nightmares of hope {faux}

Frustrations tear through his veins as the pen slips from his hand. Learning to read, to write, to even function as a human being again has been the hardest part of reintegrating into society. Even then, Faux isn't sure where his life will take him.

Once the idea of growing old sat heavily on his mind, but now it's not something he yearns for anymore. Why raise a child only to send them through the torture he went through?

Even as the sun sets behind the clouds, Faux can't help but wonder if this is real.

The memories still remain, yet there's a dark cloud blocking the moment it happened. People say he shouldn't even be here right now, and he believes them because he's watched the scene replay before his eyes so many times. A grave once held his name doesn't belong to him anymore.

Death isn't able to hold him down.

Truth is he's scared. Leaving home is nearly impossible - district eleven is so huge, and Faux has been lost so many times just trying to find his way back. Yet there's a world out there, and the traveling mind wants to see more. He wants to explore. To find his own way throughout life without someone hovering over him telling him exactly what to do.

His trip home wasn't nearly as welcoming as it was when Harbinger returned home all those years ago - why was his any different?

A heavy sigh leaves his chest, and Faux stands shoving the chair into the table. Enough of the lessons today. It's getting late, and maybe in the outside world someone can show him around and give him the chance he needs to succeed. It's what he wants.

A family.

A child to call his own, and maybe that's the motivation he needs. Perhaps Faux can sit beside Vera as she goes through class because he has so much to learn.

His long term memory is intact, but his short term keeps running away without him, and he's trying to so hard. Elidor told him it's best to write things down, and it works until the sheet of paper is lost without a trace. Sometimes it's hanging on the door like his brothers tell him, but even then Faux can't remember where it's gone. Appointments are lost.

How can he raise someone when he can't even raise himself?

Boom!

A fist finds the table and the innocent pen flies through the air. It doesn't matter anymore. He's left his life in ruins by simply being born. A death sentence was marked upon his name the moment he came into the world, and now he's living proof of how completely horrible the Capitol is.

Why let someone live after they suffered such devastating trauma? How long was he out? How long did it take for the surgeons to even bring him back to life?

These things roam his mind over and over. They haunt his dreams when he lies down long enough to close his eyes. Crusader, Weaver, Tamron. They didn't get this chance -

Why me? Why do I live?

His head slouches forward as he makes his way out of the house, but he doesn't go far. He simply sits on the ground leaning against the walls while watching the sunset. It's a beautiful day outside, and Faux doesn't want to miss a thing.