Avada Kedavra-Jinx {D4}

The clatter of souls pressing against the pavement, bounces across the sidewalks. Chatter rumbles amongst friends, ecstasy roaming through their veins from the release of school. Grins etch across their cheeks in hype of this weekly date, it’s Friday. Plans ignite between the groups, debating what they should do with these two days off; as if weekends were rare - perhaps they are. As for myself however? Isolation carries me home, as though I’m plagued with a deadly contagious disease that no one dares to go near. Maybe I have been, and the illness my Mother retains is subtly creeping upon me over the years. Though I’ve never been harshly effected by the snickers that direct my way on occasion. The friendships of my Mother & Uncle are solely the relationships I require.

A quaint apartment building welcomes me Home. Five flights of stairs are taken to avoid laziness, as I will always do even when running late. And eventually the creek of an old door alerts the others of my arrival. My uncle has consistently attempted to manage maintenance of our two-bedroom Loft; but with caring for my delusional Mother during the day, along with countless hours being a Career Trainer at night, our place lacks, in certain aspects, that what most luxurious households contain. Nearly every door has a squeak to it, each wall is tainted and faded, and a faint scent of mold lingers in the bathroom - but all of these qualities I see as unique characteristics to our Life.

Passing the front door, the sight of my Mother desperately searching through the kitchen cabinets greets me. Pans clash together in abrupt movements that may startle most, not me though - I’m far to accustomed to such. The heavy load of my bag slides from my shoulder, to drop to the dining-room table; as I study her frantic pursuit, attempting to decipher her goal before it’s actually revealed to me.

“She’s searching for you,” my Uncle explains, prior to me accomplishing a single guess. Though his voice projects through the entire room, she doesn’t notice the comment in the slightest.

Unintentionally a grin unravels across my lips; despite this abnormal, common behavior happening. At least I still deserve a place within her chaotic mind. “Mom, I’m home.” I assure to her, in a soothing tone one would use to coax a small child.

A drawer slams closed, as if she’s been rudely interrupted. Blankness reigns her delicate features; until her eyes gaze up and pierce my own, and a smile shifts her face as well. “Oh, Baby! There you are!” Relief contorts her words, love gleaming from her stare. “You look so much like your Father.” She shares with me, as she often does. That moment of calm refuses to linger for much longer though, it never does. “He’s somewhere here… I know he is.” She insists roughly, returning to her futile hunt.

A seat is taken beside my Uncle upon our decrepit couch, joining him in observation of what my Mother is doing. Every sharp object has been securely locked away on a shelf, out of her reach; but we still worry greatly over her safety. Television is scarcely watched, with the drama that’s constantly being performed through her. She doesn’t seem to mind her observers, she hardly ever notices us.

“You look nothing like that Man who impregnated your Mother.” My Uncle corrects one of my Mom’s statement, just like he usually does when she claims such. “You look exactly like her.” Does a malfunction in our genes curse all three of us? Because it sounds as though this scene replays amongst us more often then it should.

The dark abyss of my brown eyes glances up to his’. For the first I wonder if it’s a compliment or an insult to mirror my Mother’s physical attributes; does that mean I pertain her mental qualities as well? “So am I going to be exactly like her when I grow up?” It’s been a while since fear riddled my voice as it does now.

A subtle shake turns his head back & forth in response. “No.” He answers rather vaguely, not nearly enough to satisfy me.

“How do you know?” I question abruptly, the moment I notice an explanation was not immediately following his conclusion.

“Well, by the time she was thirteen she still had imaginary friends.” An arm drapes around my shoulders in reassurance. “She didn’t have nearly as many episodes as she does now. But the signs were still very much there.” Anxiety over my future, and sanity that may or may not reside in it, still boils within my core - though it does simmer down a tad from his words.

A nod bounces my own head in reply, along with a sigh that’s swiftly halted by a scream from my Mother. “He’s hurt! He’s hurt! He’s hurt him!” Shrieks announce the new facade that’s inflicting her. Is she loudly crying over my Father? My Uncle? It’s often difficult to tell unless she informs us of such. Her devastated eyes remain pierced upon a wall. “He wants to hurt me! He wants to hurt me!” And with that she bolts into the bedroom her and I share together.

Instinctively my Uncle begins to breach from his seat, until I affirm my footing first. “I got this.” I relieve him of his duty, and begin the venture to my shift of caring for her.

“I’m going to head to the Gym then, start training the Youngsters. See you there in a bit?” He asks as though a regular schedule doesn’t bring me there every night. As if hypnotized like my Mother I completely ignore him, journeying into the room where my Mother weeps.

A routine has ruled us over the past decade, with little altercations that poke at our days. Every single evening Mother collapses into slumber for precisely five hours and twenty-two minutes. During this time I train under my Uncle’s supervision. I’m no Career. I will never volunteer. But it’s best to be prepared for the worst, and that includes being able to protect myself in any situation. And if Mother’s sleeping hours permit, I train my brain with the homework that the warehouse of School insists upon us.

