auden wren ( 3m )

[ghosty]

{ --- }

auden wren
district three
seventeen
fourth retro games

[ghosty]

His eyes flashed orange-yellow as the welder spits sparks from the iron rails. They reminded him of too many things, of the heat of the arguments he had with parents, reminders of distant explosions from the fighting. He did grow used to those though, with time. Arms ached, legs feeling heavy -- the track had to be finished today, no matter how long it took. That was the message from the bosses' bosses boss. He didn't want to guess how many bosses were in that chain. Probably more rings than the iron rope of them back at the rail processing base. The reaping was the reason, whatever they called it. The death sentence. 

He didn't need to guess the number of bosses. Just from the top.

The sparks lit the world around him, darkness creeped in too close, too fast. Iron filled in his nose as he lifted the heavy mask off, tired fingers brushed against his skin. He was a hard worker, all the way to the bone, and then a little  more. Auden, he dreaded to look at the clock, to see the hours almost beyond count between fingers and toes. All he wanted is to go home and-- and he got ahead of himself again. There was no home, not since he dropped out of the schooling he was taking. The sparks from those arguments with Mom kept him awake at night; burnt hotter than those slowly dying at his feet. He was good at this, better than he was with numbers or science. Her words stung at tired eyes.

Workers barracks had no comfort. rock hard bunks offering nothing but brief respite, interrupted silence as shifts go in and out. Today was different, youth-lined eyes weary, worry filled his joints more than the weight of his welding equipment, fingers aching from the day before, burn marks slowly appearing from one slip, welded joints hot seconds after they are formed. Glass bowls was his future, bright white uniforms watching his every movement as he follows crowds forming in the streets. People his age, that's new to him, the new him. Boss told him he was the youngest welder they ever had. Mom would love to hear that, he hoped. He was doing something, repairing the damaged tracks from the War. fixed in four years. Ahead of schedule. 

His name filled the air like sparks from his welding tools, slowly fading as they cooled like blood creeping through his veins. It was worth nothing, the work he devoted his time to. War repairs and reparations to the flashes of war in the distance. A casualty. Auden would pay the cost, the fine. His fingers ached still as he flexed his hands in nervous steps up and away to a different world than Auden the welder. He'd try his handiwork out faster than he expected, hearing the train on rails.

Now, he'd be Auden the survivor. He hoped Mom would be proud of that.

[ghosty]

all done L△LIA !

[L△LIA]

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