xander krane d11 [fin]

Let him paint the picture; a perfect house in the orchards of Eleven, a boy, a man, and a ripened field of oranges hanging on trees grew. The perfect smell of citrus hitting the air as his paints scatter on the canvas to make the perfect image of what was once his family. There's only memories left on the white canvas. A father gone. A mother forgotten. He's always been painting this one image; unable to get the faces right. The oranges are as ripe as possible, to the point of being too sweet to eat. There's a fading loss in the small boy's eyes that doesn't feel right. Only, Xander can feel his own heart. This one image makes himself feel that faded feeling. The one he avoids at all costs.

Paint scatters as he slathers the painting with blue, bright colors of the sky glittering through as he sets down the paints. Easier to keep adding and adding to try and match the photograph, but he's needed to stop for the past hour. A shout of frustration in his voice as lets the paintbrush fall from his grip to the ground. A deep breath as he inhales the feeling of being three watching his father fight for his life on a screen. Everyone tried to hide the truth from him; swore he was too small to understand, but god, he knew the entire time. The way his father looked like an angel among the clouds back then. None of the words fill his head. Barely able to remember the way his father's face looked, he stares blankly forward. There's still the tears. Some days he feels the grief harder than others, but it's faded over the years. Blossomed into the flower of his own kindness; grief couldn't keep him down from the angelic tears he sheds for his dead father.

Xander gets up to stare in the mirror. Age has hardened his skin just a fraction more; baby fat beginning to burn away from him. The older he's gotten, the taller he's started to get, but he's still small for his age. Short by a number of inches from the other boys in his class. Katelyn had given him the best life he could have, but she was no mother to him. She had been left with him as a final burden; knowing it's what his father wanted makes it hard for him to stay there. In those rich homes, he avoids them except to visit Katelyn. Most days, he moves from Izar to Izar; most of them don't know he goes through their homes like clockwork. Sometimes he stays with Vasco, asking to hear about his father. Even though, so many people forgot who Cyro Krane was, Xander wanted to know.

They shared the same face; similar hair color to one another, but someone said his eyes were closer to his mother's color. The darker color reminded him of the deep earth beneath his feet, always seeming to be an easy path forward to relating to his father. Everyone gives him art supplies; paints, brushes, and the like. He set up a barn outside of his father's old home to store his supplies. Days spent painting up a storm with all sorts of images. Angelic ones with beautiful clouds. Orchards and fields filled with beautiful fruits and vegetables. Images of Izar dinners where all the cousins wrap around the table, disappearing. He's always been the one to mark every occasion, hold onto his legacy in order to make sense of it. At thirteen, his teachers always said he was too mature. Not enough childish behaviors, but he's always been that little child exploring the world. Painting was his world.

Almost like an echo in the area, he's always painting the things that make him smile, hoping it'll make everyone else smile. He's been focusing on learning about his family. The Kranes were a mystery most days, but he still found himself searching. Wilson Izar-Krane told him the vaguest of details about his dad. Katelyn filled in some blanks she knew. Vasco gave him the same comfort that his father would've. It's easier to survive now. There's more fortune in his life, but he missed the man who told him he'd be everything. The one person who was meant to tell him why he was growing hair on his face. The one who should've told him why his voice was getting deeper. It's a sad world everyone lives in, but he's determined to make everyone happier.

Through his art, he makes enough money to spend on more supplies. The Capitol even asked for some artwork ages ago; a symbol of grief locked away in some fancy art museum about tributes of the past. Xander always felt at home in his art. Lost in his own world where it's easier to let his father guide him to where he can smile. Images of a man, never quite drawn out in many of them. Images of a father and child walking hand in hand, but now there's no one to hold his anymore. Instead, he's alone. Which is fine most days, he's grown to be fine. There's hard times, but Xander could see the next swirl of colors. The next painting to be painted.

He's always alone, but there's so many people in the world he talks to. People visiting from out of town who are interested in his art, where he sells pieces week to week in a stall he hand built at age ten. There's always an amusement as if it's cute he's running his own little business, but eventually they see the paintings. Eyes always glittering with a surprise, until they hand over their money and a story. He always accepts payment in stories for a sale. It's cheaper to hear stories and allow people that hope of something beautiful being in their home.

Everything swirls with color; and he feels more alive with every paintbrush stroke.

The orange orchard glistens with a beautiful image.

Between Vasco, Katelyn, or any of the others, it'll be on someone's wall.

Another glimmering piece of hope done by his hands.