gemma fowler | district eight | fin

"Well, I am president of the show choir, I am in charge of the Spring Fling dance, I am a class officer, and I helped raise money for a plan called "Education Out-Reach" that helps buy school supplies for those of us that can't afford them." She said, a bit of vanity tainting her pure tone as she sat in front of a large wooden desk, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair and crow's feet sitting on the other side of it.

"I am aware, Ms. Fowler, as I happen to be the Principal of this school." She scoffed. "Mrs. Norbury, why would I jeopardize everything I have worked for so I could have the satisfaction of hurling a spit wad at someone I have never even talked to?" The woman considered it for a moment. "If you didn't do it, can you explain to me why exactly someone else said you did?" She slapped her hands on her knees. "It's obvious that they were trying to get the heat off of them, Mrs. Norbury. Those boys-"

"I'll talk to them, and I will get to the bottom of this, one way or the other. You are free to go for now."

Freedom.

That was a word that almost made her laugh in the face of the lady. Freedom was something of a myth, as much as unicorns and fairies, freedom did not exist in her world, or anyone's world. She was stuck in a lower district, and that was all the motivation she needed to push herself, to fight for a life that held more than growing old working her fingers to the bone in a textile for clothes she could never even afford. She would become something- anything, as long as it meant escaping the hell hole she was born in.

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Everything around her was white. The walls, the floors, the coats on the passing doctors, it all seemed so clean, sterile, even. Completely sanitary. "What a lie." Gemma thought to herself, her mind flashing back to the project she had aced on bacterial growth. "How are you not freaking out right now?" A voice asked her. She glanced over to find it belonging to the oldest of her four- well, five, now- siblings. Stasia looked worried, strands of blonde that had fallen from her ponytail hanging low in her face, just past her blue eyes. She looked almost identical to Gemma, only older and with a slimmer face. "Seriously, Mom is having a baby in there!" Egon appeared from behind her, his usual mischievous smile replaced with genuine worry. "I don't see how worrying will help them any, is all. I mean, the doctors know what they are doing, right?"

The tiniest voice squeaked from across the hall, where it's owner, Jax, was standing on it's tip toes trying to peak into the room. "Yeah, dummies. They do this all the time, right Gemma?" The small boy of only eleven looked over his shoulder for a second at his sister, then back to trying to see what was going in inside, even though curtains hid everything from his view. "Right. It doesn't mean I'm not excited to see Pansy- I am. I just have this feeling that it isn't necessary to worry." Stasia and Egon both nodded their understanding, and shortly after Egon nudged Silas, the most quiet of them all. "Let's go for a walk. They'll probably be a while." They both turned to leave, but Stasia stepped in front of them. "No. Egon, we all know you a little too well to let you run off and-" A scream, a terrifying scream so loud it made Gemma wince in pain echoed through the halls and all of them fell silent.

The scream was their mother's.

"That's normal, right?" He asked, worry laced in his tone. Stasia was frozen and didn't even seem to comprehend the boy talking to her. "Screaming is- but not like that. Something's wrong." Gemma said, and ran to the window to look inside.

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Soup was almost hot enough to burn her hands as she carried it to her mother's room as quietly as she could. She opened the door and sat it on her tray- the one they had brought home from the hospital. She didn't like looking at her mother. Not because she hated her, but because she couldn't stand to see the weakness of the woman's frame. "Hey, beautiful." The woman sighed then smiled at her daughter. "How are you?" "Fine." Gemma said, wishing her mother would save her strength, wishing she would rest.

The doctors said having Pansy had been too much for her, and since then her health had been deteriorating as fast as the delivery had happened. "Sit, I need to talk to you." She sighed. "Mom, I-" "Sit." The woman was too ill for her to argue with, so she sat on the edge of the bed and took her mother's hand in her own. "I'm not well, obviously, but I want you to know... it's going to be okay." Tears already began welling up in the girl's eyes. "Don't, Mom. Stop. Please." Her mother's voice was soothing, and her thumb lightly rubbed Gemma's hand in a comforting way. "Gemma, there is going to come a day when I- when you won't have me anymore, and I need you to know that. I need you to understand that I won't always be here to catch you when you fall, no matter how much I want to be."

There was no way for her to stop the tears anymore. "But.. why? It's not fair, Mom! You are still so young, and you did everything you were supposed to! You've been so good to me, and I just- no. You aren't dying yet. You can't, I won't let you!" She stormed out of the room, ignoring the weak call of her name behind her. She needed help, all of them did, and there was only one place to find it.

The lady at the counter was nice enough, but obviously stressed from work. After a few hours of signing papers and talking about payment plans with her father, they had agreed to send someone over every day to help with their mother, and hopefully it would be enough to save her.