Finnbar Scoff [D10] ~ FIN

Here lies Mantel Scoff; lost forever in the illusion of his hope.

Here lies Jordan Scoff-Reye; consumed and burned by his hatred.

"Why do they have to be dead, Finn?" His question cuts the air, ripping my vision from the gravestones to his eyes. Lost and never found in this cloud of deceit and confusion, I'm afraid I can't give any sort of answer to clear the smokescreen. He's brave, anyone who dares tries to clear their eyes usually ends up finding father's fist in their eyes, we both learned it the hard way. Don't ask questions. I look to the ground because I don't know and looking to the ground is all I can fucking do. Responsibility is too heavy for my shoulders, my neck is always somehow forced down.

('Don't say those names in this house!')

Despite being buried in my pockets, my hands tremble. A coward through and through, I don't dare say their names even though I'm clear of my father's search light and his electric fences. I don't dare say their names for fear he might tear me down and grind me into dust. After all, that's just what father's do; they specialise at grinding their kids into the ground. I thought I could build my structure of solitude from the ground up. I would Lay stone after stone and pray it could withstand the test of time. I would be the foundation, no bad people could get me then and I would be safe. I was a fool, it was not the test of time I should've been worrying about.

"So you really can't remember nothing?" I ask him, glancing to the side.

He shakes his head.

"I only remember the here and now, all the drinking, father beating us down, drinking with father, that's all I know."

His heart has beaten for sixteen years but he's still half dead, lost between the plane of life and death. He doesn't remember his past and he has no prospect for the future. His building never has and never will have a foundation.

"It wasn't always like that, me and you were thick and thieves and Mother and Father were happy, we'd always visit them, on occasion; hell, sometimes all four of us would go out and play." I explain to him, smiling at the memory.

I always had a bad habit of lamenting on the past, whether it was better or worse. Perhaps that's why I need to be half dead; I need to have no past. Erase my past to draw my future, kill the before so I can live on the after. It's easier said than done with our house overlooking these graves.

"I find that shit hard to believe," he scoffs.

I shake my head before chuckling. "No, no, it's true..."

I try my best to explain the better times, even though we were both so young and so naive. Where Dad didn't drink and Mom wasn't always so worried, where Mercury hadn't even tasted alcohol. Sometimes Mantel would visit and the three of us would play, if we were lucky then Jordan would come along to but that was once in a blue moon. He lived with his own mother mostly. We didn't have a care in the world because we were young and naive. Warmth, that's all we ever knew. It's funny how the cold could so easily erode us from the inside out.

I should've seen the warning signs and traced it from the start point. The way Mantel hung his head when he was alone, the one day I came through his house and his eyes were red and raw with tears. I was a child, how could I have even known? He was different and tormented ('twig boy, baby, weakling') but the reaper's scythe came for him far too quickly. We watched him claw his way through that arena and cut ruthlessly cut down two career boys. I watched him wield a power that should never be wielded by a thirteen year old boy. Jordan said it was necessary, I said it was disgusting.

When the reaper's scythe dropped the tension snapped like a flimsy piece of string. Just like that, the boy who shakily wielded forbidden power was nothing but a bleeding corpse.

In all honesty, I would love to remember the good times when I look at this grave. I would love to remember his crooked smile and his kind heart and his innocent laugh. Now all I can comprehend is a bloodied sword and him being covered in his own blood and others. When I close my eyes I can only remember him slowly bleeding out and closing his eyes - he could have almost been sleeping. Well, that was until his killer defaced his corpse by removing his head from his body, it felt like bitter justice when she met her just desserts when she was decapitated. At the time I was horrified, but now (when I close my eyes and build the image) it feels like bitter sweet justice gifted to us from the gods.

We were banned from going to the funeral, my dad and uncle got into a big argument so none of us could go. I said it wasn't fair, he told me life wasn't fair and that I shouldn't complain. Even mother disagreed with us being unable to go because of their own personal issues but he wouldn't let it go. I suppose that's to be expected of a Scoff after all, we can never let go of things.

