jason scott | d8 cbd3 | fin

jason scott.

Your father was never treated fairly by the peacekeepers of District Eight. He had a steel tongue and copper hair, just like you. Perhaps that was what made you admire him so much: his conscious lack of fear when confronted with the biggest of challenges. Your mother called him a poor parent while you called him your superhero.

But this superhero was not invincible. In fact, he was very, very vulnerable. Your superhero and his closest pals combined their steel tongues and brass knuckles to challenge the peacekeepers. Moments of screaming and wailing gunshots later, your rebels lost to the devils masked by their helmets.

One had their knuckles of brass crushed, another their steel tongue silenced. Hair that was once a beautiful bronze, silver, and gold now doused themselves in crimson. Dead bodies buried in shallow graves and the live ones set up for demonstration, your eyes beamed towards your copper-haired superhero.

One slash. Your heart skips a beat.

Two. You realize that he’s defenseless.

Three. You want to run and save him. After all, he’s your father.

Four. Your mother holds you back. She tells you that she has lost her husband, and she will not lose her son.

Five. Your copper-haired king meets his eyes up with yours.

Six. He smiles at you through his pain.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. You can’t return the gesture.

They take him away with the remaining alive rebels. The Peacekeepers hop aside their trucks and drive away. The people carry on with their day, begging for money or sewing their clothes.

You, however, cannot move. Cannot function.

”They took him to the dumpster, that sick fucking dumpster,” you say to yourself in hopes of convincing yourself that it’s true and not worse.

Your copper hair and bitter steel tongue makes you a refined version of your father. But unlike him, you would get it right.

For his sake. For your home’s sake.

You will fight, and you will win.