show me how you self destruct; gaby

[heather - d2 [mylee]]

{ ryleigh summit }

It has been said that people who enjoy the acrid taste that accompanies items of the sort— black coffee and tea, for example, are people that do not fear the future.

One can approach their opinion of this category of people in one of two ways. The first being that admiration could creep into the fingertips. For these are truly people that have everything figured out— as much is to ever be by humankind, that is. They understand the direction in which their life is heading and they are not afraid. Their paths are well-defined and narrow, and they do not worry much about the forks that occasionally do appear in the road, for if the destination is known, what that remains in the present could ever be frightening?

I do not lay claim to this perspective as my own.

The second approach to this group of individuals is to feel nothing more than sympathy. For a lack of fear of what is unknown indicates no remorse or regret about what is set in stone. Death is an ultimatum unable to be escaped by any mortal being, but those who accepted this without distress were those that had nothing worth living for.

I did not feel sorry for them, either.

But if I am not to waver on either side of the spectrum, that must mean I am part of the sample in question.

If that is to say I do not fear the future, then so be it.

End points are inevitable— this is apparent from the population of graveyards growing and church pews shrinking. Those who accept the claim that there is something to be sought beyond a final heartbeat or last breath drawn are those who claim that the soul is something meant to be fulfilled; that humans are something more than flesh, bone, and the occasional show of emotion.

Pitiful.

I am a girl built on the bones of a family name held in tandem by the death of a sister that could not leave a legacy under which we could take shelter or pride. She had stripped our household of its foundation and blamed us when the walls crumbed at her burial. Neighbors and acquaintances had laid their hands on our shoulders and patted our backs— they had the audacity to tell us how brave of a girl she had been, that the poorest outcomes usually fell on the most peaceful souls.

Bullshit.

I shrugged their hands from my shoulder and avoided their comforting touch. I would not be consoled at the notion of failure. I never once blamed my sister for falling to a fate that was not hers to design— she was as simply human as any other. But I would not excuse those who did not know her to tell me their two cents about what her life had meant.

I am not one to turn away donations, but not at the expense of listening to hollow words that have the momentum to snap my bones with each letter.

However, to say that I did not value the feeling of my skin on fire would be a lie in itself.

I visited her grave solely for this reason. I would run my fingertips along the lettering— Stella Summit, sustained by the stars and starved of second chances. Reaching the date of her death I would jerk my hand away with sudden intention, as if I had just been shocked by a current of electricity connected to the source of power I was sure laid hidden in her buried heart.

I did not fear the future because I knew what laid ahead, and I had the privilege of staring it in the eyes every time I read the inscription on my sister’s tombstone.

Today, there is no electricity reflected in the space between sky and stone. There is no hand of mine laid with intention upon the surface meaning to expect to have the dead fill me with life once more, no. Today, there is nothing more than an empty chest facing the grave of Stella Summit interrupted by the presence of another lingering mind in the near vicinity.

I have never been good with first impressions, and so I cannot manage to tell if the girl who stands just forty feet to my left falls into either category of established opinions or lies with me in this shallow trench. The war that rages on around us is not filled with terrain that is apt to offer protection. Hiding on these grounds is the same as charging up the open hill unarmed— dangerous, risky, and oh so laced with adrenaline.

I have never been one to draft the terms and conditions of surrender, so without turning my gaze to meet her own I stare coldly at the packed dirt at my feet, “Family, friend, or stranger— who’d you have the misfortune to lose?”

I am not a girl with a true care in the world, but maybe curiosity has taken over my veins.

