Ringer Sperling, District 12 [Done]
Sept 28, 2015 16:49:50 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 28, 2015 16:49:50 GMT -5
Ringer Sperling
Seventeen
District Twelve
Male
---
Oh come to the valley of the shadow of death,
When the beast comes out and the sky grows red,
We"ll carry on and we"ll beat our chest,
And we"ll see if it"s as bad as father had said
---
Do you believe in the moon?
Mother and father have gone to bed. Ringer sprawls over the caved in matress, slouched and stretched across the worn springs, his long body extending out from both sides of the sheet. At the edge, a little wisp of a girl lays, eyes locked on the silver glow outside the window. He can hear Twyla open and close her mouth, lick her lips in a fit of nervousness as she turns over. She is all of seven years old, bringing the joys of childhood and the fears of a life just beginning. I don't believe it will be here forever.
Another would have said she was silly. How could one not believe in the moon? But Ringer smiles and angles his chin over his shoulder. The back of her little head reveals the wild strands of brown that flow freely, untamed. Her whole body is a fit of energy, bottled underneath skin, bones, toenails and hair. She would float away to the stars if it weren't for her corporeal chains. He sees it in the weeds, when they walk along to the schoolhouse. She is lightning untamed, a tempest ready to grow into a hurricane. For now she listens, she dawdles, she turns over and over again in the bed because they have one another. But he wonders about the day, if there will ever be a day, when they don't wake up next to one another.
It's still there. He replies, one eye open and staring out at the window. He has to make sure, because even Ringer has fallen under Twyla's nonsensical spell. Sometimes it's easier to just follow than to contradict - he's always following, always telling folks what they want to hear. Yuh, he'll make out, not paying attention to a word that's come between his two ears. Is there any chance for rain? Yuh. Does your mother get extra rations for laying in bed with peacekeepers? Yuh. Does your father pray before he goes down into the mines, because he lost his two brothers just three weeks apart when he was your age? Yuh. But whether they were true or not is of no consequence to Ringer, the boy that is certain and steady. The kind of child that doesn't need the world to tell him he is or isn't a part.
But it could go away, Twyla whispers. Her fingers dig down into the mattress and the springs groan at her touch. She's ready to fly off and out of the bed, up toward the moon. But something keeps her down. She will always be like this, always guessing, always wanting to throw herself up at the moon to make sure that it hasn't left her. It goes away some times, it does. It gets smaller and smaller, and then it's not there at all. She licks her lips again, and then turns to face Ringer. It goes to be the moon somewhere else, because it has someone else, doesn't it?
Ringer extends his legs and arms, he turns his neck and lets the air out of his chest. He yawns, inviting the evening to wrap him up and carry him away. The moon did disappear, she wasn't wrong. It went black, and then slivered back into existence, as though they wouldn't notice. He liked spending evenings watching the skies, listening to the buzz of crickets and the way the willow swished back and forth. He had taken Elena under the willow when they were fourteen, and she had taken off her clothes. Then he had taken off her clothes, and they looked at one another, and he said, Yeh. And she tried to kiss his neck, to fumble as though they weren't two pieces that didn't fit - but she ran off crying, dragging her shawl behind her. The moon had been a crescent, then.
Tell me a story. This is not a request but a demand, a full throated enunciation of her want. Twyla shifts again, this time her face inches from Ringers. Where she stole her father's blue eyes, Ringer had taken his mothers plainness. Brown, with brown, and more specks of brown. The world was not ready for the flash, the sickening blue that was Twyla. She could have the light, and he would take the shadow - it was easier to watch, to be sure that nothing would ever happen to her without him knowing. Tell me a story, tell me a story, tell me a story. Each time her whispers grow softer but firmer. She will tear them both apart if he can't put words together, if he cannot amuse the princess Twyla.
When we were formed, there were three sexs. Two men together. Two women together. A man and a woman. He drew their shapes with his fingers, looping around for each. Twyla's eyes grew wide. And they rolled around, four legs, four arms, but rolled right across the road. His face was an inch from hers and he could smell the milk that had been on her breath. They were proud, they never listened once to what the gods had to say about how the world should be run. They never behaved.
But why did the gods care? Twyla pressed her face into the sagging pillow. Why didn't they have more important things to worry about?
They were in charge of the whole world, the sun, the moon, the stars, and the oceans. All the world. Twyla blinked. They were strong and they were wrecking everything for everyone. Dragging down rocks, splitting goats in half, saying that they didn't need anyone. He smiled. And so the gods decided that they would destroy them and start over, make something better. Twyla gasped. She loved being scared, more than anything, there was nothing better than the excitement of a good scare.But then one of them knew better - had a better idea than wrecking everything they had worked so hard to create. They weren't going to kill all of their little creations.
W-what did they do?
They fired a great wave of lightning, Ringer moved to press a finger against her nose. And split them right down the middle. No more rolling together, no more perfect fit. Their bodies were just - like ours now, one person, but not quite whole.
That's so sad. Twyla moved to put her hands on her stomach, to inspect where she had been split.
That, my dear Twyla, is the origin of love. He grinned. When you get older, you'll know you have to find your missing piece, too. You'll go and look. To find the missing piece you've been split from.
She held her fingers on her stomach and continued to stare downward. Ringer yawned again. She stirred, her eyes now locked on his again. That must be where the moon goes. Finding the piece that makes it whole.
Ringer smiled again, his eyes growing heavy. Yuh.
So that we... Twyla yawned, her eyes closing. ... will look to...
He sat awake for some time, watching to make sure the moon hadn't yet disappeared. He listened to her snooze, and watched the hair fall in and out of her face. Until his eyelids got too heavy, when the world began to go dark. Morning would bring a walk to the mines, another burst of hot air as folks flapped their gums at Ringer, and another evening wondering if the moon was still there. It's still there, he said, watching Twyla. For now.
