Katurian K. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
downbeat) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-02-27 08:59 pm
downbeat) wrote in thecapitol2013-02-27 08:59 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who| Katurian and Wyatt
What| A late reunion
Where| District 10 suite
When| Evening
Warnings/Notes| Discussions of murder, mercy, suicide ideation.
Katurian liked to close his eyes in the elevator.
He knew that privacy -- any privacy -- was an illusion. He had learned to curb his more public breakdowns. He no longer vomited in the common rooms, no longer cried in the hallways, no longer whined or whimpered or laughed so hard that it felt like his throat was coming apart from the inside out. He had hollowed himself out, slowly but surely. He was a worker, deep down, a mechanical cog in a grinding machine. He preferred invisibility more than anything. He blended. He disappeared.
He closed his eyes.
(Close your eyes and you can go anywhere.)
With his eyes shut, he was in a freight elevator, back at the abattoir. He was climbing a tree in their backyard, the one with the branches that makes it look like a dancer. He was jumping, higher and higher, his fingertips brushing the clouds. He was going to heaven.
But he always fell. The images always grew blistered and chapped and bloodstained. Whenever he opened it eyes, it was because he could no longer take it anymore. Not because he was satisfied. Not because he was happy.
When he opened his eyes today, his hands weren't knots against his chest like they usually were. Instead, he had reached forward. His finger was on an elevator button.
Ten.
What| A late reunion
Where| District 10 suite
When| Evening
Warnings/Notes| Discussions of murder, mercy, suicide ideation.
Katurian liked to close his eyes in the elevator.
He knew that privacy -- any privacy -- was an illusion. He had learned to curb his more public breakdowns. He no longer vomited in the common rooms, no longer cried in the hallways, no longer whined or whimpered or laughed so hard that it felt like his throat was coming apart from the inside out. He had hollowed himself out, slowly but surely. He was a worker, deep down, a mechanical cog in a grinding machine. He preferred invisibility more than anything. He blended. He disappeared.
He closed his eyes.
(Close your eyes and you can go anywhere.)
With his eyes shut, he was in a freight elevator, back at the abattoir. He was climbing a tree in their backyard, the one with the branches that makes it look like a dancer. He was jumping, higher and higher, his fingertips brushing the clouds. He was going to heaven.
But he always fell. The images always grew blistered and chapped and bloodstained. Whenever he opened it eyes, it was because he could no longer take it anymore. Not because he was satisfied. Not because he was happy.
When he opened his eyes today, his hands weren't knots against his chest like they usually were. Instead, he had reached forward. His finger was on an elevator button.
Ten.
no subject
He stood quite abruptly, so fast that his balance wavered and his feet swayed.
no subject
"We've all got to make the choices for ourselves. Find out what we each can live with, and what we can't."