esme farrow, district six | finished

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

esme farrow — eighteen — district six

They don't write stories about girls like me. I've made my peace with that.

When you're left with four siblings to raise, there's a lot you have to sacrifice. Your education, your social life, your childhood. Whatever that even means when you live in Six. It just doesn't exist anymore. The moment your father dies from a chemical leak, and your mother starts trading out vices for her own children, that's when it ends.

That's how it ended for me. Quick as a needle in the vein.

I dropped out of school, told my friends I'd be busy for the next few weeks — and then months, and then years. Everything just starts to blur together. And I remember this tiny voice in the back of my head, telling me that I could save my mother, too. Until she forgot my name, and my face, to the point that I didn't even have a place in her memories anymore.

Her eldest daughter, and I couldn't get her to follow me home.

And that's when the panic really sets in. That's when I take on every job I can find — cleaning up surgical rooms, waiting on tables at the local diner, filing papers at the library until all the words bleed together. Just so that I can afford food, and clothes, and rent. So that I can avoid suspicion that I'm just a kid, and that I shouldn't be doing this on my own.

No, I shouldn't be, but I have to.

It kind of starts to become a routine. I spend every free moment making sure they're happy, and loved — that they're still excelling in school and pursuing their passions and making mistakes. Because they should be allowed to. Because I hate how serious, and cruel, the world has become. And it fuels me, just being able to see them smile. Knowing they're not afraid.

What I do isn't glorious. I like to think of myself as a quiet hero, the kind of person who doesn't need praise of recognition. All I need to know is that they look up to me, that they trust me, and everything just clicks back into place. I don't know how to exist if it's not for them. I could take the sun in my hands, and I'd give all the warmth to them.

My life is a wonderful, complex thing. I like to cover up the tragedies, paint over all the ugly spots with photographs and old drawings — a happy memory for every scar. I encourage everything my siblings have to offer. Put on a show in the living room and play every part, bake a cake as tall as you could possibly imagine, tell me that you dream of being free.

And I'll smile, and I'll still love you. Because I know it's all temporary. That they're all going to be brilliant, empowered people one day — that there's nothing they can't achieve for themselves. And I know I'll still be here, loving them and not regretting even a single dream that I traded away to keep them safe. Because that's all the matters in the end.

Be great. Be brave. Be free.

And I'll be here for you, always.

[✨ zozo.]