finn gallagher [d12]

You remembered it happening once every year after the disappearance of your mother. One day, the addiction that usually held your father hostage would temporarily snap and you would have the glimpse of the type of father-son relationship a boy was supposed to have, or at least the ones you heard of existing outside of District Twelve. But like Ole' Faithful and your older sister's warnings, he would retreat back to his old habits soon after realizing that his reality was too sad to cope with sober.

One time when you were twelve he lasted a whole 11 days, you counted. You remembered it vividly, too, because your little sister threw a temper tantrum when Petra insisted that it wouldn't last. Petra was ten years older than you and sometimes she was a fucking dumbass, but you did learn then to trust her instincts when it came to your father's antics.

That was also the year that Patrick called you "a fuckin' psychopath or some shit" because he caught you trying to burn ants alive in the sun with a microscope. Truth was, you weren't a psychopath. Sometimes at twelve years old you just wanted to watch the world burn around you and you weren't enough of a pyromaniac (yet) to figure out how to start, so the next possible thing was... burning the ant world alive, you suppose.

You were even younger when your mom left. Ellis always reminisced about her but to be honest, you didn't really remember much besides a vague, blurry imagery of her blonde hair tickling your chin as she hugged you. That was a long time ago and you don't even remember the last words you said to her - or her to you, matter of fact.

You're fourteen now, and your balls are starting to grow hair and girls are starting to look prettier and schools getting harder and the collection of bottles you steal from your older brothers' collection is starting to become bigger and bigger. The jokes are getting dirtier, your peach-stache is finally turning into a dirt-stache and it seems every kid in your grade is starting to grow a mullet. It's supposed to be one of the best times of your childhood - too young to have responsibilities but just old enough to have fun.

Yet, there was a big, fat, ugly fucking gaping hole where your stupid, dumb older brother once lay, and his bitch ass inability to finish a fight, and his stupid little cries of morality and sinning and what-not, and he just HAD to let his guard down one last time, stupid, fucking- you were going to beat him up in the afterlife, for sure.

And the worst part was wasn't even how you were coping. It was your sister and your brother passing out in bed until 2pm when you came home from school because they drank too much the night before. It was your father who barely even looked phased, proud if anything, that his scrawny little kid almost brought District Twelve another victor. Almost. It was your little sister's annoying wails everytime the name Ellis was even brought up in conversation.

Could anyone ever grieve normally? 

But you supposed they didn't have as much of a reputation to keep up as you did. You were like, eighth-grade royalty, if there ever was any. All your teachers hated you - you always talked back, you almost always fell asleep in class and when you were awake and paying attention, you would make the most annoying, godawful moan from the back of the classroom and send your peers into a fit of laughter that the teachers could not control. 

It was important to you to keep that up, even though your family was in shambles and you did feel like you were watching the world burn around you. 

It was the only consistent thing you had left.