cleric apollyon | six ; fin

^{C L E R I C   A P O L L Y O N}

At the end of the day, when it came to Rose Plague, all of the vaccines were bandages over bullet holes. With how rapidly the disease mutated, and the fact that everyone across all of Panem was at risk of contracting it, Mom and Dad made it seem like their job was impossible at dinner, going on about the many dead ends and the thanklessness that accompanied their correct decisions. And maybe it really was that bad: all of Panem called on the medical professionals in Six, desperate as any to find a way to fix this. If the disease were, say, designed to be unpreventable, well, it'd leave them fumbling in the dark for the rest of days, trying in vain.

Needless to say, I'm not exactly thrilled to be joining the family business come this Fall. But, that's what I'm doing. Dad already tried sighing me up for a summer internship without my permission, and he'd nearly blown a gasket when I explained that I couldn't attend.

"I have work," I'd explained, suddenly taking an interest in the meatloaf and potatoes going cold on the plate before me. It felt ironic, being on the other end of this conversation I could recall having with both my parents when I was younger. "No vacation days until I've worked there for a full calendar year." Our parents made it clear that their success was not to be our gain: they'd provide us the essentials of parenthood like food, and shelter, and clothing, but the rest is up to us.

Though indeed thankless and pointless at present, my parents are the owners and operators of one of District Six's biopharmaceutical companies, and are technically very successful. They've introduced a booster system to rapidly fight against the disease after contraction, as well as three- nearly four- versions of a vaccine called Dove, named after their company.

Mom and Dad like to assume that they'll just leave it all to one of us one day when they're ready to retire, and since I'm the oldest, they also like to assume it'll be me specifically who takes over. And I get it: what they do matters, and they're some of the best who can do it. But they forget how important other stuff can be, too. They forced independence onto me, and forced me to experience the world, and now it almost feels as if they've punished me for learning to love what I've gone out and discovered. Sorry if my dream isn't to come home every day to a weird, moldy basement that's always freezing and off-limits. Sorry if I don't want to have decompression chambers under the living room, you know?

But how do you say that without being offensive? I get that they aren't exactly being considerate, but when they get mad it's just- I don't know. Mom can be cruel and Dad can be outright violent if you frustrate him enough. One time Ranger knocked an entire tray of samples off the counter. Dad had ironically just finished applying the Dove logo to their shipping boxes when it happened, and he flipped the entire dining room table over in his anger. None of us cleaned it, all scattered to our rooms for the rest of the day. But the theory is that Janet the maid must've cleaned it. Or maybe Mom paid the guys who brought the replacement. No one knows, and no one speaks of it.

We rarely ever do.

While Dad is annoyed by what he considers our inferior intelligence, Mom likes to pick us apart over everything. Especially with Rogue, but none of us have been spared. Dad is insulted by bad grades, which is avoidable to an extent as long as we apply ourselves. Mom is annoyed when we don't dress to her satisfaction, or sit with enough posture. We're always speaking too loudly when she's trying to concentrate and too quietly when she's asked us a question, she feels.

Basically, my parents shouldn't have had kids. But they did! Four of us. And though it could be worse, it could be a lot better too. I was allowed to work through the summer and save up some money, but the fall approaches soon and then it'll be to the basement with me. Probably nothing exciting or worth while at first: deliveries and phone calls and emails and the sort. And I won't want to do it, but I will. I'll slowly rise through the ranks and learn more about it. I will never become passionate about it, but I will become disciplined and experienced, and I will have all the necessary habits to be successful doing it. And one day, I'll take over for them. I won't want to do it, but I will. They'll retire and I'll make more money, and then one day, I'll die too. And maybe I'll have a child who loves it the way they seem to, who wants to take it over. Or maybe I won't. But I know already that I won't force the cycle to continue beyond me if it comes to it.

Unless, right? The great unknown. The ridiculous, quiet hope that something will go terribly wrong or fabulously right in the world before then. The hope that maybe I'm worth more than my parents' expectations, and that maybe there's another path for me. I wouldn't be happy with my future. Unless I get a scholarship to the Capitol. Unless someone else finds the cure first. Unless the world ends in flames.

Unless.

Like the Rose Plague, there are endless possibilities- endless unless- and no way of knowing what will come true until it already has. So, I bide my time, and I enjoy the rest of my summer, and I wait to find out.