Egret Pomfret // District 4 // FIN

[pumpkinbagels]

Egret Pomfret
Male
16 years old
District 4

Mom’s overbearing in the worst of ways.

I know it’s because she cares, but it’s still grating, the way she fusses over the way my clothes lay on me and the manner in which she tries to tame my wild blonde curls. I love mom, but she cares too much about a boy who’s more trouble than he’s worth. I pretend not to notice the way my sister talks to her more like she’s a schoolmaster rather than a parent, but I know that I’m the favorite, or at least the fixation. So I try to make myself unreachable, but it only makes her push harder. Maybe one day she’ll realize what a lost cause I am, but until then, I’ll try to stay out of trouble.

I don’t usually succeed.

There’s something about things being unfair that really angers me, makes my blood boil inside my veins and my vision turn red. My teachers don’t like how I question them. I beat up boys who try to grope girls at school, damn the consequences. For the poorer children at the market and in stores, I haggle down the prices of necessities for them, or, if all else fails, I just pocket the goods and sneak them to the kids later. When my family sits down to grimly watch the Hunger Games and see which child is going to survive, only to be enslaved for the entertainment of the elite, I sleep in my room and try to ignore it, because I know that the Capitol has eyes and ears in every room and I don’t want to risk saying anything vulgar about them where they could hear.

I’m reckless, but I’m not stupid. Most people don’t seem to understand that.

The worst trouble I’d gotten into was when a few friends and I had been drinking at another friend’s house, and we’d gotten cornered by a few Peacekeepers late at night. ”Give us everything valuable on you, and you can go home,” I’m fairly certain one had said. My friend spat on his shoe. The Peacekeeper threw the first punch, but I threw the second, and I had taken one out before the second put me in a chokehold until I’d fainted. The next morning, I’d woken up to a splash of cold water and a pounding hangover, and had been promptly dragged out to the post to get flogged with my friends. Forty lashes for Mel’, fifteen for me and the other boys. Fair enough, but I had to bite my lips to avoid making things worse for myself. Bowie made some smart comment that I couldn’t hear, and he got kicked in the chin with an iron-toed boot.

When I got home, it was to a slap to the face by mom, followed by her being dragged into the other room. I could see the conflict in my sister’s face, but when she put her hand on my knee, I stood and left. I usually listened when she talked to me, usually let her talk me through my feelings, but I was too tired and my back stung too much to be able to bear the guilt that would come afterwards. Later, dad came into my room to talk. I’d seen mom cry a lot before then, usually because of me, but it was the first time that I’d seen dad tear up. He’d stood there, crying almost silently until his face was scarlet and I got up to embrace him. We held each other for a moment, and under my breath, I promised him I wouldn’t mess with the Peacekeepers again. I know he didn’t believe me, but I meant it, and I haven’t been in trouble since.

Mom got even clingier afterwards, hardly ever giving me a moment alone. She barely even talked to my sister, speaking to her only to request things. Dad said it was because “She cares equally, you know,” in a soft, exhausted voice. There was a fog of stress lying over the house, wearing down all of us. ”You need protection, in her eyes,” he’d continued, and I felt resentment stirring in my throat, ”and in her eyes, your sister doesn’t. So you’re the one that’s constantly on her mind, because she wouldn’t be able to bear losing either of you. She loves you both.”

I didn’t particularly believe him, because I see the look in mom’s eyes, and it’s different from the way that my sister looks at me. There’s a difference between love and obsession, and I veer into an ever-present fixation for our mom. So I’ll continue to listen to my sister, because she’ll listen to me. She’ll keep me safe, but one day, she’ll understand why I failed the three of them.

Sometimes, I’ll go wandering until the buildings are far off in the distance, and I can almost pretend that I’m the only one in the world. No injustice, nobody trying unfairly to get ahead and gain privilege they don’t deserve. It’s when I’m most calm, when it’s midnight and I’m underneath the stars in an open field, grass between my fingers and nothing but fresh air filling my mungs. Well, as fresh as you can get in Panem. I’ll close my eyes and sleep, and wake up hours later. I come home, mom freaks out, and my sister either pushes me upstairs, or drags me out through the doorway again to get me some space away from her.

I try, and I often fail. One day, I won’t even bother anymore. In the world we live in, the only thing you can do is wait for death to come when it’s ready for you, especially in the lower Districts. I understand that I’m lucky to live in District Four, where we have a large home and our own cafe and a garden in the spacious backyard, where the sea is only a minute’s walk away from our house and there’s always food on the table, but I want more. Not for myself, but for every child squished under the boot of the Capitol.

There’s no hope of that, so I settle for helping who I can.

[pumpkinbagels]

ripred_bot

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

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