Language is more than words//// Ani///

[Knuckles]

BAPTIST JAY

Narration
Thoughts
"Talking"
(Other)

The white rain has finally ceased falling from the sky, yet the ground is still snowy white. Many tracks can be followed as the citizens travel on their daily business. Some prints are tiny of a young child, and other prints are larger belonging to the occasional adult; however, the sidewalk in front of my parents house has been left unscathed. The snow storm flying through the area left us stranded. The smell of the wood burning in the ragged, old fire place in the living room fills my nostrils embracing me with the comfort of home. It's a welcoming feeling which surrounds me every second of the day. The small worn out sofa sitting in front of the window to the right of the fireplace is currently occupied by my parents as they fight to stay warm. The white glistens through the window filling the house with brightness. In the center of the room is a small wooden table which I'm currently curled up under. The heat radiates through the room fighting of the frigid cold. A large grin appears on my face as I stare out the window. It's an amazing feeling to be comforted by a family that loves and cares about you. I'm lucky to have them. I'm lucky my parents care about me.

I roll out from under the table carefully as I don't want to bump my head as I'm trying to stand, and I slowly get to my feet. My arms find the way above my head reaching for the ceiling stretching out the tight muscles in my shoulders. I roll my neck causing the joint to crack sending a jolt through my body making my hands tingle. I've been told to never do that because I can permanently damage my nerves; however, I love the feeling it leaves me with. I feel relieved of the stress that's built throughout the day. My feet slide along the wooden floor carelessly as I head towards my room. I walk through the tiny doorway as the warmth of the fire leaves me. Chills run up my arms as my teeth start chattering. It's amazing how the sweltering heat stays in the living room without traveling to the rest of the house. My room is the farthest away from the living room, and I know it's going to be filled with arctic temperatures. I run my hands along the walls grinning as the old, white paint chips fall to the ground. I couldn't ask for a better home to live in. I take a deep breath as liquid ice flows into my lungs making it impossible to breathe, and I turn into my room prepared for the start of the day.

I quickly walk across the room to the farthest corner where my closet is located to find the thickest jacket I have. I move past my bed which is sitting in the center of the room as a draft rushes through the cracked window. My muscles quiver as I fight for the remaining heat to stay inside my body. I regret not placing wood over the windows when it was summer, but during the summer it felt amazing as the gentle breeze filled my room. I shake my head as I reach into the closet pushing all my other clothing to the side until I find the thick black jacket my dad gave me when I was younger. I was outside playing in the snow in a thin jacket, and I went inside shivering. Out of the goodness of his heart, he wrapped me in his jacket, and when I pointed at myself asking if it was mine, he nodded his head. The grin on my face grows larger as I place my arms into the fuzzy sleeves. It flabbergasts me that something as small as receiving a jacket can make a world of difference. (He's given me so much more than my biological father has. He's my dad because he's raised me. He'st he one that watched me grow up, and that makes the difference.)

I slide out of the room running through the halls back into the living room where my parents are still seated. Their gaze turns towards me as smiles form on their face. I've never really needed to hear what they say because we have other ways of corresponding with one another. I grab a small sheet of paper off the table and a pencil that's laying next to it. My fingers curl around the pencil allowing my hand to glide up and down the page. (Going to Grey's home to see the cousins. I be back later.) I present the tiny paper to my parents with a large grin on my face as I hold out the pencil for them to respond to the message I sent them. My stomach flips with apprehension. I watch my mother scribble on the paper as my insides dance with exhilaration. I feel like I'm waiting to receive an award on my birthday. My arm shakes as she returns the paper with a large smile on her face. (You can go. Have fun. Stay warm. We'll see you when you get home.) I cast the paper into my pocket along with the pencil before I quickly run over and hug them both. I turn away and quickly dash through the door.

I zip the jacket as the frigid wind blasts into my face burning my cheeks and ears turning them bright red. I draw the hood of my jacket tighter around my face. I watch as my breath crystallizes before me as I lower my gaze towards the ground. I try to form patterns into the air, but the attempts are futile. I follow the paths already created by the brave citizens that ventured outdoors before me avoiding making trail of my own. I turn by the river that flows towards the direction of my relatives' house. A thin layer of ice covers the river causing chills to run down my spine. I tighten the grip on my jacket as I continue to follow the river occasionally gliding my foot over the ice to see how slick it truly is. A fierce gust of wind flies through the air knocking the hood off my head causing the painful air to fill my lungs sending me into coughing fits. It's cold when it's painful to breathe. I take a deep breath as I draw the hood over my face again. The muscles in my legs start aching from the cold. I raise my gaze to spot the house that belongs to the Jays, and a grin grows on my face from ear to ear. I dash towards the door. I reach my hand out to knock as I slide to a stop. I knock on the door constantly, and I won't stop until it's open.

