silence is destruction {tom}

[Knuckles]

Ethuil Aldalómë

Sometimes being a mayor of a very poverty stricken district was rough, but Ethuil always looked for different ways to improve. His eyes scanned through the papers scattered across his desk wondering what he could do, if anything, yet he knew nothing would change. His heart raced inside his chest as he swept up a paper in his hand, and he stared at the writing on it. Another person came down with the flu and passed away. It was a terrible fate, yet it was the reality he was faced with. It was a heartbreaking moment knowing that another person had starved to death under his watch, but food was scarce, and people were battling the elements.

He sighed as he looked away from the paper, and his eyes focused on the window in front of him. A gentle rain fell from the sky, and it splattered against the window frame. Dark gray clouds flew across through the horizon as the wind picked up its pace. Trees bent beneath the weight of the heavy gusts blasting through the air. Garbage flew across the grassy plain in front of him.

Ethuil stood, and scooted his chair in long enough to watch people retreat into some sort of shelter as the gentle rain became much, much more. It only made him realize how much needed to be fixed. Roofs leaked. Fires were hard to keep. People died.

But there wasn't much he could do. The Capitol was strict in their ways, and when Ethuil was sworn in as mayor, he knew going against them would only be bad for him and his family. Yet if he had too much on his plate after he was finished, he wouldn't toss it. Hungry teens often searched through the garbage cans for something to fill their empty stomachs. He would only place it in a bag, and set it outside for the first person to find.

He sat back down in his chair, and lifted the papers once more. If only there was something he could do.

[googlefont="Oxygen:400"]
342 words

[Tom]

Writing Thinks Says Hears

The sky's grey clouds stand above the coal district, heavy winds, pouring rains, rough weather forcing the people into their homes to hide from the hell that took over the lands. Aarin sat staring at the people, safely in his spot on his desk. The roofs were strong enough to protect them, only another thing for Aarin to add to his list of things that he would make better about District Twelve. The list in front of his hands having items crossed off and uncrossed off again. This was his list of things to fix in District Twelve. Frustration filled his bones and his fist slammed down as he stared at the long list of stuff.

The frustration filled his blood to the core. The Aldalome boy couldn't take it anymore. The room flashed past him as he moved to the one man in his life who probably would only add to the frustration, but it didn't matter. His head already knew what it wanted and answers were what he craved for. Answers to why his father hadn't fixed the district. They had the money to fix a lot of it. Aarin was pretty sure of that. The march to his father's office was short, His hand flying up and sending a slight force to the door. The knock echoed for a second before Aarin opened the door, his voice frustrated, but clear somehow, "Hey dad."

His father was a man whose good heartedness spread through people. A lifeline to the hope that District Twelve could have. A leader to all of the people who were suffering. A man who helped the people with everything he had. His father was a rolemodel to all of the Aldalome kids. A man who could change all of District Twelve, except that wasn't true. District Twelve would have been better by then. Better than it had before. Arbor, Aranica, and Heron's winnings helping ease the district a little bit, but that had ran cold. Aarin was frustrated with the condition of it all. All he wanted was for everyone to be better and not to have the death tolls on the rise from hunger. A question flies out of his lips before he can catch it, "Dad, why hasn't District Twelve been fixed up? Shouldn't the capitol have helped us by now? Especially with the hunger and run down buildings?"

Aarin stood in front of his father, whose role in District Twelve was to make sure the district was well. Aarin's frustration came from everything wrong, the death, the hunger, the destruction. It made him want to break down and cry for all the people suffering. A heart of gold is what his mother said he had, just like his father, but it felt like a curse to suffer with the people. His arms crossed as he leans against the door frame. The room was nice, papers on his father's desk, the warmth that filled the room felt homey, and yet Aarin didn't like it. It felt like it was wrong. Everything was wrong with District Twelve. Something had to change. Something big, even if he had to do it himself. The boy with a heart of gold, upset and frustrated.

[Knuckles]

Ethuil Aldalómë

White walls surrounded him as his downcast eyes scanned the papers. Ethuil lifted a pen from the table and started writing down notes of potential ways to deal with the hunger. He had his share growing up, and now he had more than he can deal with, yet his family was far more important. Making sure their stomachs were full was the first priority on his bucket list, and the district came next - it was hard to feed hundreds of people.

But he had to do something.

A soft sigh fell from his lips as he placed the paper back down on his desk. It shouldn't have been a hard job, yet every second of every single day people came running to him asking for advice. Despite his best efforts, Ethuil was only one person, and one person couldn't do it all.

