the mountains watching over : {dee}

Snow. The soft white powder that falls on the trees and sends men home from their work is quickly enveloping me as I can’t decide where to go. Work is really all I know, all I live for. Work to support myself since my parents stopped trying when I turned twelve, and to support my mother who is still chasing her dream, forever deluded by the idea of happiness and hope. However silly I think her dream is, I still work for her because she is my mother and she raised me for a while. I still love her, but I can’t say the same for my father, the man who I can only remember as drunk through my childhood and teenage years. I can only imagine him passed out on the snow, waiting to be thrown around by a Peacekeeper for a problem he should have fixed the minute he married my mother.

Am I bitter? Maybe. Holiday spirit and cheer does nothing for me, while I watch my co-worker and friend starve himself so some low-life in the streets can get another mouthful. Every time I watch him give his bowl to a man sitting on the streets, I can’t help but think that he is giving my father food, my father who deserves no food or love or generosity. I have to hide my grimace before Axel gives me another lecture that I just can’t fight back. It’s not that he’s right; he’s just too damn stubborn.

But Axel isn’t with me right now in the clearing as he is probably with his family. He appreciates family, I appreciate emptiness. I pull the edges of my coat closer together, the rough material scratching my cheek. It reminds me that I need a new coat, a thicker one that can hold my body heat better. I have the money to spend, but I guess I just don’t care enough to be prepared. My current coat is definitely too old, though, and I will have to discard it soon enough.

I let out a sigh, doing a quick calculation of my budget to determine if I can afford to buy a coat before Axel sees how old my current one is and gives me his. A smile creeps up, even if it’s a cynical one, at the thought of Axel shivering while he insists that I need it more than him. That stubborn bastard.

My thoughts are interrupted with a loud yell, a feminine yell. I can’t recall passing by someone as I was walking through the clearing, but there was definitely a shout. I turn around and see a hand, and the first thing I do is frown. I don’t like company—that hasn’t changed for years—and I still find it a miracle that I can hang out with Axel for so long. New people are harder for me to tolerate and when I spend my alone time in the clearings, I like being alone. Suspicion crosses my mind before I realize that I can probably take down whoever this is—unless it’s a she-bear.

I walk closer to the voice and a sigh of relief escapes as I see not a she-bear, but just a girl around my age with a big smile on her face. A dreamer, she must be a dreamer just like my mother. My suspicion of her gets stronger as I know all too well what dreamers are like. “Hello,” I start, not knowing how to continue the conversation. “Um, what are you doing here?” That was a natural question, right? “Shouldn’t you be enjoying the holidays with your family?” That was what normal families did, wasn’t it? I look at her gingerly. She’s pretty enough, probably comes from a good family. No one with a smile like that could have had a bad upbringing.

Her smile grows bigger for a reason I cannot fathom and I find myself even more confused. Why is she so…happy? Her answer shocks me yet doesn’t at the same time. She is a dreamer, but she’s not quite like my mother. My mother is too busy floating in her dreams; this girl at least seems to acknowledge reality. Still, I can’t seem to understand her fascination with snow. To me, snow is merely a nuisance, a sign from nature that the best thing for me to do is be alone right now.

And now she’s singing her words. I almost want to take back my words and just walk away, forgetting that I had ever encountered this girl, but then she does some movements with her hands that make me tilt my head and scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. Is she…pretending to carve? I’m not given much of a chance to process before she “discards” whatever it was she was doing and places her hands on her hips. It’s such a shocking turn of events that I’m more or less dumbfounded.

She asks me the same question that I asked her, but the way she asks it makes me wonder if I just ran into an asylum patient. No, she’s a dreamer, just like my mother, that’s the only explanation. It seems like she’s just being playful but that’s such a foreign concept that all I do is stare before I remember that she has asked me a question that I should probably respond. “Work was cancelled so I thought I would walk around. Better than going home, at any rate.” I have absolutely no idea why those words slipped from my mouth—one of my typical answers would have been “it doesn’t matter”—but I want to tell her the truth.