Soft sobs from my Mother alarms my senses, trickling guilt into my conscious though I didn’t cause her trauma in the slightest. “Mama… It’s okay.” I attempt to sooth her, but she doesn't pay a dime of attention towards me - too consumed by the overwhelming hallucinations surrounding her. A pillow envelopes her Face as if it’s a shield, absorbing her loud cries for sanctuary as well. Cautiously I sit beside her; and place her and her protective pillow against my lap. My fingers comb through her hair in a plead to provide her comfort, even if she may be too far from this reality to actually feel it. If there’s a slightest chance that I can reassure her that she’s not alone, I will do everything and more to prove it to her.

A caring nature has always possessed me since my earliest memory, though only for my Mother. The outside Society has consistently been brutal to my behalf, gaining not an ounce of sympathy from me. Does that make me brutal as well? Even the hardest of shells may succumb to an Innocent’s pain, but I’ve never been faced with that kind of situation - aside from nurturing my Mother of course. And if I do manage to harm another through my fists or words, regret doesn’t crumble me… They probably deserved it. They most likely started it. And I’ll gladly end it.

Over the course of a few minutes, the whimpering’s volume fades until it’s completely quiet. Instantly I set the timer on my wristwatch when I believe sleep has overcomer her; and sure enough exhaustion has actually taken my Mother into another dimension - hopefully it’s a better one. Slowly I release myself from the bed, and my lap from her head. Peace finally absorbs her features, as I shelter her within a blanket, tucking her in like she used to do to me in my younger years, before the chaos of her mind claimed her too gone.

Silence doesn’t need to control me as I escape from the room. Mother has always been a heavy sleeper, just as all three of us are. The walls of the bathroom free me from my responsibilities, and the mirror introduces me first. It’s true what Uncle says, I do reflect my Mother intensely. Identical brunette locks frame our features, without a single curl manipulating the messy, often tangled, strands of hair. The seed of our truths reside within the brown gleam of our eyes, darkness deepening them from the overwhelming reality that’s constantly chewing us whole. Some taunt that the darkness of my eyes shines my lack of a soul, while I think it claims too much of a harsh, beaten one.

Bags layer beneath these very eyes of mine, from a schedule I’m far too used to, an aspect my Mother does not have. Her slumber provides us all a frequent break from her cruel realities, which she does deserve. But consistent worry refuses to give me such a release. Every night I lay my head beside her’s; so if she’s to awake, I’m right there beside her to break from rest as well. At least three times a night I’m jolted from dreamland to assist her in her terrors. When I was no longer the baby disturbing the house from sleep, I became the Mother tiredly caring for another throughout the moon’s hours.

Pale skin also decorates us both, though mine has the smallest hue of a tan compared to her’s - from more frequent journeys outside of the apartment. My height still miniatures myself from her. And round cheeks illuminate my youth further. But all in all I do clone my Mother’s younger appearance. Without a Father to contrast myself with, I may always be solely a smaller version of her.

Gym attire replaces my former outfit, not that much of a difference separates the two. Sweatpants rather then jeans? Variety doesn’t rainbow my wardrobe. Except, just like a lot of people, I have a special outfit for the annual reaping. I despise wearing dresses, but my Uncle says it’s as mandatory as attendance.

A final check on my Mother peeks my head into our bedroom. To no surprise, snoozing still coddles her breaths. She’ll be there for another five hours and five minutes, just as she always is. And with our evening break commencing, I begin my travel towards the training center that my Uncle works at.

- - - 

The majority of the times, it’s my own preference that secludes me from others. Surely it’s their distastes that ignited the distance, but also myself who maintains it. A routine workout separates myself from communication; running around the Center a few times, light weights, and such. Some Careers waste their supposed long hours of intense training with nonsense chatter. Focus has always differed me from them. It’s not until the majority have dispersed, that I take my Uncle’s lonely minutes to learn from him. When it comes to him, he’s the only one I’ll accept listening to.

“More defense, and less attacking.” He demands, as he blocks my wooden practice sword with his own. Most of the time I listen to him at least. “Why do I have to tell you that every time?” The lecture continues. His sword brutally clampers against my shoulder from my lack of protective stance, and an unguarded strive for his head - which he dodges anyways.

An angered sigh of defeat rumbles through my throat. And a swift glance at my wristwatch alerts me that my time is up. “Only an hour left, I better head back. I’ll beat you one of these nights.” I warn him, exiting from the sparring mats. He purely laughs at my threat, as I wave him off.

“Okay. I’m going to the bar after this. So I’ll be home late.” He claims as though he’s straying from his usual. Not that I can really judge however, he’s entitled to his break.

The crisp air of the dark’s hours washes me on my travel home. An odd sense of clearness combs through my bones, for some odd reason. It feels like that sense of freedom the Population must have been enjoying earlier, with the knowledge that solely the weekend awaited them. A lack of angst scarcely gifts me, with the constant worry of my Mother that’s on my mind. Not tonight though, and I can’t grasp why.

