hemorrhage {larceny // auto}

[Arrows]

I was boy once, playing with toy cars and hand-me-down dolls. Hiding underneath the covers of the couch amid the graveyard of Father's cigarettes. I played pranks, dropping balloons from the broken windows. Watching the peoples' peril within their world of unexpected water. I held Auto's hand, fighting back broken breaths beneath burning circles of smoke. Fixing her braids while we watched the new cigarette scars settle onto our skins. I was a boy once, beaten and bruised into emotional annihilation.

But even that broken boy could never predict the pain sacrificial souls would imprint into my heart.

My eyes stare at an empty space of grey.

I died and lived to tell the tale.

But here I am living as Death's Reaper.

Locks lurch as steps find sound against structured stone. There is a white hand, it stops trapped inside my sudden grip. My heart is racing, my blood is funneling in rapid rivers through my veins. I can still feel the boy's neck beneath my fingers. I still can't fight off the suffocating desperation digging deeply into flesh at the tips of my nails. An urge to stop it all from repeating running through every inch of my shaking skeleton. It is all there is and all that exists. An insufferable instinct to silence the next damn voice that even tries to form the word, volunteer.

It all ends with a slap across my face, swift yet stern.

Tightness trickles away into release and anxiety annexes to Theft-bred numbness. The Peace Keeper stands with a baton at the ready, yet all I see is the same shared set of eyes staring straight at me. There aren't words, we are beyond that. It's only a look followed by her abrupt departure. I find no time wasted before following her silent steps. Sweat still stains my skin and chloroform still spins my vision, but cold creeps quickly back over my body. I blame Severus, he softened my shell slightly and then died. I wonder in what ways the new boy will fuck me up, of course, aside from making me already attempt to murder him.

Outside of the building the sky is in unison with the world it watches over, grey and depressing. A cold christens the breeze while small spits of mist meander across the lips of lampposts. I find solace in the blank uniformity, a connection to its dull existence. I've only found feeling in two ways since telling death to shove it, unexpected boys dying for me, and crime. The only thing is, crime I steal something from others, the other one steals something from me. Fragments of my fractured frozen heart, pieces I'm beginning to run out of. 

I'm a sixteen year old boy with cigarette scars, stunted emotions, death's address, and a graveyard of boys. 

Pretty sure I'm supposed to be doing things like getting drunk and partying at this age, but it's fine.

About halfway home I finally stop, another second of silence is going to drown me in a sea of canon fire and phantom faces. A nearby fence supplies a satisfactory stop. My small frame finds ease in reaching its top where I sit, watching the other families walk home hand in hand.

"If this were hell, it would be mine not your's."

I know Auto's been off lately, still lost in some delirium of death. I've been patient, found a place in the picture of her mind. But right now I need her in the realm of reality, not the Halls of Hades. 

"I'm good at it," my voice is low but clear "freezing. Becoming the cold cruel child he wants. And it's not an act."

The lampposts begin to flicker to life and slowly I am a single shadow atop a fence.

"But I feel them. And when they die, I  die all over again."

My hands turn tightly around the top of the fence.

"If we are only supposed to die once, why do I keep dying over and over again?"

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Auto Grand Theft

Age: 16

The sun clicks closer to the horizon with every tick of the time that presses by, preparing to kiss it away before hiding behind it. Somehow it’s exactly the same as it was before, though I refute to believe all the lies spewed towards us with intent of proving us dumb. Everyone else however? It’s difficult to press blame when the construct of Districts is still about us. Concrete still layers every inch of our own. Absolutely everything and everyone still appears the same as it did before. Perhaps they’re not being fooled, perhaps they’re not even actually there.

“If this were hell, it would be mine not your’s.” He states as if trying to be comforting, sitting on the perch of a fence in contemplation of another reaping thrown to disarray. Irises roll within my own eyes, no longer willing to battle over believes like some religious fanatics. Surely he’s far more patient than the rest who’s convinced of this reality, often not even pressing the lies. But sometimes, just sometimes, he leaves snarky comments like that to brew through the air - crafting me to occasionally wonder if he’s actually a demon manipulating me succumb to this facade idea everyone’s simply accepted. Only sometimes, as it doesn’t take much for me to realize my other half is truly there, just as he always has been.

Truth release from him like it never has… since all of this happened. As if out of instinct, I pull myself up to sit next to him upon this literal fence. With ears willing to at least hear his truth, I listen - seeking to have an open heart to our differences. “I’m good at it, freezing. Becoming the cold cruel child he wants. And it’s not an act.” This new reality, whatever reality it may be, has surely had its unforgiving grips upon Larceny most of all. To him, he’s been chosen for the Games both times since our return. And both times an innocent boy has taken his place, one already gone from this realm. Some may say it’s simply a harsh coincidence, while to me…

“But I feel them. And when they die, I die all over again.” The pain he’s harvested for two years now finally echoes from his core. Gently my hand collapses on top of his, my fingers weaving through his, in an almost grasp for the comfort, and providing the comfort, of back then. “If we are only supposed to die once, why do I keep dying over and over again?” Why does hell torture him while I relish in the darkness of it? Is it simply due to his lack of accepting my truth? Or will it be my underlying torture to come?

The glisten of my light eyes meets with his own, guilt and softness weaving through my expression - despite my rumbling thoughts. “Because we’re in hell.” I state mater-of-factly, with a gentle delivery still mixing within my tone. “If that kid’s lucky at all, he won’t be coming back.” Brutal honesty coils from my lips before pressing onward without the patients that my better half is able to manage. “Come on Larce. The chances of you being reaped twice in a row, after the Capitol made a quell that we ALL survived a Hunger Games?! A Hunger Games?! A quell that the Capitol let everyone survive one of the Hunger Games?! And then the Games continue, and you get reaped for both the two to follow?” A sarcastic giggle leaves tickles across my tongue at the thought.

“And everyone thinks I’m the crazy one to think this is hell? I think all of you are nuts to think any of this is real.” But I wasn’t supposed to battle over my believes, and with one look at Larceny I regret doing so immediately. A gulp slithers down my throat as if I could somehow manage to swallow all of it back. And a weak grin apologetically slides across my cheeks.

With my bottom lip pierced between my teeth, I quickly regain myself to the act of ‘this being real’ that I’ve taught myself to play. Empathy has never been my strong suit, and I even fail to fake it for the most part, while towards my Brother I can always seem to gain it. He is going through hell, whether it’s real or not. “But I get it. Two have taken your place from returning to that nightmare… But it’s not your fault. Whether we really are in hell, or this is all the Capitol’s doing, none of it is your fault.” Now if only he’d actually believe me.