[Sage]

F A W N J A Y Frost creeping up the window drew the attention of the sixteen year old girl, her finger rested against the window, running along the length and coming away wet. The beautiful pattern created on the window made her smile, it seemed like it had been so long since she'd smiled, so much sorrow had filled her heart up to this point. It's beautiful she thought, resting her palm against the cool surface before she really became aware of how dark it was outside. The window, behind the frosted pattern, was dark. How late was it? She checked the clock on the wall, the old grandfather clock ticking away the time she had left. How long would it be until she joined her loved ones in death? Days, months, years? She couldn't find the answer to that question that plagued her mind constantly. She had tried to sleep for a while but since the last games, she'd been unable to get a full night of sleep without waking up from nightmares. She sighed, her breath fogging up the frost covered window and she slid her palm from the glass, leaving a trail of her palm. She crawled into bed, pulling the old ratty blanket over her head, trying to block out the images that were flashing through her head, as if the blanket could actually protect her. She buried her head in the pillow and tried to block out her brothers screams as he'd died. She couldn't get the images out of her head from the tiny tv in their living room. It had been almost a year now and she still couldn't get the images out of her head. Closing her eyes, she found she couldn't escape the thoughts, she couldn't get rid of them. She pushed the blankets off her and, knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep anymore that night, she quietly left the room she shared with Mist and Violet. How much her sisters had changed since their brothers death. She'd found Violet, sweet gentle Violet, beating the snot out of somebody, and Mist, normally rather angry and hormonal, couldn't seem to stop crying. She knew she had to be strong, she'd already broken down once and never again would she let herself go to that dark place in her life. Mick, her older brother, brought her back from that dark place and found her. She'd forever be grateful to him for helping her put the pieces back together. Dear Ripred, she hoped he wasn't going to be the next tribute. She didn't think she'd be able to keep herself together if she lost yet another member of her family. What if I was reaped the thought brought her up short and she paused, mid-stride, thinking of the possibility. She was sixteen now and the odds weren't exactly in her favour. She shuddered internally, she was the strong one, she had to be there, what would Mist and Violet do without her. They'll be fine, they'll get over it a small voice in her head said. She nodded, knowing full well that they would be alright without her, they'd be broken and hurt but they'd live and learn to survive without her. As she padded down the hallway towards the stair well, a song suddenly came to her mind. How long had it been since she'd sung? Since before Jabber died she was sure. Softly, she allowed this soft melody to escape her lips. "Holding on a rope, got me ten feet off the ground, and I'm hearing what you say but I just can't make a sound." The song brought tears to her eyes. "Tell me that you're sorry, then you go and cut me down, but wait, tell me that you love me, didn't think I'd turn around and say hey, now it's too late to apologize, it's too late." She felt the tears fall down her cheeks, unable to control them. What was she doing, she had to be strong. She silently wandered through the dark and quiet house, observing the shadows that covered everything. It seemed fitting for the cloak of sadness hanging over her family. She couldn't bring herself to make any other sound besides the slight thump of her footsteps. It was as if she'd wake the ghosts of the past if she was too loud. The table where they all sat for meals, two chairs always left vacant, their normal occupants never able to return to them. It made a stab of longing course through her veins. She wished she could go back in time, back before Jabber or Storm were reaped and volunteer herself to go in with them, maybe she could have protected them, she could have kept the massacre at the cornucopia from taking Jabbers life or the fight at the mountain chain from taking Storms. She sat down in the chair Jabber had once sat in, two years ago now and felt a stab of loneliness in her heart. She missed him, she missed him with every fiber of her being and wanted him to come back, to wake up from this and find out it was all just one long drawn out nightmare and when she woke up, she'd find Storm and Jabber safe. That was impossible though, there was no way that this was just a dream, no way that she'd just imagined it all. Getting off the chair, she took her normal spot at the table and put her head in her hands, feeling tears slip through her eyes. What she wouldn't give to feel Jabbers lips on hers again or hear Storms voice as he told her a story again. She didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until her head snapped up, a loud banging on the door echoed around the house, probably waking up everyone else. Who could be knocking and why don't they stop knocking? she wondered, standing up from her spot in the chair that she'd fallen asleep in. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, actually having slept well the night before. She sleepily padded into the entryway and yelled, "Okay, I hear you, I'm coming." she called, expecting the knocking to stop but to her surprise it didn't. She grumbled, pulling on a jacket before opening the door to find Baptist of all people. What was he doing here? She looked at him, her eyes still bleary from sleep. Of course, he couldn't hear her when she called that she was coming. She tried to smile up at him but it felt more like a grimace. She gestured for him to come in and closed the door. She looked around frantically for a piece of paper, finding one on the table next to the door and wrote on it. "What's going on? Is everything alright with aunt and uncle?" she wrote. Word Count: 1207 Tags: Fawn, Baptist, Ani, Ems template by chelsey

[Knuckles]

BAPTIST JAY

Narration
Thoughts
"Talking"
(Other)

