right now. Not when I'm stuck trying to make myself happy when in reality, all I'm doing is making myself miserable. "It's been a while, huh?"  "We've both changed quite a bit, but.. you're not looking to well, are you?" My voice cracks on the last few words and I find myself pushing my legs off of the ground to stand up- I need to get out of here, no matter where I have to go. So I decide to visit Mom- the same mom that killed herself because her baby boy was too damn queer for his own good- and tell her that her only successful son practically followed in her footsteps. I'm not sure where she is in the mess of headstones, but I'll get there somehow. At least it's better than wallowing in an ocean of 'what-ifs'.

You're only happy when your

sorry head is filled with dope
I hope you make it to the day you're twenty-eight years old

made by remi of rilla go! & adoxography

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