Wanda || Wanderer (Complete)

Weep not for roads untraveled
Weep not for sights unseen
May your love never end
And if you need a friend
There's a seat here alongside me

Pale lips part in a toothy smile, bright blue eyes shining eagerly as they focus on the contents of a shop. Small, fragile hands rise and stroke the glass, mirroring the outline of a pale pink gown. She wants it, but voices call her back with names she's long forgotten.

The small child turns and seizes the hand of a man, her eyes barely meeting his knuckles, though he doesn't look too tall himself- if one were to measure him, he'd barely make five foot five. He himself offers a crooked grin, and ruffles the female's bangs, murmuring soothing words to her- they were here for a bouquet of flowers for the girl's mother, not a pretty dress. "Come along my little Wanderer- my little Wanda."

She could get it on her birthday if she behaved well enough.

Together, they weave through busy streets, past fancy houses, and finally, they emerge in a huge, open field, so unlike the massive alfalfa farms of ten. This one held a plethora of wild-flowers; lupines, poppies, even a few tulips dot the landscape.

Father and daughter separate, each carving their own careful path through the mass of stems and colorful petals, gathering handfuls of the best and brightest. They say nothing, simply existing comfortably in the same space. After a few moments of collecting, they meet together t a massive severed stump roughly in the middle of the field, beside a quietly humming fence- it stands roughly twenty feet high, and the young girl looks up in awe.

Her father nests upon the old, crumbling wood, offers a smile, and lays his catch in a long line before the female. They select and choose only the best and brightest, leaving the others to bake in the hot summer sun overhead.

She questions him about the houses as they pass, and wonders why theirs doesn't have glass windows.

He looks uncomfortable, and frowns at his daughter, a hand resting upon her upper back. He dodges the question, and refuses to answer her- she can learn when she gets older of the ways of the world. For now, she should content herself to arrange the bouquet tied off with a crimson ribbon for the mother's birthday.

A faceless figure is all that remains of the female's memory of her mother, but her older sister she can remember very clearly- brunette hair, like hers, and a smile that can bring the sun on a rainy day. Her name was Nox, similar to Nyx, the night sky. She said quirky things that others might have thought strange, but they made the younger sister laugh. Always, she would appreciate Nox's humor. Six years separated them in body, but in mind, the younger sister completely dominated, as though Nox were a four year old.

The first year is the worst, the lowest of the low. Mother cries once Nox turned twelve, and barely stops. The younger cannot understand, does not understand why everyone panics at the massive gatherings once a year. She is not yet old enough to realize the pair chosen to appear on television die, and never come back.

Nox understands.

The things she say start to become stranger, and twisted in meaning. She begins to carry a leather bound book everywhere she goes, with a tiny clasp and parchment pages. The younger sister becomes scared easily during those first games, especially when Nox emits things such as- 'When life seems dangerous and unmanageable, just remember that it is, and you can't survive forever.'

Mother falls ill this year, and fails to draw breath one winter's eve. The healers claim it was an unidentifiable sickness caused from her work with barn feed and mice- something the small creatures carried killed her. They monitor the children and father to be absolutely sure nothing is wrong, then continue on with their lives like nothing mattered at all.

She was seven then, and finally began to understand the pain that must come with loss. She no longer tied her hair in pretty double-braids, and let it mess and accumulate in dark locks at the nape of her neck. Nox fixes it as always, the glue in the family. Father begins spending what little he makes at the ranch on his own habit, moonshine a neighbor sells down the street.

She can recall the bitter stink on his breath, the slur of his words. Things felt like they would never be well again.

The second year was not much better.

Though she were only seven, the younger sister began to imagine why it was her parents cowered in fear and trembled at the gatherings, why her father normally so pleasant and loving refused to carry her on his shoulders so she could get a better view during trips before.

The third, fourth, and fifth years pass similarly. The sixth is different.

Now it is her turn, to be shepherded like a sheep sent to slaughter in a padlock with the other twelve-year-olds while Nox remains, eighteen, babbling and tugging on girls sleeves beside her. She should be still, she is old enough to know, but something is wrong. She refuses to be quiet, to stand in one place.

They reprimand her once, twice, the same as every year.

Two names are chosen, one male, one female.

Both girls are safe, and ushered out of the gates as soon as the Peacekeepers release them. Nox lingers, while the female sprints into her father's arms. They are safe- this year. Nox is now eighteen, and as this was her last reaping, is safe for eternity.

The younger sister rushes to her father, pouncing into his arms. He is nearly unbalanced by the sudden shift of weight, but manages to wrap his arms around the little girl. A sloppy kiss is placed against her hair, and he carefully manages to stand with help from Nox, who frowns at his state, in a sudden moment of intense clarity.

They take him home, and together, they scrub his face, his clothes, and pour the remainder of the drink in the backyard of their tiny home, away from his thirsty lips. The transition is a rough one- he fights it, screams at them, balls up his fists, and threatens to beat them, but he never does. The girls remain steadfast in their ways, pleading and begging with him to get well again.

