In some places, it felt as though nails were ripping through his body. In others, it felt like hammers were pounding just beneath his skin, pain like hitting bruises from the inside out. Like a sharp-toothed creature gnawing on his nerves.
He wanted to sleep, but it was out of the question. If sleep would guarantee him peace, he would desire it. But he knew it would not. He didn't even have to close his eyes to see it all...
He felt the impact of being flung against the opposite wall in the train car, walls closing in, as the train twisted and writhed...
It continued to slither out of control, contorting in the same way that the cars ahead of this one had. Damir moved like the train. Into the ceiling he was thrown, the floor, rolled to a wall, forced to stand as the train continued to move... feeling every impact until he hit his head right above a broken window. Scraping his scalp against the window as he fell to the floor for the last time, the train finally halted, dying the tips of broken glass red.
"Stop," Damir whispered, as he tried to prevent further recollection. It had been three years...
How he had ever recovered so well was beyond him. Why whatever the Capitol did for him, in spite of his parents' worse injuries, hadn't worked as well for them.
And then they died from gunshot wounds three years later, on national television. Yet right now, they wheeled closer to him. Put their shaking hands on his shoulders. Pleaded, whispered, shouted, of his searing abandonment not too long ago... Pleaded, and whispered...
"Damir, come home. Come be with us now, come home, even though you left us before! You need to come home now. These people are only going to keep hurting you."
He was in a different train station now, watching the screens closely. All the tributes' parents gathered in the room... Phylicia Feidelm, former head Gamemaker. Now president. Her public apology to the families of the tributes she tortured on-screen and off, the carefully orchestrated shock upon her face as a young man with obvious relation to his fellow tribute raised a gun.
How the young man tried to make his shots look wild, and frenzied, but landed in all-too-vital places. Heads and hearts and necks and veins... blood spurting on the cameras... the only one non-fatally shot was the president herself.
His own helpless parents. Convinced to leave their safe home for this. Right in their hearts, sparing broken minds, Damir's own blood seeming to leap from the screen...
His own chest ached now, in addition to the rest of his pain. All the places where bullets had pierced him, his legs, in places that were even removed... everything felt freshly wounded again. Raw.
He was worn, and empty.
"You need to come home, now, Damir! Right now!"
He stared at his parents now... they were so real; he believed they were there. He wanted to follow them, to do what they said. Sometimes he just did it because he wanted them to stop shouting and telling them to do as they said. To get out of this dangerous place they told him his world was.
The medicine was supposed to help you, Damir, a very quiet voice whispered to Damir. It was painfully clear that the medicine, which had been to treat the symptoms caused by his failed infection treatment had only worsened his condition. The condition had been improving without medicine, however gradual that had been... Whether or not this had been the "doctors'" intention was yet to be determined. But he had the sneaking suspicion that it had been their intention... Anything to break him further, especially in front of everyone, risking the harm of somebody else as well.
"Now, Damir! Get out right now!" his parents shouted. Their voices hadn't been so loud in years. Shaking, Damir maneuvered his way to the edge of his bed.
Feuding forces argued over the broken young man, as he started to sit up... they'd been fighting since the day of the train crash. Most present when life's tectonic plates shifted, causing earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. The voices of reason and hope were the most muffled, the others threatening to silence them. Drowned out by pain and delusion, by a mind with its shattering heart set on destroying the broken body that barely had a hold on it.
"Damir, you can't do this... your real parents would never want this..."
He used all his will simply to stand, his arms shaking as he steadied himself with the bed. It was only a few steps from his bed to the window, which didn't look protected at all. No forcefields. No screens.
"Come on, Damir! We were faster than you! And we've never left you. Not once! Not even those times when you wanted us to. Be grateful that we're even allowing you to home now," his father shouted.
The force of guilt propelled him forward now, intensifying pain with every step. He gripped the edge of the window.
No, Damir, don't listen to them... You're stronger than this. You are stronger than this.
He was in a dark room, where a sinister man pointed a poisonous syringe at Amira.
The weight of a gun in Damir's hand. The man drawing closer to Amira... and out of Damir's stolen weapon, a bullet was fired. The man dropped to the floor.
Delirious Amira giving him a look of dazed gratefulness... and horror, horror of him in her tortured blue eyes.
"Now, Damir! Get out right now!" his mother shouted.
He fumbled with the window's lock.
Damir, your real mother is a gentle, loving woman who wants you to live your entire life, not leave it early.
