＊ ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭━☆ﾟ.*·。ﾟ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ↷ for @multiplayr . ♡
" lose the battle, win the war. "
victory is not always a beautiful thing. theirs had been a war won in inches, half of it in the trenches of bureaucracy, paper soldiers with weapons forged from officiousness bleeding ink and salt and dust. had it really been a victory, in the end? had it really been worth it — playing the international stage and ensuring the curtain hiding their sins was spotless, that it fell just so, all for the impresarios in their board rooms to clap and sign off on more of the same? if victory became defined by tallying numbers, by ensuring that yours were bigger or smaller than that nebulous theirs, did you win at all?
when you lose a leader, it is at once a personal loss and the loss of the many. angela remembers bloody hands and dirt under her nails, remembers saying his name until her throat at last went raw, remembers telling him to stay alive. she remembers the months afterwards when she’d somehow forget, thumbing the chat - thread with jack’s name on her tablet because she’d just heard the most egregious schiesdreck that he would have a field day over with her. she remembers every gut - punch moment where the air turned to wet cement in her lungs when she realized he wasn’t there to laugh with her anymore.
the voice is damning in its familiarity –– and yet, it is a stranger’s. she feels the familiar leaden weight in her chest, that ever - blooming, ever - withering mote of mourning not laid to rest.
she remembers realizing, remembers ice - hot fury and jubilation coursing through her veins, tears spilling and spilling as she sobbed her way through a bottle of cheap vodka. she remembers meeting his gaze behind the visor the next day, clear - eyed and distant, pretending she wasn’t mourning him anew. she doesn’t know if she resents the fact that her plea was answered [ stay alive, i’ll find you, i swear it ] or that her broken promise is unbroken once more. she doesn’t know if this is part of the war too, if victory means losing the man she called a friend & finding a stranger in his place. peace comes at a steep cost, and angela does not know if she can pay it again.
i cannot fight wars for which i do not know the cause. she wets her lips, whets her teeth against the stone of time. we were looking for peace, but it’s clear now that it is not found in death. but what do i know of death ? words unspoken, flowers laid at an empty grave. “ it’s funny; i once knew a man who said the same thing. i would like to think he chose his battles wisely, but now i don’t know anymore. ”
what have we done, old friend? what have we sacrificed for this? the ability to limp onward through the long tedium, the slog of it all... was it worth it?
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines
jacobvanloon
blakekathryn
janainaart
origamiaround
stormborns