Wait, what? It’s that damn smile that’s throwing me off. I pull my coat tighter around me as I force a scowl on my face. It was a far more natural look for me, anyway. “It looks like it’ll get colder soon. You should probably head back home.” Alone. I’m far better off alone.

When she says she doesn’t want to go home, for a moment I feel like I can relate to this girl. Home isn’t fun, it’s not engaging. I don’t have much to look forward to by going home—and snow in the house? Man, she really likes snow, doesn’t she? She’s drawing something with her hands in the snow, but I know it has no meaning to me; even if she explains what she’s doing, I can never bring myself to care.

Her sudden movement startles me. She’s so…quirky, that it feels like I’ve traveled to another world and discovering a new species entirely. Not that women are a new species, but this particular girl is definitely different. Different in a good way, I have no idea. All I know is that she’s telling me to play with the snow.

Was there ever a time when I truly had fun, when I was just like this girl and thought that snow was the most amazing thing in District 7? Maybe there was once a time when I was much younger, but I don’t remember much of my childhood nor do I try to. And now she’s asking for my name. Why does she want it? I was just about to leave. She gives me her name, though, and while I don’t really care for exchanging names, I know better than to just walk away.

“I’m Wyatt,” I tell her, looking at her cautiously, chewing on my next words carefully. I get down so I no longer feel like I’m standing over her, my knees sinking into the coldness. “It’s nice to meet you, Camilla.” I give her my best attempt of a smile before sticking my hand out for a handshake.

Is my name really that nice? All I know is that my mother was the one who named me and it took my father six months before he could remember it. She grips my hand and gives me a firm handshake, which brings a small smile to my face. I like anyone who can give me a strong handshake; any weaker and I know that they are cautious, tender-footed, light. Even if this girl is a dreamer, at least she can give a proper handshake.

But once the handshake ends, she doesn’t let go of my hand and now I’m really confused. Why is she holding my hand still? What is she going to do next? I keep staring at her as she gives me this smile that I can’t help but feel suspicious about. Whatever happens next cannot be good. I brace myself for whatever she might throw at me, but I’m so caught up in her words that when she tugs me down, my eyes widen in shock and I have to throw my other arm in front of me to slow the landing.

It didn’t soften the blow much as the stinging cold from the snow came in contact with my face. I push myself off before the snow can escape down my coat. A part of me wants to yell at her for pulling a move like that, but I would have to be a cold-hearted asshole to say that wasn’t exciting at all. I had to give her points for having the balls to do that. Do I just leave now? Or do I—I scoop up some snow in my hands, and give her a curious look. “That was smooth,” I say, giving her credit where credit is due. “You really caught me off-guard.” And without a pause, I lightly throw the snow in my hands at her, a small smile creeping up my face.

So this is fun.

The smile on her face changes as the snow makes contact with her coat. It was a weak throw, intentional, but it starts what looks like a fun battle. She rolls away from me and pulls her hood up, causing me to chuckle under my breath. It kinda is funny how serious she’s taking this but at the same time, I can feel myself starting to appreciate it. I watch her hands, ready to dodge at any moment, when instead she stands up.

Before I can think of anything else, I leap up, refusing to let myself be an easy target on the ground. In my haste, I forget to prepare my counter-attack. She starts shaking her hands at me and what was once a chuckle grew into a loud laugh. My laugh dies when she throws the snowball at me, but it resumes when it lightly breaks against my coat. “I think I have a pretty good idea now.”

I lean down and grab two handfuls, not even bothering to form them into snowballs. This was fun, light, not intended to hurt. “You better step it up before—“ I throw the first handful at her and watch as it breaks in the air. “—I win this battle.” That throw was much better. A cheeky grin spreads on my face as I wait for her counterattack, my legs ready to spring from side-to-side. “I would hate for this to be an easy fight.”