cursed children-dee

After so many hours spent in the classroom, I never thought I would hear the bell ring ever again. When it did eventually go off, I nearly jumped out of my seat, excited to finally see some of the rays of sunlight that would peek through the smog. Even if the air was dirty in my home district, it was better than the stale classroom air or the burning smell from the workshop area. Plus, I was starting to become hungry at smaller intervals and required food in my stomach almost all the time.

It was no secret that I usually sat alone at the tables; I was the “slow one”. Whereas all the other kids could run around and have fun, I had to sit somewhere and watch them run around, going through scenarios in my head that involved me running along with them without tripping. Maybe it was easier that I had never experienced the joy of running around like they did, because I wouldn’t have had experienced what I was missing out on.

However, I wasn’t the only one sitting at the tables. Of course there were the groups of kids that had been formed when school started back at age 5. But my eyes were caught by another lone soul and I decided it was time for two lonely kids to possibly make friends. Pushing myself up from my own table, I walked to the other table, using the cane for assistance. The girl must have heard me because she looked up as I approached the table. I stopped in my tracks before giving her a grin. “You mind if I sit here?”

I didn’t wait for an answer because I knew her type, my type. Anyone who approached us probably did it out of pity or out of spite. I wanted to show her I was neither. “Toyota, right?” I asked, already knowing the answer to my question. I had seen her on the screen during the 68th Games and wondered what she must have gone through before experiencing the same situation myself a year later. I had watched the kids move away from her after her brother died, and I couldn’t help feel a little bit of sadness. I was lucky in that I had been isolated already before Prism was in the Games. Any alienation caused by the Games was minimal compared to the alienation from my condition.

“I’m Pellin.” I introduced myself while propping my cane against the table and then reaching over the table to shake her hand. “I promise I don’t bite.”

She was a quiet one, that’s for sure. Always cautious with her movements, chewing on her words before saying them. I couldn’t remember a time that I was like that. Maybe if I wasn’t used to being shunned, I would have felt the same way that she did. But instead, I thought there were some similarities between us. If someone had to know what it would be like to lose a brother, why not it be someone who knew that feeling and the feeling of being ostracized? I was going to have a tough time cracking the hard shell, though. It had been forming for nearly 3 years, and I couldn’t have imagined the barriers she putting around her emotions.

It was a victory, a small victory, when she shook my hand ever so slightly. My eyebrows raised, as if I wanted to challenge her to do better. I was never one to challenge people, not when my parents spent years trying to challenge me. Talking to a shell, however, was no fun, and I wanted her to say something, anything, to prove that she was more than just a shell of a person. I liked looking for the good in people, despite how many people couldn’t do the same for me.

I really had no idea what to say. I could have led with small talk but that was stupid and just as good as lying. I could have asked her how she dealt with her brother’s death, but it was obvious she was still pretty strung up about it and I wasn’t the type of person to push buttons unless they were on a machine. That basically left me with eating lunch in silence, but if I wanted that, I would have just ate by myself. I wanted Toyota to know I could be a friend, but I had no idea how to communicate it.

“Sooo, how’s your day been?” I asked, obviously struggling to find a way to keep this conversation alive. My fingers were restless and my leg wouldn’t stop shaking as I kept thinking of other leading questions that would make her speak. Would she ever become comfortable enough to talk to me?

At that point, I gave up. "Listen, you and I both lost a brother. We both have the choice to let that hang over our heads for the rest of our lives or to live our lives to the fullest. Forget what people say about our chances of being reaped because our brothers were. Now, you and I both have the opportunity to rise up against this weight on our shoulders, and we have the opportunity to do this together. I'm willing, but you have to be willing too." My fingers fumbled for my cane and I stood up from the table, giving her a hard look before turning around.

She spoke, but I could tell whatever I said didn’t taste quite right in her mouth unlike the very clear taste in mine. Her voice was small, quiet, but at least I knew she had a voice which was much more than I could have said before. The question was valid; the reasoning was not. Was it pity that made her feel that way? Was it words that had been forced on her? How could a girl my age feel as if the world was completely against us?

I smiled gently at her, knowing better than to be as caustic as I was before. “I’ve heard talking about it is a good start,” I responded, sitting back down at the table. “How many of us are there? Every year, there are more siblings who have to feel the pain we did and yet what do we do? We retreat into our own shells. I know I did. Did you?” I posed the question, hoping she would at least be honest with her answer.

“I say we’re pretty lucky because there are two of us right here, right now. An opportunity because of all the siblings of past tributes, here we are in the same school, the same class.” I shrugged my shoulders as I leaned on my hands. “I’d call that an opportunity worth taking.” Maybe nobody else had the same outlook that I did. Maybe I really was the only one who could see this conversation as an opportunity rather than a nuisance. A part of me wanted to prove myself wrong, though, and there was nothing I wanted more for her to agree with my words, even if it was only to an extent.

“Listen, I’m not asking you to bare it all. I’m not even asking for you to talk. But I sure as hell wouldn’t mind having a friend who’s been through what I have.” And I meant that from the deepest part of my heart. Sure, I had my family members, but talking to someone else who lost a different brother in the Games was different. A stranger who was not a stranger to the experiences that I had gone through. That was what I wanted most.