Thomas Sandoval //d10 // fin

sbeeg Retired Staff 3,503 POSTS Pronouns: she/they last seen Nov 1, 2023 5:54:37 GMT -5	Thomas Sandoval //d10 // fin Jun 4, 2018 20:07:21 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by sbeeg on Jun 4, 2018 20:07:21 GMT -5 Thomas Sandoval (pronounced Tomás) Thirteen District Ten Brother of Loreto and Paloma
	Last Edit: Jul 8, 2018 23:00:47 GMT -5 by sbeeg

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Thomas Sandoval //d10 // fin Jun 4, 2018 20:56:11 GMT -5

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Post by sbeeg on Jun 4, 2018 20:56:11 GMT -5

Thomas Sandoval

Thomas is not a morning person.
His sister was, regrettably, as constant as the sun. Rising every morning as light just began to spill over the horizon. He wasn't sure how she did it. It was a rarity that he would wake at all without her gentle voice urging him into the living world. A motherly tone, mixing words of a long dead language in with the hard, sharp words of Panem. He began to open his eyes, the light of early morning too bright to take in, when a slender finger flicked him in the forehead.

"Hey," he groaned half-heartily, retreating under the thin sheets of his bed. He stayed there for a few more long moments, enjoying how nice to felt just to be still before the day began. Finally, he rises. He shoves a hand through dark hair, satisfied that he didn't run into any knots. Shoving his arms into a worn t-shirt which hangs limp over his lean frame, he slowly makes his way to the kitchen where the scents of a ready breakfast lured him from the strong pull of sleep. Niño muerto his father would call him. He slept like the dead. Sometimes Thomas felt like he might live the same way.

Paloma is already in the kitchen, a small crease between her ebony eyebrows that tells him that she's worried.

"Papa said that him and mama might get to come home for a couple of days while el hijo de Satanás has visitors." He turns to head back to bed. The morning already tainted with hope that will wither and die. They won't be home for a couple of days. Papa and mama won't be gome for weeks. They're never home.

"Why don't they just stay there? We do fine without them," he snaps. Sometimes he thinks it will be easier without them. Then he could focus on his sisters, on moving on and growing up. But he's constantly weighed down by the childish hope he'll get to see his parents again. That they will live normal lives like the other families in District Ten. That his father would speak the old words to him, and Thomas will learn not to trip over them. He's envious of his sister, of Paloma who got to spend a few precious years as a child and not the ghost of an orphan. Who can spill beautiful words from her lips without sounding awkward. When Thomas tries he sounds like the blonde kids down the road who try to copy Paloma's songs. "I don't even get why they come home at all."

He looks over his shoulder, the hurt and anger weighing in his hard scribbled across his face. He was too young to know that he should hide his feelings, too bold to think anything other than expressing them.

"I saw them for maybe 5 minutes last night, and they didn't even say hi."

"You know they're busy, pequeño Leon. Mama and papa cherish every moment they can with us," his sister says, her face a blank slate. "They do this for us."

Thomas clenches his teeth for a moment before caving into the call of food.

He shoves a mouthful of eggs still brewing in adolescent emotions. Loreto, his younger sister, smiles up at Paloma and croons more of the dead language. She's not as good as Paloma, but she's better than Thomas and it makes his blood boil. He stabs a piece of sausage with his fork whispering to himself in a mocking tone.

"Manos celestiales" he spits at his plate, the words awkwardly teetering over his lips. He can't speak, he can't wake up, Paloma doesn't even leave any chores for him to do. Niño muerto indeed. The ghost of a young boy who simply roams around the house and wanders a few feet behind on shopping trips. Thomas shoves the eggs around his plate, debating forgoing the rest of his breakfast in protest before deciding his stomach would not stand for such frivolous torture. He slipped the last of the food in his mouth, filling his cheeks with sausage and eggs before mumbling to his sisters. The boy swallows the giant mouthful of food as he shoulders through the screen door to the porch.

The sun has waken up, only the tail end of it touching the horizon. Thomas enjoyed sunsets to sunrises. There was something peaceful in sitting by his window as the world slowly drifted into sleep, all the animals slipping into their dens as the night creatures emerged to play. Dusk was the time for demons, twilight the peak for ghosts. It suited the niño muerto to live in the dark.

Now he stood in the bright orange light of morning, the warmth of the day beginning warning of the dangerous heat at noon. It was the light Paloma gave off as she woke him in the morning and sang to them in the evening. Well, she sang to Lorteo, Thomas only happened to listen. He frowned. The sun gave life to everything, it raised the grass that fed the cattle. It brought food to the table and deepened the copper brown of their skin.

Thomas looked down to where their lazy dog Rocio slept on the porch, already tied to his post. The boy sighed, sitting down to scratch the aging dog's belly.

The moon was a pale comparison.

Last Edit: Jul 8, 2018 23:00:23 GMT -5 by sbeeg

sbeeg Retired Staff 3,503 POSTS Pronouns: she/they last seen Nov 1, 2023 5:54:37 GMT -5	Thomas Sandoval //d10 // fin Jul 8, 2018 23:01:20 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by sbeeg on Jul 8, 2018 23:01:20 GMT -5 He's finished!

gamemaker ☢️ ivan korsch Moderator 4,180 POSTS Pronouns: She/Her last seen Apr 25, 2024 13:58:58 GMT -5 call me jaded	Thomas Sandoval //d10 // fin Jul 15, 2018 10:56:08 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gamemaker ☢️ ivan korsch on Jul 15, 2018 10:56:08 GMT -5