when the final moments of time start to tick down, you find yourself not so much reeling. you stand quietly with your hands folded behind your back, your vote already cast, shoulder to shoulder with someone else.
you are aching - your face burns, and an injury on you throbs, and there's a twinge of pain in your hand from something that's not quite an injury, but something purposefully inflicted, but you're used to staying stone faced through pain, and this is no exception - this is nothing. just for a moment, you think back on what led you to this place. how you chose to trust someone and didn't all the same; how you made a foolish decision, but you had a safety net to catch you not of your own making, for the first time in your life. how your safety net didn't just save you, they did so with style, with aplomb. how fucking grateful you feel. how odd, how warm, how unfamiliar it feels.
the chosen name comes up. guilty. you feel the phrase more than you see it.
you lift your head for a moment, as your hand slips into someone else's. even with your senses shot - and they are shot - you feel the familiarity of the person holding your hand, incense-and-lavender-and-too-many-bathbombs-and-wine, and you relax. their fingers brush across your palm, and they spell the phrase - the name of the guilty party, and then lace their hand into yours.
someone walks by. you can smell them in the air over the burning scent of pepper - familiar, an ice cold scent, and familiar in the way they walk and move. you don't have to see it. it's dark, but you feel them walk by.
and you know this isn't over -
you find your mouth sliding into a smirk, just a blink and you'll miss it expression, as the hand in yours pulls back, and you make eye contact as they lead the accused away. long enough to let him know that you see him. (even though you don't.)
- this isn't over, but you won.
and not on his terms, but on yours.
you had no doubts, but even still; when you make promises, you deliver. you don't lose. you can't. you have a nation that needs you and...
you have had trouble throughout your life resisting a temptation. you allow yourself two particular vices, both of which come with consequences. but this vice is your survival - good or bad or otherwise, you need it like a drowning man needs air. you have to have it. your chance is coming, and who knows how long you'll be trapped here? it has already been weeks, and you're playing the game with a handicap.
you can't have that.
truthfully, you've known from the start that this was going to end this way. there was no other story where you did the unselfish thing; where you listened to advice, where you took their offer, their kindness, where you put yourself into their capable hands, because your closely guarded self is so vulnerable, and you can't allow anyone else to solve it for you when the solution is right there. you couldn't resist at home. you can't resist here. the ability to have a taste of normalcy is just one night away.
you choose carefully. a target that needs to be eliminated. it's nothing personal; you have something you need, and you'll strike the target down with precision to ensure that it becomes yours. you've always been a planner. you've started the seeds of your trap days in advance.
when the night comes, you take an unfamiliar weapon. the world around you is pitch black and quiet - but you're used to that, aren't you? but maybe just the feeling of anticipation that makes everything seem faint. you take a deep breath, and focus on the wind, on the way the air moves through the vents, through the hallways. on the slightly sterile smell of this place you've grown used to. turn left there. turn right there. there's a jut in the hallway right here. keep up appearances. keep moving. there's something else, too - something just unnatural. just this side of iron tinged. you stand in that little room with the weapon in your hand.
and when the doors open, you feel the wind and you know your target is in front of you. you are unhesitating as you dash forward. you are skilled, and even if your target is just as ferocious, you will survive this. you will survive this. you will survive this.
(what's a promise made to three, four people, when you're used to carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? where does your fate lead you?
not to your deathbed, here. not to your capture. you'll pull this off. you'll get away with it, you'll do what you've been asked, no matter how heavy the burden, no matter how difficult the task.
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AQUILA | PINK PANTHER.MP3
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