He was about four floors up. He could fall any second.
And your father values life greatly, Damir. Especially yours. You were his son. He and your mother handled hardship and wrongs so greatly. They were strong. They never gave up. They did all the could. They were strong.
At this moment, his parents were shouting so loudly, even shoving him toward the window. The room was spinning.
He saw Amira's horrified eyes.
The doctors telling him his parent's conditions.
The fellow Peacekeeper tormenting a young girl.
His parents shouted so loudly, words blending into others...
He tried to open the window.
He felt his fists pinning Amira to a wall. Slapping her tender face. Smothering her and giving the eveninglock to help her feign death. After doing the same to Zane. Blaze's accusations of betrayal. Actions of a lie, that had seemed far too real.
He finally opened it.
They weren't always perfect, Damir. They were once Peacekeepers like the ones you knew. But they realized their wrongs, and they changed. They became compassionate, caring... doing so many things for others without asking for anything in return...
A genuine Peacekeeper at the station had approached him, when he was considering blocking the path of an oncoming train...
"I know you're a Peacekeeper," the man had said. "And I want to see you out there. I want to see you fighting."
They wanted peace, Damir. They truly wanted peace. To heal the nation. To right the wrongs of a long history. They taught you everything you know.
The voice had struggled to assert itself, drowned out by all the others... but it was clear.
Damir had opened the window. But he turned himself away now, sliding painfully to the floor, as tears began to stream down his face.
He saw the storms of the house on Island 75.
Damir... the voice whispered.
He saw Amira's beautiful face in the sunset glow.
He heard himself call her beautiful, saw her girlish blush. Saw all the pain he caused her. And watched all her promises come true... she would be there. Even if he was always like this...
He gasped for air in his sobbing.
Damir, the quiet voice repeated.
"I want to see you out there... I want to see you fighting..." he heard the man again.
He saw blooming groves in District 11. Smiles of children at the sight of the school his parents had helped build in District 12.
Amira's eyes, when she smiled.
"We love you," he recalled his parents saying.
"I love you," Amira had once whispered to him.
The darkness was still there. He knew he couldn't do this alone. He raised his head, raised his voice with all the volume he could muster... and he screamed.
"Help me!" he cried. "Somebody, please!"
His own voice drowned out the vengeful ghosts of his mind.
He wanted to sleep, but it was out of the question. If sleep would guarantee him peace, he would desire it. But he knew it would not. He didn't even have to close his eyes to see it all...
He felt the impact of being flung against the opposite wall in the train car, walls closing in, as the train twisted and writhed...
It continued to slither out of control, contorting in the same way that the cars ahead of this one had. Damir moved like the train. Into the ceiling he was thrown, the floor, rolled to a wall, forced to stand as the train continued to move... feeling every impact until he hit his head right above a broken window. Scraping his scalp against the window as he fell to the floor for the last time, the train finally halted, dying the tips of broken glass red.
"Stop," Damir whispered, as he tried to prevent further recollection. It had been three years...
How he had ever recovered so well was beyond him. Why whatever the Capitol did for him, in spite of his parents' worse injuries, hadn't worked as well for them.
And then they died from gunshot wounds three years later, on national television. Yet right now, they wheeled closer to him. Put their shaking hands on his shoulders. Pleaded, whispered, shouted, of his searing abandonment not too long ago... Pleaded, and whispered...
"Damir, come home. Come be with us now, come home, even though you left us before! You need to come home now. These people are only going to keep hurting you."
He was in a different train station now, watching the screens closely. All the tributes' parents gathered in the room... Phylicia Feidelm, former head Gamemaker. Now president. Her public apology to the families of the tributes she tortured on-screen and off, the carefully orchestrated shock upon her face as a young man with obvious relation to his fellow tribute raised a gun.
How the young man tried to make his shots look wild, and frenzied, but landed in all-too-vital places. Heads and hearts and necks and veins... blood spurting on the cameras... the only one non-fatally shot was the president herself.
His own helpless parents. Convinced to leave their safe home for this. Right in their hearts, sparing broken minds, Damir's own blood seeming to leap from the screen...
His own chest ached now, in addition to the rest of his pain. All the places where bullets had pierced him, his legs, in places that were even removed... everything felt freshly wounded again. Raw.
He was worn, and empty.
"You need to come home, now, Damir! Right now!"
He stared at his parents now... they were so real; he believed they were there. He wanted to follow them, to do what they said. Sometimes he just did it because he wanted them to stop shouting and telling them to do as they said. To get out of this dangerous place they told him his world was.
