Hugo Xanthos Fulvus - Wanderer [FIN]

HUGO XANTHOS FULVUS

The pounding rain fell on his head, sliding down along each individual hair as it permeated deep into his skin. The chill that dug into him had claws sharper than any he had known. Like a knife slicing down his back, his spine was wracked by shivers, coming one after another without pause, no sanction for him between the bouts of shaking. Still, he didn’t care. Standing in the freezing rain as he was, no jacket or even long-sleeved shirt, he was slowly becoming as numb on the outside as he was inside. His black hair no longer retained any of the moisture that fell on it, instead scattering the droplets in all directions so some dripped in front of his eyes, and others slid under the collar of his soaked shirt.

Beneath waterlogged bangs sat his two hazel eyes, normally so vibrant against his slightly tanned skin, but now so dull and sucked of feeling as to look almost dead. It was as though there were no soul in their depths, and they had darkened to a muddy colour because of it. No more laughter touched them, not since years ago when everything had just fallen so far. All around him were the shadows of his past, the darkness that surrounded him, blackness so complete that it seemed there would be no way to break through. He was a skeleton with discernible features, a broken heart hidden beneath a mask no one could ever remove.

I had a dream - of the wide open prairie
I had a dream - of the pale morning sky
I had a dream - that we flew on golden wings
And we were the same - just the same - you and I

A shuddering sigh, emitted through chattering teeth that were straight but turning yellow from lack of care, that clacked with an almost hollow sound, bared a bone-deep weariness. He was lost in his own mind and was tired of it, but he could never forgive himself for what he had done. The t-shirt, looking black from all of the water soaked into it, was pressed against his back and showed the edge of his spine, another sign of his scrawny stature. He was so thin, and not in a healthy way. Counting ribs was normally only able to be done by feeling them, but it took hardly any effort with him, most of them clearly defined.

He didn't have to be like this, just skin and bone, without a scrap of muscle on him and hardly weighing 120 despite being five feet and ten inches. So thin as to be sickly, and yet he pushed himself on. He wouldn't let himself eat more than was absolutely necessary, he didn't deserve it in his eyes. If only he hadn't been so selfish, so overconfident. So stupid. Why had he asked his brother to do that? Why hadn't he done it? Now he punished himself for it, as though the mere memory of his brother wasn't punishment enough. It was a wonder he was still alive right now. The scar on his left wrist the mark of shameful failure. He hadn't even managed to kill himself.

Follow your heart - little child of the west wind
Follow the voice - that's calling you home
Follow your dreams - but always, remember me
I am your brother - under the sun

To think he was only sixteen, with so much of his life ahead of him, and he already wanted it over. He didn’t deserve to live, but he was too much of a coward to actually kill himself. He was so near death as it was; his ribs easily visible beneath the shirt plastered to him by the rain. He was skin and bones, barely a figure, and it was a miracle he could even stand. As if that thought had only now occurred to him, he sank to his knees. The splash made by the impact was drowned out by the pounding of the rain, and by his sobs. His hands were now pressed into his thighs, just above his knees, all of his weight centered on that spot.

What little he had eaten in the past few days had been poor quality and held next to no nutrition, like everything he ate now. He was nothing like before, back when he had a care for his life, for the life of another. Now he was disheveled, his clothes tattered at the edges and always the worse for wear. A t-shirt, unable to be defined as black or just dark because it was soaked, was the only thing to cover his torso. He wore jeans, as soaked as the rest of him and dark as his shirt, with holes in one knee and the shin area of the other. His shoes, crunched by the position he was in, were skateboard shoes. They were black with dark blue trim, and completely waterlogged. Walking in them would create the squishing that was as annoying as it was uncomfortable.

We are like birds of a feather
We are two hearts joined together
We will be forever as one
My brother under the sun

The rain never seemed to cease, and he wasn't sure if he cared anymore. Soaked to the bone, a little more moisture wouldn't do anything to him now. Maybe it would just wash him away, each drop pulling off a piece of him and eroding him away until he was nothing. Let it at least wash away his memories. The ones of his parents, the loving happy family they had been, all four of them. His mother, his father, himself, and his brother. He had had a twin brother, Hauke. They had grown up in District ten, where there were plenty of horses and plenty of space to play. When rain like this fell they would stare out the window until the clouds faded and then they would go and splash in the puddles, making a game of who could splash in the most puddles, and who could get the other more wet. Then their mother would call them in and they'd have to have a bath, but not until they had been hosed off outside.

