Valor Summit // d7 // [fin]
Oct 3, 2015 21:46:32 GMT -5
Post by arx!! on Oct 3, 2015 21:46:32 GMT -5
Valor Summit || 12 || male || District 7 || 2nd cousin once removed || Romeo Beckham
Valor Summit
"This is Panem! Every kid grows up too fast!""Well, he shouldn't---"
"What?! Are you insane!? It's grow up or die---""I can protect him! We can protect him!"
"No! No we can't!""We're parents that's our job!
"You think I don't know that?""No, I think you're a coward."
"Ripred, you saw her die, right? Stella? My family name isn't invincible.""What kind of father are you?"
"We. Can't. Protect. Him.""WE HAVE TO! I can't--- I can't lose another baby, Auric..."
"I know... I can't either."
The leaves are changing color as the season turns. Yellows, reds, oranges, browns all dancing to the ground as a breeze rushes through the trees. The sun is slowly beginning to sink over the horizon, the air growing cooler with every inch it moves in the sky. You lay beneath the trees in splotched light. Your cheeks and nose have been kissed by the chill of autumn, a bright red. You dream of flying and sleeping on clouds. Your mother's voice echoes through the woods; it's time to go.
You don't flinch, not a single muscle. You merely blink and stare thoughtfully at the leaves and sky above you. Soon, you hear her call again, and this time you shoot into action --- you scoop up your journal, a collection of all the different leaves you could find around District 7 --- and run off, dusting the leaves from your hair and the dirt from your knees. Mom is waiting; Dad is waiting.
But there it is, right in front of you. You stop dead in your tracks, your journal tucked beneath your arm and your scarf wrapped haphazardly around your neck. You hold your breath, not daring to move. Its fur is a soft brown like the crust of an apple pie and its eyes are as dark as your own. A toothy smile slowly creeps across your face as it stares back at you with scared eyes.
You extend your arm, slowly, as slowly as your youth will let you, but the deer simply dashes away through the trees. You give a dejected sigh, use a curse word you learned from the older boys at school, kick at the ground. Your mother calls again, this time proving she is impatient. You call back this time, your voice cracking awkwardly, something the other boys tease you about. You use the curse word again because you think you're all grown up now.
She walks out the door, silently, believing her son is asleep in his bed. But he's watching the night sky, charting stars. And he sees. He sees Mommy sneaking off into the night all bundled up in her big fur coat. The curiosity --- a trait so deeply embedded in the boy's personality --- makes him hop off the window ledge, creep passed his snoring father, and follow in his Momma's footsteps into the dark woods. The moon is nearly full, its pockmarked face smiling down upon mother and son, guiding them safely in their respected journeys.
A single coyote yowls in the distance, its mournful call awakening its friends who begin a symphony of soft yips and cackles that echo through the night. Mother knows there is nothing to fear, the coyotes are miles away, content to simply sing a chorus for anyone who will listen. But her dearest son, shivers. Even with a nimble mind he fears the creatures of the night, his imagination taking his thoughts into darker and darker directions. But still he does not call out his mother. He simply follows, hopping over roots and twisting through the trees. Step for step after Momma.
The boy recognizes the tree he slept under this afternoon, the treehouse Daddy had built for him when he turned 9, the small creek where he collected rocks and watched tiny fish swim in schools. He runs and runs and runs as fast as his growing limbs and tiny heart can take him all the while wondering where Mom could be going. It feels like forever to him. When he finally sees his Mom's dark figured outlined in moonlight, he feels a wave of relief wash over him. The boy ducks quickly behind a tree, peeking cautiously around it to peer at his mother.
Mother thinks she is alone. It is the middle of the night, why would anyone be out in the woods? Tears are already running down her cheeks, but now that she lays eyes on the 4 tiny graves, the small stream of tears turns to a river, and the wail that had been caught in her throat the whole run here finally broke free. Four children, three miscarriages, and a baby girl who didn't live past 2 years old. She had one son where she should have 5 children. And though she was grateful for her son, loved him with all her heart, every once of her being still ached with the loss of her children.
Son didn't understand. He had never seen his mother cry, never heard her screech in pain, never knew that parents even felt pain. In his young mind, he hadn't been aware that parents were mere mortals. He sits quietly, watching, waiting for his Mom to stand and return home. He would hold her hand, give her a hug, a kiss. He would try to make the pain go away, though he was uncertain of his ability to do so. He had to try. Try to help, try to understand. What's wrong with Mom?
I hate when Mom and Dad yell at each other. They tell me to go to my room and then they scream at each other. It might not bother me so much if they included me in the conversation; they always wanted to yell about me. How could one wood door keep me sheltered from their arguments? I wasn't deaf. I wasn't stupid. I wasn't weak or little or too young anymore. I deserved to yell on my own behalf, didn't I? That seems fair.
I try to block it all out, shove my head between to pillows and ignore it, but their voices bleed through the down feathers and corrupt my thoughts. I didn't know I was such a hassle, didn't know I was such a burden, didn't realize they had to yell about me to hold a single conversation with each other. The sun had barely risen, my night adventure having ended only a few hours ago. My eyes feel heavy and my bed feels soft, but I can't sleep with all the shouting. I wish locking a door meant keeping the things you hated out.
I throw my pillow at the door and scream. They don't even pause in their argument. My head aches as I roll out of bed, my body begging me to go to sleep. But I can't. Not here with my parents' voices bouncing around in my head. I yank the window open and crawl out, snatching my journal off the ledge before I fall into the bushes around our cabin. I hear my name, but it's not them yelling to me or at me --- just still more yelling about me.
I run until my legs are on fire and my lungs beg me for more air. No one comes after me, no one wonders where I'm at. No one even notices that I'm gone. They argue so much about keeping me safe and here I am wandering through the woods. Some parents they are. My friends all tell me they argue because I was related to the girl who died in the Quell. But I haven't heard her name more than once. And I never met her either, not until the funeral. It was stupid that I even had to go to the damn thing. My dad was only her second cousin, and I, something even less than that. I could've been collecting more leaves that day. Instead I had to sit through a funeral.
I pick up a leaf beneath my foot and shove it between the pages of my journal. Something even I hadn't seen before. And that's when my eyes catch it, the graves. I glance around, recognizing my surroundings, the tree from last night, my Mom's footprints. She had cried here for nearly an hour. I had wanted to reach out to her, wanted to give her one of my grown up hugs and kiss her forehead like she did for me when I was hurt. But she had run home straight past me and I had kept my lips sealed, fearing punishment.
And now I was standing where she had been kneeling, staring at four headstones, just like the kind I had seen at Stella's funeral. Only now there were four of them, all with my last name plastered on them. What...?
"You have a son, a living, breathing son!""We lost four children and you don't even care!"
"What? You think I don't care?""You won't even visit them with me anymore! I have to sneak out at night just to see th---"
"You what!?""They are my children!"
"No, Wren, they are dead!""How can you---"
"We have Valor! Valor, you know, the boy you sent to his room, the boy who followed you out there last night---!"I should have 5 Valor's!"
"Yes, you should, but you only have one.""You don't even miss them!"
"I said I do! I just can't stand staring at graves anymore!""How can you be so cruel?"
"Cruel? At least I'm not neglecting the son I do have."