[Sleepy Fluttershy]

Leticia Wheeler

Everything sucked today. I got into so much trouble, that I don't even have any anger left in me, just want to go and sit somewhere quiet to calm down. I never feel sad, but today too many awful things happened. First of all, I didn't go to school today, as usual, but unfortunately, I was noticed by my teacher's mother while wandering around the district. Naturally, when I came home, mum was there already and I had to listen to a two-hour lecture about how bad my attitude towards school is and how grateful I should be for getting a chance to study and how stupid and immature of me it was to ignore the lessons and homeworks, and so on. I almost fell asleep by the end of it, but tried to look like I was terribly sorry about not going to school. However it was not the only unpleasant thing today. I also had nothing to eat because there was no food at home, as it often happened and now a revolution of some sort was raging inside my stomach, which is never nice. And on top of it, Aileen accidentally spilled a glass of water on my clothes, so I was all wet and trembling, because it is always cold in our house in autumn. I didn't even yell anything, because it was just the last drop. I just said "DAMN IT! WHEN WILL YOU FINALLY LEARN TO WATCH WHERE YOU ARE GOING?!" maybe only a little too loudly and went to my room upstairs.

After closing the door behind me I felt lonely. I couldn't even go down and talk to my brother, because I had to avoid my sister and mother at this point. The weather was gloomy, it was dark and uncomfortable in my room, everything seemed dull and I was literally freaking out. So I couldn't spend much more time at home and decided to go for a walk. Sneaking out without being noticed by anyone is not an easy task, but I manage it in the end. Nobody can see me leaving except for Lucas, who gives me a sympathetic smile and waves goodbye to me when no one is looking. I go out in the street and start walking somewhere... Nowhere, actually. But all the places I usually love to walk around look depressing right now. So I take a right turn, two left turns and start heading to a place I don't usually visit too often. My father's grave. I just don't know, where else to go now.

When I reach the destination eventually, I don't move at first. I am just glaring at the tombstone and thinking: "What did I actually come here for?" Finally I decide to say something quietly just to say something, because silence troubles me a little. "Hello, father... Dear father, don't worry, it's not Aileen, it is me, so you won't hear anything like whining about a school grade or not being kind and good enough, I don't care about that kind of stuff. And I never complain. Mum says I am a lot like you, so you will probably understand, why. And, unfortunately, there's s not much to say, anyway. To be honest, I just came here spontaneously. And I don't know what to talk about." After the end of my monologue I stand there and do nothing. Five minutes pass in silence. I don't want to go anywhere, it feels comforting to stand there and stop thinking for a short while.

"Family, friend or stranger - who'd you have misfortune to lose?" Someone's voice says that just a few feet away from me. I raise my head from dad's grave and look around to see the one speaking, and that's how I discover that I'm not alone here anymore. There is a girl standing not very far from me. I don't know if I wish to answer her question or just walk off to have some privacy... But maybe if I tell her what she wants to know, she won't ask any more questions. So I open my mouth and answer: "My father." Yes, as simple as that. I don't want to provide any sentimental explanations of what I am doing here, two words are more than enough.

[heather - d2 [mylee]]

{ ryleigh summit }

I find it ironic that loss is subjective while death is not.

We can trick the mind into believing death is a falsity, but when the fog has cleared and the ashes refuse to shield the world in smoke it becomes very clear who has been buried beneath the ground and who is standing on that ground which is now considered broken and simultaneously new.

However, lost and missed are words that can tickle the tongue or burn them when spoken in regards to the end of a life lived for better or worse.

I do not know if my sister was lost or missed by the world or if it was truly anyone’s business to find out. To each their own was an idea rejected by my mother and embraced by myself, for each of us in the household had a different stance on what it meant to have a house devoid of Stella Summit.

From my own perspective, the world had still not realized that it had been stripped of anything at all. Besides, one life lost to the world is simply another second passing; another speck on the timeline of no significance. The only reason the world has become aware that it has lost anything at all is because we use tombstones to make the places we have buried our dead. Graves are nothing more than blemishes and scars upon smooth skin— defining and unwanted but never permanently forgotten.

I believe that sometimes the thoughts of those we have lost do slip from our minds. Perhaps this is nothing more than the mind’s automatic way of coping with that which it does not understand, but for the time when this knowledge manages to fall to the wayside, we are able to go about our lives believing that our souls have remained unmarred.

It is the greatest sin one can commit to die still believing that the soul in their chest has remained in tact throughout the span of a lifetime.

