Brooks Silvey ; District 12 — fin

A boy meant for another life; never supposed to take his first breath, take his first step, have his first kiss. He was already written to be another tragedy within District Twelve. He was supposed to die young with bones protruding from his waist and starvation painted so obviously against his canvas that death would have been a more suitable name, yet he was given a name that meant ‘blessed’ ; which was exactly what he was.

Brooks Silvey was a boy blessed by the God’s that people have began to curse decades prior. The seventh in a family that should have never went passed two was a hard concept to swallow. Everyone in the District looked on with disgust at the Silvey’s for their lack of self-control when it came to bringing more children into the world ; another mouth they couldn’t feed, another child to watch die a slow death. It was pitiful to see another child fight for food from his siblings as if he was more animal than boy ; more chaos than sanity. Everyone that watched on the last of the Silvey children grow into something else was a sight on its own as the talk of the District ignited him to remain just that ; different.

Knuckles bruised from late night fights with other boys from the district was only the beginning for him as adequacy was never something he wanted to give into. A boy would wanted to be more than enough. He wanted to flourish in a life that he wasn’t supposed to be living. He wanted to become his own person with a reputation for being more than he should have been ; proving any and everyone wrong along the way.

This path of self-destruction was slowed suddenly has the oldest sibling of the Silvey met his death in the early morning hours as Brooks laid beside him restfully. Unlike the rest of the siblings, he didn’t have bones sticking out at every angle with the threat to cut through the skin ; no, he fought through the dark hours of the night to gain extra food and selfishness had gotten the best of him. When he woke the next morning, it was shock that flooded him as his dear brother wouldn’t wake as he had closed his eyes for the last time the night before and death had taken him peacefully ; lovingly.

Birthdays were celebrated so fiercely in the Silvey household after that due to the rarity that another one of his siblings would make it. It would be childish to simply say his life changed ; it transformed. His bruised lips and broken bones were no longer for himself, but the other siblings that couldn’t withstand the hits he could. His small feats becoming the only thing holding his family together ; keeping them alive. He boasted with pride as his siblings were going to live a long life afterall. The Silvey family was going to be different until death mocked him.

Death laughed in his face so hard that instead of taking one sibling ; it took two the next year. A thirteen year old Brooks was so broken by the news that his fights became his life and rations from the wins were an obsession. Hands in a constant fist as if he were ready to slam them into anyone that came against him was frightening as hope was gone and havoc replaced it. Life was something that was guaranteed for his family ; they ate enough, slept enough, worked enough. He had done everything right, yet his siblings had still died.

The death toll for the Silvey household was higher than any other in the district, which did not send the expected sympathy that Brooks had thought they would get. No, the Silvey’s were met with judging glares as if they should have known that having too many children was guaranteeing their deaths. Sympathy was only given where it was due, and most of the district thought of them as undeserving for common knowledge of its state. No one should have more than a few children at best, yet the Silvey’s thought they were good enough for more. The glares were the nicest thing that the district gave them as curse words under breath and fights were what followed soon after.

Brooks was now sixteen with a love for the back alley fights as he found himself contracted into a small club with others of the district that wanted to be more than they were. The mines were never in his destiny as bloody knuckles called to him in a way nothing else could. He was living a life that guaranteed recognition in the district that people chose not to give him and right when he got settled into tragedy struck again. This time by his sister that caught something that she couldn’t shake.

The glares that were likely to follow stopped as everyone had grown to fear him in a way. His fist did not fear where they landed as long as it was a good hit, which resulted in one too many lashing from the peacekeepers. Between beatings from them and late night fights, Brooks found a niche with those that wanted to give into the pleasures the district could offer them than the pain, finding himself in bed with far too many partners to count ; lips finding refuge in others in a way that the fights once did. Pleasure could replace the pain he felt if he only allowed himself to actually enjoy the days he was given.

These days seemed to become blurred between a life he was living and the one he was always destined to have. It was accidental that he had even walked into the Hob as he had been banned years prior, but it was as if he was always meant to walk in there as his life changed. He had barely caught sight of someone from his district browsing various booths until his stares were too obvious to go unnoticed, and it was as if they ignited something in him that he never thought existed. He found a purpose outside of his own family to survive and fight for a better life, and it was in them that he found some ounce of hope to keep moving forward. He found the reason to keep fighting against the pain he had been given.