stretched around the forefinger [vasco/alfonso blitz]

[ryan]

You were a gentle boy who prayed to never see carnage.

And while people brought it upon you every year, you were thankful that you were spared from the games for another year.

That was something you were not ready for, and seeing as so many Izar's had gone in before you, you waited for the reaping to scream a name that you didnt want to hear.

That name would roll off the escorts tongue. Alfonso it would roll and stretch like bubble gum around the forefinger*, and then expand and burst when they announced at the top of their lungs that you, Alfonso Izar, was the next one to die.

---

But you snapped out of it the moment you had berries in your hand. You squeezed them, each one popping in a harmonious succession, almost like they knew that was what they were meant to do.

You took a pestle that you swiped from your mothers kitchen and began to grind the berries into a loose liquid, and once the consistency was to your liking you dipped your fingers into what you called paint and pressed it to the wood of the house that you lived in.

It seemed like everyone had forgotten about the Izar's that had fallen before the 80th, especailly because a Stirling and a Rhodes had returned home instead of one of them, and that news saddened you. Broke your heart even.

So you took it upon yourself to make sure that they were never forgotten, and you drew their faces on the wood before you. Gabriel, Salome, Raquel, and all the others that had fallen. That is when you realized that your family had suffered so much, and they were going to continue to suffer for as long as the games went on.

You could feel a shadow behind you, but you did not break your concentration as you thought about Gabriel. The Gabriel that you knew. "What do I owe the pleasure?" You say as your fingers grace wood like it is the canvas you dreamed about.

Praying that you would never be taken away from it.

*Line and title from "Ode to the Woman on Long Island"

[Deleted]

Benat and I used to play violin together. Something that was handed down from my father – one of the things that I stuck with, even when the rest of my brothers long since abandoned – because it felt as though I had a connection to the past. Music that existed long before we did, complemented by our own fiddling and creations, we could create something beautiful that brought joy to others. It was harder to remember his smile, seventeen years gone, but the memories were no less real.

We were supposed to grow up together. I remember seeing him turn into a man, and guiding him to the watering hole with a girl who’d been dancing we him, and Emma, and all of us Izars after drinking a bottelón. Those were days we thought would last forever. Youth is the sunset on a summer’s day, all beauty, and gone too fast. That was life, hard edges that had cut the Izars for twenty long years.

It would have been easy to let the world make us weary; I had seen Bakar turn hard and broken. I saw the looks on the faces of the young ones: putting up a tough fight, with heavy hearts. It was half the reason I chose to run: so that through all the pain I could make a difference for them. They were stuck in the storm, drowning amongst the waves. It was my turn to reach out a hand, and help them to shore.

“Alfonso,” I greeted him with a smile, entering slowly behind him. “Have I told you how fantastic your work has been, cabrón?” I moved to embrace him in a hug, and gave a few quick taps to his back. I pulled back and studied his face. “What are you working on today? Something good, I suppose?”

[ryan]

Berries never felt right between your fingers, especailly when you grounded them into nothing but a fine paste.

You didnt care though, because it was an outlet to let you express the feelings you felt as every reaping passed. You waited, for so long to suffer the same fate that your brother suffered. You waited to hear names that you never wanted to hear come out of an escorts mouth, but last year, and the year before, they spared another Izar from going into the arena.

You were thankful for that, and you prayed that this year would be the same, but for now, you couldnt focus on that. The harsh winter air enveloped the space you occupied, and it made it hard to paint when you wanted too. Youre fingers were chilly, but your mind was alive with thoughts.

"The wind keeps ruining my art Vasco. Thank you though." You sighed as you dipped your finger into the paint and began to trace out a face in the wood. "I dont want people to forget about the ones that have fallen Uncle." You were honest because you felt all the pain every year that passed. However, it didnt set in right away.

It was all just bubbling up at this moment.