Jordan followed that rule, he would never let go. I rarely saw him again but he sure did become twisted and bitter. Moved in with my uncle but I barely saw my uncle, him and father could just never make up. When I did see Jordan I could see the hatred although I didn't say anything. In all honesty, that boy scared me more than anything. He got into more fights (he even knocked some kid unconscious and nearly got kicked out of school) and he quickly turned from an angry boy to a raging hurricane. He laid waste to everything and anything in his path.

But he couldn't do the same in the arena when the reaper eventually called his name. He entered a frozen kingdom but it quickly became apparent that it wasn't his frozen kingdom to rule. On the fourth day when he was crippled and had only one ally left to fight with him (who was equally crippled) I knew it was over. Mercury tried to be hopeful (he was always an optimist before that horse kicked him, I admired that) but I knew the dead was dead. I was always a pessimist, after all. I expected him to die, but I didn't expect him to burst into flames, screaming as the fire ate him alive and he begged for death to release him.

The reaper's scythe didn't swing down. Is dismembered him limb from limb until he was begging to die. I wanted to cry but I couldn't, not in front of Mercury at least. I could only sob when I was alone and no one was watching. Things couldn't possible have gotten any worse.

Oh how wrong I was, because my uncle decided to grab the reaper's scythe and drag it across his own throat. A week after Jordan's death me and Mercury were sent there by our parents to see if his father was okay. Deliver our condolences, as if they meant anything. We had the key and we opened the door and...

(My hands tremble again. They won't stop.)

He was hanging from the ceiling, stool kicked from under him and noose tied around his neck. I screamed, Mercury panicked. It wasn't long before we managed to run to the Peacekeepers. Suicide is what they ruled it. But I knew his cause of death was despair. Two sons dead and no hope for the future, I will never say that my uncle's cause of death was suicide or hanging. No, my uncle's cause of death was despair - plain and simple.

Mercury still doesn't remember it, none of it. He doesn't remember Father not drinking, he doesn't remember Mantel or Jordan's faces and he doesn't remember finding our uncle's corpse drowned in his despair. That's when the trembling started for me, and I can't fucking forget it so the trembling won't eve stop. Unlike Mercury, I'm left to suffer through the past in a constant loop; if I was half dead I wouldn't. I wouldn't have to suffer through the memories of death and I wouldn't be longing for the return of the better times. I know they won't come back; I am a pessimist after all.

"Still don't remember anything, Merc?" I ask him, looking at his darkened eyes staring at the gravestone. He simple shakes his head in response and I sigh.

"I wish I did, I wish I could remember even their faces." He tells me, hands curled into fists and shaking at his sides.

Lost between disbelief and disappointment, I sigh. I am fragile because his words pierce my porcelain skin and leave me weightless; I am completely shocked.

I turn my back to him and the gravestone. "No Mercury, you really don't." I state before beginning to walk.

"Why?! Why shouldn't I know? Why shouldn't I know the truth?!" The question makes me wince, I wince harder than when my father's boot slamming into my porcelain skin and his drunken slurs shattering my fragile walls.

"Because I remember the truth and now I'm so ruined I just want to fucking die."

Everything had the potential to be perfect before the reaper's scythe found my family. But I shouldn't be thinking about that; I am a pessimist after all.

A few days ago I took the fists smashing against my skin and prayed they would be my last. Blinded to the truth behind the fog of ('he loves us really') and ('he doesn't mean it'), I couldn't tell the difference between excuses and defence. I was simply blinded to both behind them. Now, I stand here blinded by nothing but the darkness that's shrouded the light and left me alone in the downstairs. Even now, I can still feel the thuds of his fists reverberating across the walls of this prison I called home for eighteen years. Even more reason why I see the light and I have to do what needs to be done.

I stand alone in the front room. The sounds of his fists against our trembling forms and the occasional burning taste of alcohol that scorched the three of our throats as we drunk them all down. Luckily for me, the pull of addiction was never quite strong enough, perhaps I just know that alcohol can't fix anything; I am a pessimist after all. Alcohol poisoning is now how I want the internal plead for mercy to come, no matter how painful and drawn out the heartbeats remain.

('Just take what you need.')

My few possessions worth taking stay slung across my shoulder in the satchel. Her instructions were crystal clear; take what I need and nothing else. How can a bag packed with only a few clothes feel like it contains the weight of the world?

