For a spark, for a light :: Reagan/Augustus

Striking the lighter with the bed of a chewed-back fingernail, he held the small flame to his candle. When he united the dangerous dance to the burnt-down wick, he was reminded that he himself was like the candle- he could not burn on his own. It was the spark of his own Lighter that made him flicker in the darkness, and he could only hope that his light would show others how to acknowledge the Lighter too.

Soon, he was deep in the summer-sun calm that prayer always brought him. Trying to unfurl his mind like petals from a bud, he let his thoughts wander, but rounded them up before they took their focus off God. This time of day was but a conversation for Augustus. The answers to his questions were discovered deep in his own thoughts, or painted in a picture that just happened to be his world. He was searching so hard to be at peace with God, to do good by the one who had done so much good for him. It was like searching for a particular pebble on a beach- difficult, but eventually possible.

He asked for guidance, and for the ability to be a guide. A girl from Glee club had asked for his help in making a connection, and try as he might not to pay any attention, Augustus had heard the rumors. As much as he tried to disinfect himself from the gossip, the infection had somehow managed to weasel it’s way inside of him. But Reagan had asked him for his help, and surely that was the first step towards anyone’s healing, the first movement towards lighting the candle, which burned in Gus like the polar opposite to a Dantean Inferno.

The buzz of his mobile device made him start out of his deep state. Almost angry at the fact that his work had been ruined, his fast-beating heart surged along his back from the fright. Taking a moment to collect himself, his anger soon turned to contentment when he read that Reagan was heading over. He would love to be the one to help her, but he felt like it was for his own reasons and not for hers.

Taking a glance around his sardine-can apartment, he suddenly felt a flutter of anxiety in his stomach. Moving to thirteen had been the first time he had lived by himself, and had no one to worry about seeing his mess. When he was in the wild, he had nothing to leave, as his nomadic life meant that he was constantly moving, but now his coupled rooms looked as if it were a birds nest, woven out of sheets of music and dirty clothes that he had not yet bothered to take to the laundry. Once again, his heart started to quicken, and he began shoving his clothes that lay like road kill on his floor into the cupboard beneath his sink. Pages carrying heavy phrases describing Faith, such as ‘the rhythm of my heart’ and ‘the rumbled yearning of my stomach’ were forced under his slither of a single bed, and somehow the rooms began to fall into some sort of order. The only people who would be visiting the apartment that night would be his fellow teenager, who he was sure would appreciate the chaos, and Jesus, who had seen it many times before.

He took both his water-logged, ripple-paged bible that had travelled from district one and his new (but not so meaningful) book, and put them on the table. Although the words in both books read the same, Augustus always seemed to connect a lot better with the words that had already helped him through an awful lot. Then, not knowing how much Reagan knew of the Bible, and certainly not wanting to look pressurizing, he placed them on his bed, so that they were close had hand but not so close to sight. That was the way that Gus felt that relationships with God should be, anyhow- felt, not necessarily seen.

It had been a long period of time since he had helped anyone with their relationship with Him- certainly not since he left his home district. Augustus didn’t feel like he was fully qualified- after all, his own relationship was an imperfect one- but he had seen how people without God in their lives could act, and he was so willing to do anything he could to avoid that.