The medicine was supposed to help you, Damir, a very quiet voice whispered to Damir. It was painfully clear that the medicine, which had been to treat the symptoms caused by his failed infection treatment had only worsened his condition. The condition had been improving without medicine, however gradual that had been... Whether or not this had been the "doctors'" intention was yet to be determined. But he had the sneaking suspicion that it had been their intention... Anything to break him further, especially in front of everyone, risking the harm of somebody else as well.
"Now, Damir! Get out right now!" his parents shouted. Their voices hadn't been so loud in years. Shaking, Damir maneuvered his way to the edge of his bed.
Feuding forces argued over the broken young man, as he started to sit up... they'd been fighting since the day of the train crash. Most present when life's tectonic plates shifted, causing earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. The voices of reason and hope were the most muffled, the others threatening to silence them. Drowned out by pain and delusion, by a mind with its shattering heart set on destroying the broken body that barely had a hold on it.
"Damir, you can't do this... your real parents would never want this..."
He used all his will simply to stand, his arms shaking as he steadied himself with the bed. It was only a few steps from his bed to the window, which didn't look protected at all. No forcefields. No screens.
"Come on, Damir! We were faster than you! And we've never left you. Not once! Not even those times when you wanted us to. Be grateful that we're even allowing you to home now," his father shouted.
The force of guilt propelled him forward now, intensifying pain with every step. He gripped the edge of the window.
No, Damir, don't listen to them... You're stronger than this. You are stronger than this.
He was in a dark room, where a sinister man pointed a poisonous syringe at Amira.
The weight of a gun in Damir's hand. The man drawing closer to Amira... and out of Damir's stolen weapon, a bullet was fired. The man dropped to the floor.
Delirious Amira giving him a look of dazed gratefulness... and horror, horror of him in her tortured blue eyes.
"Now, Damir! Get out right now!" his mother shouted.
He fumbled with the window's lock.
Damir, your real mother is a gentle, loving woman who wants you to live your entire life, not leave it early.
He was about four floors up. He could fall any second.
And your father values life greatly, Damir. Especially yours. You were his son. He and your mother handled hardship and wrongs so greatly. They were strong. They never gave up. They did all the could. They were strong.
At this moment, his parents were shouting so loudly, even shoving him toward the window. The room was spinning.
He saw Amira's horrified eyes.
The doctors telling him his parent's conditions.
The fellow Peacekeeper tormenting a young girl.
His parents shouted so loudly, words blending into others...
He tried to open the window.
He felt his fists pinning Amira to a wall. Slapping her tender face. Smothering her and giving the eveninglock to help her feign death. After doing the same to Zane. Blaze's accusations of betrayal. Actions of a lie, that had seemed far too real.
He finally opened it.
They weren't always perfect, Damir. They were once Peacekeepers like the ones you knew. But they realized their wrongs, and they changed. They became compassionate, caring... doing so many things for others without asking for anything in return...
A genuine Peacekeeper at the station had approached him, when he was considering blocking the path of an oncoming train...
"I know you're a Peacekeeper," the man had said. "And I want to see you out there. I want to see you fighting."
They wanted peace, Damir. They truly wanted peace. To heal the nation. To right the wrongs of a long history. They taught you everything you know.
The voice had struggled to assert itself, drowned out by all the others... but it was clear.
Damir had opened the window. But he turned himself away now, sliding painfully to the floor, as tears began to stream down his face.
He saw the storms of the house on Island 75.
Damir... the voice whispered.
He saw Amira's beautiful face in the sunset glow.
He heard himself call her beautiful, saw her girlish blush. Saw all the pain he caused her. And watched all her promises come true... she would be there. Even if he was always like this...
He gasped for air in his sobbing.
Damir, the quiet voice repeated.
"I want to see you out there... I want to see you fighting..." he heard the man again.
He saw blooming groves in District 11. Smiles of children at the sight of the school his parents had helped build in District 12.
Amira's eyes, when she smiled.
"We love you," he recalled his parents saying.
"I love you," Amira had once whispered to him.
The darkness was still there. He knew he couldn't do this alone. He raised his head, raised his voice with all the volume he could muster... and he screamed.
"Help me!" he cried. "Somebody, please!"
His own voice drowned out the vengeful ghosts of his mind.
2 comments:
Duuuuude.
Duuuuude is correct.
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