They lived on a little farm, in a little wooden house at the top of a small hill. Around them lived their sheep, all thirty of them with their fluffy coats and baa-ing. The two boys had loved the sheep and always would play in the fields with them. Hugo had become more of the protector of the two, acting as the shepherd to the little flock and watching for animals out to attack the sheep. Hauke was the one who took care of them, wrapping wounds and treating them for ticks, fleas and worms. Sometimes they would change jobs, but for the most part they liked it the way it was. Hugo liked standing at the top of the hill so he could see everything all at once, but sometimes he would have to go down to take a look at some of the sheep or inspect the fencing. It had meant that he wouldn't be able to see everything. Like he wasn't able to see the coyote that one day.

Wherever you hear - the wind in the canyon
Wherever you see - the buffalo run
Wherever you go - I'll be there beside you
Because you are my brother - my brother under the sun

A sob wracked him as he thought about it, water scattering from him at the violent movement. Instantly it was replaced by more drops, and he continued to stare at the ground between his knees, except he wasn't seeing the ground. In his view he saw Hauke, tending to a sheep that had twisted its leg in a rut in the grass. Speaking calmly to the animal, he had felt out the injury so he could see what he should do. Hugo, thinking his brother safe with all the sheep around to alert him to any danger, walked to the other side of the hill to make sure everything was in order. It was, and he began to drive the sheep over towards where his brother was. Except that they were all wary and didn't want to. It was then he heard the panicked bleating of a sheep and raced to the peak of the hill to see what had happened.

There was Hauke, looking up to the sheep who had called out to see what was going on. Even Hugo, with as good of a view as his position gave him, was unable to see the reason for the sheep's fear. Hauke, thinking it was something trivial, went back to wrapping the sheep's leg. It was then Hugo saw it, a huge coyote creeping through the grass towards Hauke and the injured sheep. Scared for his brother, Hugo tried to shout for him to watch out, running towards him in an attempt to both warn Hauke and scare off the coyote. It was too late though, and by the time Hauke had heard him and looked up the coyote had already leaped. Its jaws closed on Hauke's shoulder and it slammed into him full force, knocking him over. Hugo, screaming now for someone, anyone to help them, continued to run towards his brother and the coyote that just wouldn't let go.

Sound the bugle now - play it just for me
As the seasons change - remember how I used to be
Now I can't go on - I can't even start
I've got nothing left - just an empty heart

By the time he had reached his brother and began to beat on the coyote with a stick that had been nearby it was evident that Hauke was seriously wounded. Eventually Hugo drove off the coyote, but not before it had done more damage to Hauke and given him a bite on the wrist, fracturing it. His useless hand clutched to his chest, he went over to his brother. Hauke lay on his front, his shoulder and back mangled. The base of his neck had a horrible-looking bite on it that bled sluggishly. With dread-filled eyes, Hugo turned over his brother, it took him a bit to work out how to with his fractured wrist, but he eventually managed.

Hauke's eyes were dull, but there had been a faint whisper of life still in them. Shallow breathing had made his chest rise, but Hugo had seen how much it had cost him. Crying, he hugged his brother, his twin, and whispered how sorry he was. It was all his fault, he knew, and he should have been the one to die for it, not Hauke. Crying, whispering, and hating himself, Hugo cradled his brother until he died. When the last breath deflated Hauke's chest Hugo knew that his brother was dead. Even still, he didn't let go. He couldn't bring himself to, like the only thing that was keeping them together was his grip on his brother's body. He couldn't let go or he would lose him forever. But he already had. He had lost half of himself.

