Aarin Aldalómë D12 (Finished)

A boy sits on the opposite side of the bed, tears pouring down his rather attractive face. The hair on his head a darker brown color and styled neatly to one side of his head was beginning to fall in front of his eyes. The boy's eyes a lighter brown color letting tears slide down his face. Pink, plump lips holding back a sob of some sort. His average nose sniffling from what he had saw just moments earlier before running to his room. The other members of the family letting him pass by like nothing was wrong. The emotions inside were twisting with pain and sorrow. The boy's mind racing with what he just saw.

The slimmer body that the boy had was quietly shaking from the crying that the boy was doing. His black shirt is coated in dust from the dirt that laid on the grounds of District 12. His large hands pound on the ground as a swelling of anger hits him. The long legs lay out in front of him. The room has clothes strewn across the room. T-shirts of different colors and designs lay everywhere. Jeans of different shades of blue and some having rips lay folded on a chair. An outfit, consisting of a white button up shirt, a black tie, a pair of black slacks and a suit jacket, is hung in the closet that is open.

Tears continue to slowly fall down his face as the memory of what happened moments before comes to his mind. Aarin had been walking home from the District square. The boy had to go buy something for his family, but couldn't remember for the life of him what it was. The walk was mainly uneventful, except for all the children that you could tell were malnourished. This hit Aarin hard that people in his father's district were starving. People that Aarin's dad was in charge of. People that didn't deserve to be hungry.

A body was laying on the side of the path to home. Aarin had been handing out some food that he had bought to feed some of the kids in the district. The boy was a part of a rich family and felt it as an obligation to help feed his district. That's when he saw the body. The signature of death that put a fear and sadness in Aarin's head. A body of a boy about the age of Crane laid still on the side of the path. Aarin tried to wake up the kid. A shake and some tears flowing from his eyes. The body of the boy was cold and Aarin knew the boy was dead. Aarin had a feeling it was from hunger, it was one of their highly frequent deaths in District 12.

The tears were flowing still as Aarin laid on the floor of his room. The room was quiet except for the sound of a pounding on the door. The door swung open to a figure that stood in front of his door. A movement of the figure slowly moving towards the boy that was crying on the floor. A warmth spreads throughout the boy's body. His father's familiar figure engulfing the boy with only love that a father could give him. Aarin just felt his tears fall faster down his face. The tears disappeared from his face as the warmth overtook him.

His father's arms still wrapped around him and Aarin can feel himself calming down. Words hanging from his mouth only creeping back into his body to not be heard by his father. This was a burden that Aarin wanted, not something to tell his father about. His father was comforting though, but Aarin needed to keep this to himself. It was a burden that Aarin wanted to keep, so his father wouldn't be stressed out. Sacrifice of his own mind would be worth making the stress go away.

A voice breaks the air before Aarin falls asleep in his father's arms, "Aarin, it's okay. Everything is okay."

That was a lie. Nothing would be okay for Aarin. The fate of the people in the district were his and his father’s burdens. Burdens that Aarin believed to be only his, even though it’s neither the father nor son. A sense of failure hits Aarin in the gut as he sleeps his sorrows away. A failure to protect the people that his father was in charge of. A failure to save the children that go in the games and fight to live or die trying.

The dreams of a time when the boy known as Aarin was rather happy to be alive flow through his head. A surrounding mist of the unknown allows him to float to the scene that unfolds in his mind. The three siblings of the mayor sit around playing a game of some sort. Arbrette clearly winning at the game that they were playing. Aarin and Crane both trying to take down their sister from winning. Aarin chuckles to himself as his little brother had just for the third time gone back a few spaces to the exact same spot that he originally was on.
The game ended like how Aarin suspected, Arbrette clearly being the victor of the games. The three siblings go their separate ways like they always do. Arbrette to go do her girly things. Crane heading to do something that his creative imagination could come up with. And then there was Aarin who had no clue what he was going to do. The fact was that Aarin never really had a plan until last minute. His siblings both going their own ways, while Aarin sits and contemplates what to do.

