EDOM IVERLY x DISTRICT NINE x FIN

N A M E : Edom Enzo Iverly.
A G E : Sixteen Seventeen.
G E N D E R : Male.
L O C A T I O N : District Nine.
F C : Tony Dracke.
C O D E W O R D : Odair.

Night had fallen a mere hour before I slipped through the window out of my house. I can see factories on my right and fields on my left. The icy air is full of adventure. My heart is pounding, my palms are sweaty. I can barely breathe. I can the the broad, green fringes of the forest in the distance. The fence that serves as a barrier between me and freedom glints in the white moonlight. I can tell from how tiny the trees and the fence are that it will be a while, maybe twenty to thirty minutes, maybe even a hour, before I reach the fence.

I am not escaping. I am exploring. Ha, tell that to the Peacekeepers, I think as I trudge farther. Exploring is against the rules, but so what? I break the rules all the time. I would never leave, anyway. I could never leave my little sister, Lapis. She needs me. my childish mother needs me - how could she go on without me? My father is dead. She has nothing without Lapis and I. Compassionate today, are we, Edom? I think to myself. Since when are you cared about anyone but yourself? I guess I picked the wrong day to be thoughtful. I could do it. I could runaway forever and they'd never find me. I am a sneaky kid. No, I think, you are not a kid anymore. You are a man. My childish innocence is gone; I am a man.

Where did the time go? The other day I was just a boy who dreamed of a bright future. Now I am a man who longs for freedom but can't have it. I'm not the only one who longs for freedom, but life sucks, so get over it. I often imagine all of Panem burning to the ground, taking everyone with it, destroying all of the horrible memories forever. Fire is the ultimate destroyer. Fire alone can burn down our crops, destroy our factories, kill our people, make our food nothing but ashes, melt our money, crumple every letter, burn every diary, and demolish every house.

Fire alone can take everything we have.

I learned that lesson a decade ago when I was six. Lapis was only four. I remember six-year-old me very well - naive, boisterous, jovial, innocent. He had a cherub-like face and wide brown eyes with deep brown curls growing out of his head. He had a slight build and was extremely short for a boy. He had the most dazzling crooked smile and the cutest giggle. So what happened to that six-year-old boy? He grew up.

He - I still have a wide face, but it's more oval shaped now. It is no longer cherub-like and innocent. It is the face that a grown man would have. My eyes are still wide and brown but no longer look childish. They often spark with curiosity and aggravation. A pair of ridiculously thick, untamed eyebrows that desperately need trimming grow above my eyes. My medium brown hair lost its curl. It is disorderly and occasionally I have a cowlick¹ that stands up on the back of my head. I don't care enough to comb it thoroughly so it lies flat.

I sprang up like a cornstalk when I was nine. I kept growing until I reached 5'8, which is my current height. I used to be lanky and slightly skeletal, but in the seventh grade I began to gain muscle so I bulked up. By eighth grade I towered over most people and I looked like someone who could punch your tooth out (which was great so then idiots wouldn't try to challenge me). Even my personality drastically changed. I am not jovial, naive, boisterous, nor am I innocent. I am daring, sardonic, sarcastic, strong-headed, determined, with the least bit of compassion.

So yes, that six-year-old boy grew up.

He had no choice but to grow up at a young age. No, not he. I. I had no choice but to grow up at a young age. At age six, my mother left the stove on in the kitchen overnight and the stove caught fire. It jumped to the walls, then the floors, and everything else in our house - including the people in it. I had been awake when it happened. I still remember the crackling of the fire in my ears and the searing pain I felt when the flames licked my arm. I got by smashing the window with a chair and then grabbing Lapis and throwing myself out the window (luckily, the window wasn't far from the ground).

My mother got out, but her wounds were more severe than mine. The skin on her arms was dappled with blotchy pink and white spots and the ends of her hair was charred and a few chunks of it were missing. When she got out of the house, her clothes were blackened and tattered, most of it eaten by the fire. Her cheeks glistened with tears and her hair was like a bird's nest. Needless to say, she looked like hell (she had pretty much been through hell). I asked her, "Where's Dad?" She burst into hysterics when she realized that he was still in the house, which was ablaze in flames. You could barely see the outer walls. Only the peak of the roof was showing. She didn't try to run in and get him. She would have gotten herself killed and she would have died in vain. When the fire was put out with the help of the neighbors, my father's skeleton was found under burned, blackened wooden beams.