I do not hold the opinion that the soul is the key to identity, for if I did this world would be full of nothing more than dead men in hollow minds pacing the earth to waste time. This being stated, I have not been able to identify what aspect of ourselves that foundationally defines who we were if we were to be stripped down to nothing but namesake. I have heard mind, body, and soul proposed— soul ruled out and only two options were to be left; however, both are flawed and fitting to human nature. Perhaps we are nothing more than the shifting consequences of our decisions.

If soul is to truly be ruled out due to our own moral infidelity, body is often turned to as the ultimatum. However, every scar sets us apart from the human we were the day before, so how am I to say that I am who I was a year, a day, or a month ago? This body has changed and so have I, so along with my sister it appears to me that I have buried every past self alongside her.

It is a shame that these are the graves that remain invisible.

These two points eliminated I am only left to consider my mind as a defining factor. The description was one that appeared to fit at first glance, for are we not the thoughts that pass from mind to tongue and back into the world? But then, what is to be said for the lost minds that cannot complete the cycle? What happens to the minds that have long since stilled though the body carries on?

(“I think; therefore I am.”)

I pray that I leave the world in a manner different from my sister, for she was waning thin long before the girl from three had managed to make her heart finally stop. I am sure that her mind was gone before then— how horrid it must have been. I wish to be gone instantaneously, perhaps through a shot to the heart or something just as dramatic but still unseen.

Anything would be acceptable, as long as I did not have to think about lingering consequences for any longer than a moment.

She breaks my silence with an answer to my question that is shallower than the grave at her feet, “My father.”

I suppose she was a believer in explanations left unspoken; however, I am not.

But viewing this graveyard from her perspective I could arrive at understanding the story she has not brought herself to tell, for what manner of arriving here matters at the end of all things— for are our lost all not buried the same depth under? Her father may be gone and my sister as well, but certainly they did not share a death defined the same.

I do not bring myself to interrogate the writing on the backside of the tombstone.

“I lost my sister— Stella Summit. Four years ago next week.”

Perhaps by then I would be buried alongside her instead of dangling her story over the edge of interest like it could spark anything other than sympathy.

[Sleepy Fluttershy]

I stared at the grave blankly, wondering if things would be different if he didn't die. What could happen if he came home after work every day and dined with us. If I'm a lot like him, he would probably understand me better. We could have been like mum and Aileen, we could do everything together. Even wood chopping wouldn't suck that much if I could work with him. And he could defend me when I snapped at Aileen or got a low grade. I know for sure that he would love me. Funnily enough, neither had this thought ever crossed my mind before, nor had I imagined meeting him. I knew that was impossible and fantasizing about anything that cannot happen is ridiculous. This won't bring him back. Why am I thinking about dad in that way right now? Even I can't tell, why I'm wasting my time on pointless childish dreams. It is time to dive into reality again.

Life is actually more disappointing than fantasy, because it is something no one can control. It goes on, no matter what. I can't see how things would work out if I had a father, and I can't go back in time. Nobody can.

The graveyard has definitely influenced my mind a little. I have never gotten that thoughtful and philosophical before in my entire life. I don't want to be here, think about something that will never be true, look at the cold tombstone at my feet. The whole place is stuck in the past, it is sort of a land of untold stories, which only holds people back, makes them abandon their homes and families, keeps them from moving on. The longer they try to say goodbye, the harder it is to walk away. I'm afraid that if I don't go now, my whole world will crumble under the pressure of doubts and regrets. Time has stopped here, and I don't like the silence and the sadness in every corner.

"I lost my sister, Stella Summit. Four years ago next week." I hear the words somewhere in the distance and don't realise that she is addressing me at first. But when I understand what she said, it shocks me. If there is one thing which is worse than just losing someone, it is having them killed in the Games. "I'm sorry." It is what I was supposed to say, right? I am usually not polite at all, but everything is different here. Even my voice. I look at the stone again. '... Wheeler'. Wheeler. Every Wheeler there ever was is going to lie next to him or somewhere else with a similar stone in the grass above them. Mum, Aileen, Luke and ... And me.