Aarin sneaks off to find the one person he loved to watch. His siblings were interesting and all, but this person, this person was the one person that Aarin looked up to. Aarin wanted to be this person. Aarin wanted to follow his father in his footsteps. His father was quietly working in the rather nice office in their beautiful house. Everything in their house showed the amount of wealth that the family had from over the years of his father’s hard work. Aarin got whatever he wanted as long as it was within reason, but Aarin really didn’t ask for much. His worries were more focused on everyone else than himself. Sacrifice was the way that Aarin worked most of the time. The boy would sacrifice time and effort into helping as many people as possible.

His father was always busy at work, there never was any time for his father to have fun and spend time with them. Aarin normally would watch his father for hours on end just do paperwork, never talking to his father or breaking the hard work. Aarin always tried to hide in spots that his father wouldn’t see him in. Aarin always studied how his father acted and worked. The boy’s eyes absorbing the information that comes from his father’s work ethnics.

The hiding spot wasn’t very good this time. His father’s voice comes into the room, ”Aarin, I can see you.” The boy’s reaction was to run away, but instead he stood up and watched his father as both stared at each other. An awkward silence fills the room. Aarin can feel his lungs tense and air not coming through his nostrils to give oxygen to his body. The boy wasn’t breathing, his mind was processing everything all at once. His father just went back to work and Aarin finally let in a pleasant breath of life.

The boy wasn’t sure what to do next. Was he supposed to leave? Was he supposed to stay? Aarin had no clue, so the boy decided to continue to watch his father without hiding. This went on for years and years to come, Aarin watching his father work and sometimes looking over the things that his father did. Aarin’s interest was to be like his father from that point forward.

The scene dissolved into nothing but a memory. The liquid swishing around as it vanished before the darkness of his closed eyes. Another mysterious mist broke away to show another memory before the boy’s closed eyes. Shadows becoming figures that are recognizable. A voice that once was gibberish becoming clear and crisp. His brother laid in the bed in pajamas. The lights were dimmed and his rather kind and beautiful mother sat on the end of the bed. His brother, Crane, laid listening to the story being read in front of him. An escape from the reality of the world

Aarin just watched calmly as his brother slipped away to the world of fantasy and dreams. The younger boy not knowing what was going on around District 12. Aarin knew what was happening. Aarin knew more than he led on. Aarin always watched what the games really were like. Death. Gruesome death and a way of sending kids off to their doom. Aarin didn’t want to cause a debate about if fantasy was truly good for the twelve year old brother of his, but Aarin watched as his brother seemed happy to listen to the stories. Stories of honor and wisdom. A true morale being hidden within the story, ripe for the picking. Sleep took over his younger brother and as soon as the memory was there, it was gone in an instant.

Aarin’s eyes stayed closed as the memory disappeared for a later use. A new picture formed in his head. His sister’s rather elegant look coming into full view. Aarin’s own body becoming visible as his sister asked a question. Aarin’s eyes darting away and ignoring his sister’s voice. His sister was speaking about some sort of theory that the capitol was just taking kids for entertainment, which was true, but that their deaths were just stunts. She didn’t understand that they were real, just like the deaths that come from starvation. It was really just murder. The victor would be a murderer. Blood on their hands from the people they’ve ended.

Then the image came back. The twelve year old boy’s body lying in the street. A haunting stare on his face as Aarin passed by. The glow of haunting smile and words that come off of the dead boy’s lips, ”Its your fault Aarin. I could have lived if you just got to me earlier.” The body rose from the ground. A haunting smile that made Aarin freeze in fear for his life. A haunting step forward as Aarin finally pulls himself to step back once. The twelve year old boy’s body quickly goes into a sprint. Aarin’s reaction is quick, but the guy is still on his tail. Aarin’s dashing down the alley. A turn here and there. A dead end was where he got to. An evil glint comes to the lifeless body’s eyes. A charge forward and hits Aarin. Everything goes black and then color fills his vision.

A scream comes from the room that Aarin lays in. A scream that Aarin didn’t even know he could let out fills the house. A shuffling of feet reaches his door. Aarin’s eyes stare in anticipation for his final moments. Death by a zombie boy who died of starvation. That was the way he was going to die. The door opened and Aarin shut his eyes closed as tight as possible. Arms wrap around his body, a calming voice speaks to him. ”It’s okay, Aarin. It’s okay.” Nothing’s okay. Everyone is suffering in District 12. I’ll never be okay dad…