Preparations were made because I've always liked to think ahead. The note is already left on the alcohol cabinet were they're more likely to go, I have my possessions and my dignity still intact. Every step feels like manacles and shackles rattling, dragging and scraping across the ground with every movement and every heartbeat that's a silent call for surrender. I can't surrender, not while I still draw breath and I still think. Mantel and Jordan didn't surrender, they fought until their last breath; surely I can do the same?

I don't care how badly I want to scream or how badly I wish for the silent surrender. I don't want to see myself die in this prison.

One step, two steps, thr-

"Finn?" I jump, my eyes dart to the side where I see movement on the sofa. My heart leaps and thuds to infinity.

I don't apologize, I don't freeze or panic; I simply stand there and watch the form of Mercury Scoff stir from his drunken haze.

"Merc," I reply blankly, I don't have the energy (or the heart) to be cold or to break down. I've cried enough for a lifetime in eighteen years.

"You going out? He asks and I can tell from his voice that he's been drinking again. Chances are, he'll struggle to even remember what even happened here the next morning.

"Yea, just going out for a bit,"

Forever.

"Finn,"

"Yea?"

"Is Dad gonna take us out again? Since y'know, he hit you." He asks, propping himself up.

I can't help but silently Scoff. Every time he touches one of us he takes us out to the closest wooded area and calls it a camping trip. It's every month because he usually does something like this every month. I will admit, when we first had it I jumped for joy. A naive child I was, my heart hadn't begun to silently call for the surrender yet. He taught us how to make a fire, taught us how to set up a tent (despite the fact that this tent is old and is even starting to get holes in it) and even never touched the liquor. Now, I know not to trust the word 'sorry' any more. It's worthless. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised I think like that; I am a pessimist after all.

"Probably, he usually does." I say with a fake chuckle. He can't know the deep dark intentions of my heart; is he even sober enough to care? They never usually are, him and dad. I don't know how I can secretly hate Dad but love Merc. They're both drunkard, two peas in the same pod. They're forged from the same hateful obsidian. They both bit the bullet of addiction a long time ago. But Merc doesn't hit me. They're still both violent, they're both drunks-

"I never should've let him hit you Finn. I shoulda protected you, I swear I'll do it properly, like before." He looks like he's going to break down into a fresh flood of tears. That's why I can't hate my brother.

He may be strong but he's still as fragile as porcelain.

"You still remember that?" I ask and he nods, propping himself up before wiping his mouth.

"I kinda do, I protected you from those bullies even though they were two years older. I beat 'em up cos they punched you."

That's usually how it went. He was the strong one and I was the fragile one - it shouldn't be the other way around.

"I just... I just can't stand up to Dad. He's-"

I cut him off massively. "Your drinking buddy." I sigh, sticking my hands in my pockets and backing off. I'm secretly bitter, still bitter to this day. Everything was fan-fucking-tastic before Mantel died, followed by Jordan and then uncle hung himself. Things went from bad to worse when Jordan got put in a coma; there was no one to share the beatings with anymore. They're the fucking same, him and dad. He drinks and almost passes out while dad drinks and gets angry. He's a hurricane when he's drunk, laying fists upon the hollow bones of me and mother.

"I've seen him and I've seen Mantel, they look so similar. As if by hitting him I'm hitting that fragile dead boy who won't stop following me. I can't do that, I ain't that bad."

Oh.

He's on the verge of tears when I bring his head into my chest.

"I'm sorry Finn. I'm so sorry."

My shirt's wet with salted tears (I hate that) but I still rest my chin on his head all the same.

"Don't be," I don't let the silence hang for longer than a minute. "Merc, you know I'll always love you right?"

I feel him nod.

"Even... Even if I'm not always here, you'll still be my brother cos the blood of the dead run through both our veins."

I let go of him, standing up. "Please Merc, get some rest, you stink." I state with a shaky sigh. A single salted tear runs down my cheek but I quickly wipe it away, I've done enough crying for eighteen years.

"I love you to, Finn."

Time blurs and an age passes as I sit and watch him sleep.

"Don't hate me, please."

I turn a heavy shoulder to my envy of the half dead and leave before the next sunrise without looking back. I know that I could ever bare to watch brotherly love turn into hatred; I was never the strong one anyway.