Days pass- he goes to work with Nox, who is now old enough to work in a processing facility with father. Father gradually recovers, with the help of his two daughters, and life finally begins to resume as it should have years ago.

The smaller sister begins to finally come out of her shell, and is comfortable around people again. As a family, they wander to the field where they once gathered flowers, and sit upon the stump, laughing and talking about old memories until they all three collapse in a heap of misery and grief.

Her thirteenth year, her second reaping pass without her name being called or terrible things happening to her family. Father has put away his habit, and Nox is under the watchful eye of the strong head of house. He can protect her, he can be sure she is safe.

Nox also falls ill around mid-winter, though the healers are confident in her ability to heal, so unlike their mother's years ago. Father picks up double, and even triple shifts to keep them fed and clothed.

The news came as a shock one morning while she sat at school- she can recall to this day the subject; Panem's geography. Though she normally didn't have the attention span to sit in class, she could list every terrain styled throughout Panem, along with most of the arenas from the first to the fortieth.

Over the overcome, they call her name. Nerves fried, she stands, her hands shaking and vibrating at her sides. She is sent to the office, where they tell her of the accident- that she is now orphaned, her father dead after a methane gas explosion at the ranch where her father labored.

There is good news- Nox is of age, and has agreed to watch the girl. Though filled with sadness and struggle, her fourteenth year, and third reaping, are uneventful. 

Her classmates begin to develop relationships with each other, while the younger sibling recedes further into herself, choosing only to speak when spoken to. The loss of another friend is too much to bear, especially if they may be ripped away without choice as her parents were. Her stubborn head lingers however, and her locked jaws may be taken for stupidity or idiocy. 

Her fifteenth year she too, began searching for a job in any of the facilities lining the district. Her grades poor, she has no choice but to settle for hard labor. Together, she and Nox push and shove their way through work, though Nox seems unhappier by the day. The younger sister cannot comprehend the magnitude of their situation, and pushes through, all the way to her fourth reaping- and sixteenth birthday.

This is the year it happens; she goes to school, and then goes to work. Her hands become twisted and knobby from labor, her eyes become heavy-lidded, purple kisses promising restless nights haunt her cheeks. Nox withdraws into herself, becoming quiet, near-silent even in the company of her beloved younger sister.

One night she comes home, and it is past midnight. The house is dark, empty. What would have been dinner remains cold, sitting in the beaten down refrigerator. Something is wrong- Nox is nowhere to be seen, even though she was released from the ranch hours ago. The house remains quiet, and she itches to leave. Her blood hisses in her ears, the silence pressing deeper and deeper into her brain.

No second thoughts, she pushes open the patio door, and runs into the street. Her feet carry her, faster than a speeding bullet to the ranch, where things seem to be business as usual for the occupants. They scurry about like nothing is different, even when the teen sprints through corridors of tightly packed animals. She works here during the day, and many recognize her, turning concerned faces away from her plight.

A woman catches her arm, and pulls her still. In hushed whispers, she orders the girl home, though she struggles, and spits questions left and right, inquiring the absence of one who's warm hands have always been there, a constant in a sea of twisting turmoil. Calm fingers tangle themselves in the girl's dark hair, though she cries and wails, orders send her walking home. Her bushy, dark eyebrows furrow together as liquid pours from her face in any orifice it can escape. Fear remains behind in her veins as she walks home, her long legs carrying her rapidly home. 

She only sits on her porch, moving only to pace across the deck's surface, and to fetch Nox's tightly bound leather journal while the moon rises and sinks slowly, ascending and finally descending to a symphony of crickets. She is jarred awake by the shouts of peacekeepers banging on doors, orders to attend a gathering at the town square. She swallows and rubs her sore shoulders, slowly standing, and follows the steadily streaming progression of District Ten denizens.

Never before in the girl's memory had the district gathered in such a way- but then she noticed there were no children. They must have gone to school, as she was the youngest gathered there.

Faint breath hitches in her throat as they flood the district square, and a large projection appears overhead. Her throat clenches, her eyes crazily searching the three canvass-bagged bodies for any identifying factors- they all seem young- two women, one man, though one of the females struggles against her bonds. A noise like a deer caught in a trap echos from the stage as she wiggles and the realization slams the younger sister like a ton of bricks-

The fighting female is Nox.

Her cries permeate the air, while her younger sister screeches and claws her way to the front. Everything becomes blurry, the world around her silent as she fights and pushes her way forward until hands seize her by the shoulders. The man on screen says something like an order, lips barely moving, and three very loud 'bangs' explode before her eyes, in a shower of crimson liquid. Her form becomes tight, and she rips away from the binds pulling her back.

Screams fill her ears even as she runs- only this time, the female does not stop at the district fence like she has in the past. Trembling, yet sturdy hands drag her taut form over the top, and tiny, shoe-less feet land on the high grass, leaving imprints where her weight collapses the fragile stalks.

She runs and runs, through the sunset, through the night. She has become starlight, finally pure in all its glory.

Though she knows it to be impossible, she can still hear them screaming in the distance.

And you held it all but you were careless to let it fall
You held it all and I was by your side, powerless