lend me an ear {district one train}
Oct 1, 2019 0:59:28 GMT -5
Post by Arrows on Oct 1, 2019 0:59:28 GMT -5
Euphoria.
It fills the falling of your footsteps with a symphony of success. A boy unknown now wraps himself in a shawl of safety while your's withers beneath your words. The chains of your birth have been broken and a status of elation you have anointed upon yourself. Some see Death and cry out frightened by his face, disformed and disfigured. Yet you rise to meet him with a heart of hunger, one which now will not wilt into wreckage. You alone have provided yourself with deliverance from your pristine palace of decay. Let the remaining fragments of your family lay a rose by your statue in the garden.
They will rot while you will bloom.
Alas. silence is a stubborn suitor, sewn to the very essence of your soul. You do not expect the door to open. You do not expect to find a familiar face sunken in sorrow. And you are correct, you spend your moments in the shadows of the Justice Building as you always have, alone. Yet you do not cling to the quiet for you know of what is to come. Children from every District will become your world and your platform. In their presence you will find company, companionship even. And in their deaths, you will find the blank pages on which you can write another meaning for the name Jaroux than one synonymous with cancer.
The crowds cram onto every corner craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the car as you pass. Somehow the sheen of victory still shines from every pair of eyes in a District which hasn't known Victory in a decade. Can you blame them though? Better to believe they are still the chosen children of the Capitol instead of cattle for the Lower Districts to slaughter. You don't hold such heinous notions inside your head though, you simply don't give a shit about the statistics. Your future is unfolding before you. It is the slaughter and the stage which you are running towards. You do not fear the truth for it makes you feel more alive than ever. Choosing the chance of death was a small price to pay for the wings of freedom.
The crowd's cheers are eventually snuffed out by a sliding slate of steel. District One is behind you now, and the Capitol is calling. The sheer status of luxury is even more than you could have imagined, and you lived alone in a mansion of marble. Spirits of vibrant hues and delicacies of drastic differences sit at your direct disposal. In your mind, you can imagine your Mother snapping up the sweetest one and sharing just a single bite with you. But it's been a long time since she has stolen your candy and laughed in your ears. She is dead, and you are free from following in her footsteps.
Laughter.
It's the first sound which comes crawling out of your chest.
Fingers constrict around a neck of glass, swirling two spirits together in a dangerous dance. You haven't said a single word to the girl with you and here you are laughing while mixing together a drink. You're such a gentlemen. However, you feel almost as if introductions are unnecessary. You heard her name at the Reaping as gilded in gold as any member from her family. She's a Le Roux, a lioness of power and pride. She needs no introduction, so you skip it.
A shot glass. A knife.
"Up for a game?"
You pour. You drink. It burns and you wince.
"I'll start."
You flick the knife into your hands.
"First, say a truth. My family has a genetic heart condition which kills us before we turn forty, that's why I'm here. And then."
You send the knife flying into the wall just next to her left ear.
You pour another shot and slide it towards her.
"Pretty simple. Up for it Le Roux?"