Quiet steps carry my feet through our apartment. Sure my Mother may be a heavy sleeper. But with the minutes dwindling until she’s destined to awake, I don’t wish to test her stubbornness of remaining in a better reality. Tentatively I squeak the bedroom door open, purely to check on her silent slumber… And the mere color in my pale skin fades entirely.

- - - 

“Mom!” Suddenly I’m as frantic as she is during one of her worst episodes. Anxiety is streaming through my veins, and it feels as though any minute the panic is going to overpower me to nothing. The oddest places are searched, just as she regularly does. Perhaps if she looks through these strange crevasses, then she’d hide in them as well - even if they’re far too small to suit her. “Mom!” The one job I’m supposed to have, one responsibility, one chore I’m proud to do, has disappeared from beneath my very fingers… I allowed her to.

Knocks bang on doors of the only others, aside from my Mother & Uncle, that I can manage to get along with - a couple of the neighbors. Pleads demand for them to provide me with a sense of relief; that Mother simply awoken early, and decided to catch up with one of them. Or that she attempted to leave, but they stopped her & were watching her until I returned home. Except that comfort doesn’t greet me. And by the time I’m searching beyond the apartment building, half of it’s tenants are on the hunt with me.

“She’s gone!” Nearly cries from my voice, when I enter the Pub where my Uncle’s relaxing. No physical tears join me however. “I shouldn’t have stayed out so late! I shouldn’t have thought the schedule would stay the same! It’s never that easy!” And it never will be easy. Immediately my Uncle is upon his feet, though a disappointed expression doesn’t scold me.

“She couldn’t have gotten far. Let’s keep looking.” He’s always been the one to maintain a leveled head, when I fail to. Often I’m capable of managing collectiveness. But when things get vital, I usually go crumbling down with it at first. He’s always there to bring me back fortunately.

- - - 

For three straight days and nights we searched for her. Mere minutes of sleep hardly graced us over that brief, though felt to be years, time period. It’ll be the third time in my Life that Uncle would have to leave to find her. “She’s gotten to sick to get beyond the fence like she used to!” I complain, even if we had scouted every mile of the District for her. My Uncle has always hated when I labeled her as sick - that word makes it sound like she’s going to get better, he used to say. But I always despised how he believed she never would. Being a Youngster, even if I can be a bit of a pessimistic on occasion, I still hope for the best.

“She has a mental illness! If anything her delusions help her with bad shit like that.” He corrects me, stress irritating us both. “We’ve been through this before. I’ll be back with her as soon as I can.” Is promised, and a kiss on my forehead seals our deal.

My bottom lip quivers in frustrating. Though instead of sobbing over the situation, my knuckles ram into one of our already-deteriorating walls. How long would he be gone now? The first time was for a week. The second was for two weeks. Will it keep doubling like that?

No… This time would be for much longer.

- - -

Why, is a good question to ask. Why would I leave my Mother unattended when she’s ran off twice before? I’m asking myself that very thing at this moment. For over a year she’s followed the same sleeping pattern. But who’s to say that’d forever remain the same? Or if that was a risk I should have been willing to take? Except that my Uncle & I agreed long before that are own Life must take priority sometimes, even if only for a slim portion. Him training me is of importance. Protection to us is as mandatory as the Games are to the Capitol. And security didn’t come in even the mere idea of me being trained by another, aside from him.

After a single month of managing on my own, the Peacekeepers discovered I was living by myself. No matter how much my Neighbors & I attempted to persuade them that my Uncle would be returning soon, they didn’t believe us. It didn’t take long for a Foster House to force it’s shelter on me, along with the undesired label of an orphan. I screamed and flailed, but there was no preventing it. Now I can only hope that my Mother and Uncle will return soon.

- - -

Loneliness was slowly creeping upon me. Truly I knew of the sensation during my countless hours of school; but now I understand it beyond that. Isolation licks across my shoulders at every hour, of every day, and all nights. The Life of an orphan is slithering beneath my skin, and it terrifies me as much as being clueless over the welfare of my Uncle and Mother. Just as a lack of a family graced me, prove of another enlightened before me.

There’s no forgetting that Reaping - as if it’s simple to forget any of them. But that one in particular, where a twist of the Game called for unlimited volunteers. Cries of disbelieve fumbled through the audience. Puffed chests illustrated the foolish Careers. But it wasn’t any of that to spark my interest in particular. One who solely shouted “I volunteer” as loudly as he possibly could, drew my attention for an unknown reason. And latter I discovered who he was, a Jinx… I finally knew of the Jinxes ~ knew of my Father’s family.

Not only did Mother claim that I resembled my Father, but that I was a Jinx. It’s not unrealistic of me to think she was speaking more nonsense. My Uncle refuted to provide the simplest comment to her statement on this. And I was left blind to what she meant…. Until now. Without even knowing him, my half-brother has been deceased without me even having the chance of a single meeting with him. But I will forever be eternally grateful for him. Because now I can get to know my other half-siblings…very quietly… and without them even knowing it.