^Pele Hesphere^D13 {FIN}

It began with my brother.

A small cough tossed into the wind, echoing silently through the damp halls of District 13. Within those quiet gusts lay a virus ready to take what it wanted. No one expected it. Honestly, who would? We had survived so much that it seemed impossible that a single cold would cause so much pain. We were ill prepared, something that never happens in the land where preparation seems to be the only thing we do.

When the chaos had cleared, hospitals pitched and beds filled with hundreds of dead and dying children, I remained, sick but alive. It was quiet the nasty strain indeed. The hallowed cheeks of my dying friends haunt my smile to this very day, for watching them perish was not the easy task. (who would ever expect it to be?) But I remained optimistic for life in this underground world isn't much without hope. Because without hope... well then we are nothing but the corpse that surround us.

When my brother passed away there wasn't much left for my parents to live for. Their strongest son lay in a bed of white, and they were left to care for the runt of the litter. I can still remember their empty eyes traveling to my dark brown ones as they quietly grieved the death of the wrong son. They were left with me.

I much then, in retrospect, and I'm not much now. Barely hitting 4' 6" I often find myself quiet disturbed by the lack of proper nose trimming the men in this District do. I can remember being scolded by my mother after I carelessly mentioned this fact to a general, but alas, I never do learn. I often find myself in my mothers firm grasp as she whines about something I some how managed to do wrong. No matter what I try to do, I'm always in the wrong. Always messing up.

My bother was so different. Mika was a sturdy boy. Five years my senior. My parents fondly tell the story of escaping District 3, making there way all the way to the underground lair, and giving birth to their first son. I came along later, an accident, but just as happy as any other baby. We grew up together, racing around these halls until a firm adult quickly stopped the shenanigans and threatened to tell our parents about our foolishness. Of course, it was always me who started them back up, tagging him and racing away just minutes after. Laughter always came naturally to me, as did mischief and tomfoolery. Mika had to work for it, but he managed none the less. Perhaps a child like me wasn't quiet the best for this type of district, where the people are as cold as the nights. I never did manage to get the hang of following directions.

Later, when it became clear that flu was more serious than we had thought, it was me who led the bands of kids on imaginary adventures as we hopped from bed to bed, giggling all the way. I found myself becoming friends with kid after kid, only to have them slip through my hands as they grew weaker ad weaker to the point where they couldn't play anymore. It hurt, to say the least, but if I've learned one thing in my 11 years on earth it's that life is cruel to us all, you just gotta make the best of it.

My smile is what drives me on, those moments where nothing seems real but the absence of air as you gasp for breathe between fits of laughter. Though my inside ache, and my head burns, I still find time to smile up at my parents. They watch closely, clinging to each other as they try to find a way to understand why their children have been ripped away from their hands.

I'm fighting for myself. Every moment hurts, but I want to run with my friends. Their small heads often bound past my door before I can even say hello, and I'm left on my bed, my head pounding and heart aching. I wish to race to them, to run to their side and tackle them to the ground and laugh in glee as we enjoy our youth.

But I'm not well. I'm not the healthy little bundle of joy who used to dream of traveling to the moon. My immune system has done little to protect me from the flu, and I'm expecting to be weak for years, even if I get better at all. Most likely I'll die while I'm asleep. That's what frightens me the most.

That one day, my eyes will get heavy, and I'll yawn and yawn, yank the covers to cover my chest and close my eyes. I'll dream of racing my friends, and hope to be well... only to find that instead of opening my eyes to a better body, I'll find myself somewhere else entirely.

So however sucky my life may be... I'll always be grateful that I'm still clinging to it.