My mother never came out of depression after that. I don't expect her to.

All this time I've been journeying back to the past and I hadn't realized that I'd been walking towards the woods, taking long, silent strides. I find my self right in front of the fence, which is buzzing with electricity. If I touched it, I'd die. There a branch hanging over the fence. If I can just jump up and grab it, I can get over the fence.

I prepare myself for the jump (lucky for me, I'm 5'8, so this shouldn't be difficult) by bending my knees and bunching up the muscles in my legs. I spring into the air, extending my arm to catch onto the branch. I gasp when my fingers barely close around the branch and I silently hope that the branch won't break under my weight. I grab the branch with my free hand and pull myself up, which is as taxing and exhausting as a pull-up. Pulling myself onto a branch reminds me of gym class, which I am a failure at.

When I manage to pull myself onto the branch, I grin with relief. I want to rest but I can't so lying on my stomach, I slowly inch towards the trunk of the tree. I stand up and clutch the trunk, holding on for my life. I lower my leg down and when it touches the branch, I slide down the trunk and let myself stand on the branch. This one's sturdier than the last. I keep climbing down the tree, clinging to the trunk at all times, terrified of falling (I am afraid of heights). My feet thought the ground, and I sight in relief.

I break into a run although I feel terrible nauseous and my vision is slightly blurred. I don't stop until I stumble, tripping over my own feet. My face hits the ground and my hands dig into the soil. I pull myself to my feet and running, my eyes on my feet to make sure I don't fall. I'm not even watching where I'm going. It feels like I'm soaring through the forest. I have an alien euphoric sense of freedom as I run through the woods. I look up the take in the view.

Moss is draped on branches of trees. A multitude of green and brown leaves crunch under my feet as I run. The night sky is alive with brilliant points of light that I can barely see through the canopy of trees. I can hear the trickling of a pond or a stream or maybe a waterfall close by. I head towards the sound of the stream, curious. Curiosity killed the cat. Where the fuck did that come from? What idiot made that up? I am a curious person, not a curious cat. Fuck you, whoever made up that phrase. A lot of people like to say that dumbass phrase to me whenever I get am idea that involves curiousness.

I have a dirty mouth, but I try not to cuss. But when someone makes me mad, I can't help it. I will cuss like there's no tomorrow. I lose my temper often, too. I'm known for my sarcasm and attitude and cussing habits and arrogance (by the way, I think it's total bullshit - I'm not arrogant but everyone says I am, but screw everyone).

I continue on, slowing to a jog, and then I relax all together and walk. I trudge through the leaves that make crackling noises under my feet, trying not to think of anything that will distract me (I get distracted very easily). But I can't help it when my thoughts wander. I typically meander through conversations because it's difficult for me to stay on topic. Not my fault, it's how I function.

At last I reach the pond, which gets its water from a small stream. Moss clings to the edges of the pond like dark green lace. The pond is alive with life. Frogs leap from lily pad to lily pad and croak loudly. Gold and red fish spring into the air and then dart back into the water, causing ripples to spread throughout the pond. A turtle swims slowly through the water, as calm as can be despite its surroundings. I peer into the pond, and I see my reflection.

My face is marred by white scars that I earned in the fire. I run my hand over the scars, wishing that they'd go away. Maybe if I close my eyes, I think, and they'll just disappear. I shut my eyes tight and then looked at my reflection in the pond. The scars are still there. There is grime on my face and my hands and in my hair (probably from falling on the ground).

As I continue to look at myself I hear something loud that hurts my ears. The sound makes me jump and turn around, but there's nothing in sight. Calm the fuck down, Edom Iverly, I tell myself. I try to calm myself down, but I can't. Every fiber of me is screaming for me to run. My legs - like they have a mind of their own - want to get up and bolt.

The sound goes of one, two, three, four more times. That's when I realize what it is.

It's a gunshot.



¹cowlick - a lock of hair that grows in a direction different from the rest and that resists being combed flat.

C O M M E N T S / O T H E R : Gahhh this took me forever. There's a vocab. word above this in case people don't know what a cowlick is. XD

C O L O R S :
8A4117 - main
728C00 - dialogue
C8B560 - other dialogue
617C58 - thoughts
EDE275 - emphasis