A gentle knock echoed off the walls of the tiny office, but he didn't move. His eyes remained locked on the paper as his son waltzed through the door. "Hey dad." The mayor could tell something was wrong with Aarin just by the sound of his voice. He sighed before lowering the paper. Fragile hands ran through his hair wondering what was about to happen. "Dad, why hasn't District Twelve been fixed up? Shouldn't the Capitol have helped us by now? Especially with the hunger and run down buildings?"

Ethuil swallowed a lump forming in the back of his throat as Aarin stood in front of him wanting answers he didn't know. Even those who worked in the coal mines didn't make enough to provide for their families. It was a sad reality, and Ethuil wasn't capable of doing much about it without risking the safety of his family. His mind raced endlessly with many thoughts about the food they all received at home, and how the district could benefit from even just a plate of it.

Every word became glued to the tip of his tongue. Truthfully, there wasn't an easy answer for this question, but he knew Aarin wouldn't stop asking until he heard what he wanted.

"You see all these papers?" He asked pointing at them all strewn across his desk. "I've been reading them over and over looking for ways to improve. But the answer just isn't there." It wasn't much, and one man was powerless against the Capitol - even the mayor. "I guess they're with other districts right now. District Three just won the games. So maybe after that?" He shrugged his shoulders and offered a half smile, but it wasn't enough, and he knew it.

[googlefont="Oxygen:400"]

[Tom]

Writing Thinks Says Hears

This was the curse that his father had given him. A golden heart that thumps achingly at his chest. A heart of gold with the caring personality that Aarin contained. Frustration spreading it's vile infection through his body. Anger for everything that he has seen happen and for the people who have lost it all spreads through his body. His father stands before him, words flowing out of his lips, "You see all these papers?" The Aldalome boy noticed the papers when he first came in. Eyes staring at his father impatiently waiting for an answer that he probably didn't want to hear.

"I've been reading them over and over looking for ways to improve. But the answer just isn't there. I guess they're with other districts right now. District Three just won the games. So maybe after that?" His father's voice provides a hope that was already lost with the people of District Twelve. The capitol wouldn't help. His father wouldn't help him. Aarin was alone in his mission to prevent the district from starving. Both his parents knew he would steal food from their kitchen and give it to the poor kids of the district. A half smile comes from his father and Aarin only sighs in frustration.

His voice feels fake, but it's from giving his father the words that he wants to hear. Calm and collected, yet upset and frustrated. "I guess we'll have to wait." Arms fold up and cross at his chest. He leans against the door comfortably for balance. A fake smile plastered to his face as he speaks again to his father, a man with many skills. "Can I help you with the paperwork dad?" The man that was his father was a man with a heart of gold. Aarin knew the events in the District were eating up his father just like they were eating at his heart too. Aarin Aldalome and Ethuil Adalome were similar and yet very different in their own ways. Aarin knew they were similar and it's why they got along most of the time.

The storm outside continues to rage. Aarin can hear it from where he's standing. The howling winds causing the walls to creak just a little bit. Aarin hated storms, always had as a kid, but for once the storm felt more comforting than anything as he waited to hear if his father would allow him to help. Arms crossed, heart crossed, he was ready to help his father, his role model, in any way he could.

[Knuckles]

Ethuil Aldalómë

Immediately after giving the answer, Ethuil knew his son wasn't pleased. District twelve was his to take care of, yet there he was watching as the poor became poorer. Nothing went right. Deaths happened every single day, and he was tired of labeling them as an unknown illness. It hurt his heart. It made him wish he lived in a better district because twelve was falling apart. Something needed to change, but crossing the line wasn't an option because the consequences were dire, and his family needed his protection.

His gaze shifted towards the window, and the storm grew stronger with each passing second - he hoped people took shelter wherever they could, yet he knew the odds were slim to none. Roofs leaked. Boards collapsed beneath the weight of the heavy wind. Cracks of thunder filled the air mimicking the sounds of cannons. Bright flashes of lightning illuminated the sky. It was almost peaceful, yet nothing in district twelve was peaceful.

"Can I help you with the paperwork dad?"

Normally he preferred working alone because it gave him a chance to clear his mind. He wanted to come up with some sort of game plan. Setting food outside his house for the first straggler was always an option, but it wasn't enough because many went hungry. Even the rations from the tessera never offered district twelve enough hope; it died with each tribute every single year.

Moving the stool from the side of he table, Ethuil motioned for his son to sit down. "Yeah, you can help." He paused for a moment knowing what was in front of him would shatter any hope Aarin had left, but he couldn't refuse his request. "Perhaps you can come up with some ideas, that doesn't involve breaking the law, to help the citizens of district twelve?" He hoped it would work because he had nothing else left to do.

If Aarin was willing, Ethuil was happy to oblige.

[googlefont="Oxygen:400"]