I'm a soldier - wounded so I must give up the fight
There's nothing more for me - lead me away...
Or leave me lying here

That was how his parents found him, still holding the cold body of his brother to his chest with his head bowed. His eyes were red and swollen, and he was barely able to see through the tears that were still spilling from them. Slowly, his father untangled him from the body of Hauke as his mother came to encircle him in her arms. Still, even with his parents beside him, he was unable to let go of Hauke and kept a grip of his brother's hand while his father carried him and his mother guided him home. It took a long time before his father was able to convince him to let go of Hauke's hand, and even after he did only with great regret and guilt. He barely registered that his mother tended to his wrist, numb from the shock of what had happened, even when she bound it which would have normally been quite painful as it was fractured.

The burial happened as soon as his father had built the coffin. The job itself was simple, but it took almost a week because of the meaning of the construction. Everyday after that, for the next few weeks, Hugo went to sit by his brother's grave, which was at the top of the hill facing towards the east so Hauke could watch the sun rise every morning. Often, this was when Hugo would sit by the grave and imagine that they were watching the view together, like they always did. But they would never again be able to share grins of happiness at the rising sun, or wonder at how the light changed around them. The sun had set on Hauke, and it seemed on Hugo's happiness.

Sound the bugle now - tell them I don't care
There's not a road I know - that leads to anywhere
Without a light I fear that I will stumble in the dark
Lay right down - decide not to go on

Hugo wasn't the only one so deeply affected by the death of Hauke, his parents were devastated in their own right, and it wouldn't be uncommon for a horrible silence to fill the home as a memory would catch the three occupants off guard. The hardest thing for them was to look at Hugo and see him as only one half to a whole. It was to a point where every time that his parents looked at him they only saw that they were missing a son, rather than that they still had one. The pain on every side began to back Hugo into a corner of despair and he began to wonder what he could do to solve this suffering. The voice in the back of his mind, the one that sounded so much like Hauke, said only one thing; escape.

He left about a month after the death of Hauke, not knowing whether he was running away from pain or toward death and not caring either way. He didn't take any supplies, only the things he wore and small things he stuffed into his pockets. One thing he knew he could never leave without was Hauke's favorite guitar pick, of the two Hauke had had a talent for the guitar and their father had built him a guitar. The pick had been something bought from a store more in the center of District ten. Not having a chain, Hugo took one of the spare nylon guitar strings and drilled a small hole in the pick, threading the string through it and tied it around his neck. To make sure it stayed, he melted the ends with a soldering iron his dad kept in the shed, burning his left hand and then the back of his neck in the process. It was only then that he left.

Then from on high - somewhere in the distance
There's a voice that calls, "Remember who you are"
If you lose yourself - your courage soon will follow

Life away from home was rough on Hugo, and it didn't help that he was rough on himself. He didn't know how to hunt, and even if he did he didn't know if he would be able to watch another thing die. Unless it was himself. It was under this decision that he became a vegetarian, though he would eat meat if he had to. There were a few times that he nearly died, from either dehydration or starvation, as he was unable to properly care for himself out in the woods even if he had wanted to. With the feeling of worthlessness running through him there was no way he would be able to feed himself without thinking that Hauke should be enjoying this food with him, or even instead of him. It was these types of thoughts that lead him to try and take his own life.

He had been very low in spirit for the past few days, undergoing a very acute case of depression at the time, and memories of Hauke would not leave him for all he wanted to forget his pain. It was only the pain he wanted to forget, he told himself, but there was that one part of him that just wanted the relief of forgetting everything. Once more, like it had so long ago, the voice in his head said that one word, still sounding like Hauke; escape. And so he tried, using the pick that hung around his neck as a blade in order to slit his wrists. Perhaps if he had had a real knife he would have succeeded, but while the pick was sharp it wasn't enough to sever the veins in his wrists. He bled, but it wasn't enough to kill him, just making him pass out for a day or more and leaving ugly scars on his wrists. At times he wonders if he should try once more, but never again has he felt the same helplessness, cowardice or utter weariness with life.

So be strong tonight - remember who you are
Yeah you're a soldier now - fighting in a battle
To be free once more - yeah, that's worth fighting for

OTHER

FC: Adrien Sahores

Lyrics: Brothers Under The Sun by Bryan Adams and Sound The Bugle by Bryan Adams.

Words
762 - Appearance/Personality
1851 - History
2613 - Total

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