The first time I ever stood in front of the Jay house was a joyful moment filled with adventure and excitement. It's different today. Being at this house will never be the same. It's fascinating how much has changed. Standing at the Jay house today feels my veins wish anguish and despair. It's been two years since Jabber was taken away from the house. The day his name was called will never leave the never ending labyrinth of my mind. It's been a year since Storm's name was called. Both have left us forever, and nothing anyone can do will ever bring them back. When I was younger, Storm would sit on his bed reading stories, and he'd allow me to sit beside him to read over his shoulder. Dinner would be served at the table, and everyone would gather around. Jabber's mouth would be moving extremely fast as smiles became plastered on the face of everyone around. His words were never in my understanding, but being able to see my family smile was more than enough. It plastered a huge grin on my face- a grin hidden deep within never to show again. It doesn't seem real to be standing here knowing Storm or Jabber won't emerge to welcome me to the house. Nothing makes sense anymore because it's all unreal.

A blast of wind flies through the air slapping me across the face as my fist continues to pound hard against the door. My other hand draws the jacket tight around my body fighting the frigid air from burning my face. My cheeks glow bright red as my weight shifts uneasily from side to side. My eyes gaze towards the white rain covering the ground glaring at the tiny footprints embedded deep within the fluffy snow. Every fiber of my being yearns for someone to open the door. What's taking them so long? Can they hear me? Am I knocking loud enough? An empty pit forms in the bottom of my stomach as my hand holding my jacket forces the jacket to cover my thin torso. Every muscle quivers from the cold causing my teeth to chatter against one another. Hopelessness consumes my prancing heart races underneath the bone holding my body together. Another gust of wind flies through the air tossing the white rain around through the air like a rag doll in the hands of a young child. Watching the snow dance before me turns me into a child again. A large smile plasters against my face- the first smile in a long time. I slam my fist against the door begging someone to answer otherwise they'll find me collapsed in front of the door frozen from the cold.

My fist raises to slam against the door as it swings open. I jump away from the door as a scream escapes from my lips. Part of me hopes Storm is answering the door, but it's not Storm; it's Fawn. My heart shatters into a million pieces sinking into my chest as realization punches me straight in the face- Storm is dead. Water forms in my eyes as they meet the sleepy eyes of Fawn, my cousin. It's beyond my wildest dreams how she feels. Storm and Jabber were my cousins; Storm is her brother. My feet move towards the door as the familiar sent of the house floods my veins. It feels like home here, but it'll never be the same. My shoulders drop as my hands fall to my sides following her into the house. The once large smile plastered on my face returns as she frantically roams the room like she's looking for something. Small laughs escape from somewhere inside. A hand slides into the pocket grasping onto the pen and paper I slid in before leaving home earlier. She picks up a pen and paper and quickly scribbles on it. My eyes flash around the room taking in every tiny detail because it's changed so much since my feet last crossed through the door. The pain living inside the house devours me causing my stomach to plunge towards the ground.

She places the paper before me obviously worried about my parents. My hand clings onto the pen inside my pocket before surfacing. Quickly, I snatch the paper from her pressing my hand against it. Why worry about my parents? We should be worrying about them. They are the broken family. We are a broken family. At first, my gaze doesn't leave Fawn's. Maybe the pain will leave long enough for us to have fun like we used to when we were younger before we had to worry about the games. Maybe we can play in the snow making snow people. Storm loved making snow people and giving them names- something I never understood and will never be able to ask. With a quick crack of the neck, my gaze drops towards the paper in my hands wishing for a way for all the pain to wash away.(Nothing I say will make anything better. Nothing will change the past. Nothing will mend a broken heart.) What does one say to a cousin who lost her cousin, lover, and brother to the games? What can be said to change the pain? A hand runs through my shaggy hair with fingers spread wide, and a light flashes inside my head. I hope this works.

I grab the sheet of paper tight before turning to a wall to press down. My hand moves quickly scribbling down words in chicken scratch. Most people struggle to read my penmanship- funny thing is I can read it just fine. (Nothing is wrong. Just thought I'd spend the day with you all. Mom and dad are just sitting on the couch contemplating dinner. Are you okay? I didn't mean to wake you.) I take a deep breath before spinning around to face her. My stomach twists into a pretzel as my shattered heart races underneath the weight of my chest suffocating me making it nearly impossible to breathe. It feels like a hand has grasped my throat tightly refusing to let me inhale. My hand holds the paper out in front of me waiting for her to grab it to see the messy scribbles written quickly upon the page. The grip on the pen loosens before my gaze drops to the ground. I've never been good at making conversations partially because no sounds ever fill my large ears. The better to hear you with. Storm used to joke around with me about being unable to hear. Maybe one day his voice will pierce my ears for the first time. Peace surges through me for the first time since his death. No words can bring him back, but the memories of his short life are still here living inside me- it's my choice to keep him alive or to truly let him die.