Snow Basildon | District 8 {finished}
Jun 27, 2016 11:08:29 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jun 27, 2016 11:08:29 GMT -5
"This rose is the only plant I spotted in this wicked district. And, I looked after it."
Name
Snow Basildon
Snow Basildon
Age
16
16
Gender
Male
Male
District/Area
8
8
Appearance:
Snow, you look like an elf, your ears are hideous.
Snow, you look like an elf, your ears are hideous.
That's what his 'friends' frequently said to him. But, Snow did not take it as an insult or anything offensive in general. He liked the shape of his ears, the pointed helix made it seem more elvish than the others'. It made him feel special and unique, different from others. And, it made the others seem like they had mundanity running in their veins, in his point of view. Those ears were not his only elvish things. Sometimes, he felt as if he was born in the wrong realm, if there was a realm where elves thrived. He had made a list of the elvish things he spotted in his appearance. Second, his greasy skin, which shone luminous and pale to an extreme degree, as if he was the lingering soul of a deceased person. It becomes whiter if the sunlight rests on it, something that destroyed his thoughts of himself being an elvish vampire. His name was a metaphor for his skin, a smart and wise of his descendants. Snow.
Third, his odd facial structure. (Especially his nose.) Even from a distance, it was visible. His slender nose, the one that boosted his elvish features more. His face, which was described using the adjective 'bony' other than 'gaunt'. His bony cheeks which made him look as if he was a sneaky little thief every time he smiled without parting his soft lips. His brown, soft hair which darkens every time he went out into the sunlight. Speaking in total honesty, he didn't like the shape of his face nor his nose, not the way he liked his ears. But, he did like how they aided him in looking more eccentric than the others, than the 'mundanes'- as he likes to call. They also aided him in the attempt to remove expressions from his face most of the time. His face helped him to look colder, sterner and more merciless than the others. Those three things acted as gigantic walls from the others, shielding him and keeping him in his own space.
The first was, of course, the ears he was proud of. But, he was not ashamed of his physique too. Starting from his chest to waist, he had developed-abs. He frequently said, 'the same goes for my arms' but, deep down, he knew the statement was not true. His limbs had muscles but smaller than the ones on his torso. This was mostly because he rarely picks up heavy things and does it only when in dire need to do so. He could lift them, but with some difficulty. He was also a slender boy, being generally tall in 6 feet 1 inches. He was graceful yet strong, having the weight of 130 lbs. Another thing about himself always interested him. His ability to run swiftly. He could outrun kids of his age, not very easily but, he always believed it was because of his slender legs and high stamina. Probably true.
Eccentric. It was a word he loved and the perfect one to describe his sense of fashion. He hoped and hoped, to be special and showy. And, this was not much of a problem. There was something he liked about spending his life in district 8. It was the clothes. His mother, being a dress maker, had numerous leftover clothes. Ones that the capitol did not favor and left to be burnt. He would steal them, sometimes, obtain them from his mother. Mostly, she gave them to him. The colors of most of his clothes are bright and vibrant, ones that call the attention to him. He loved being the center of attention, without really communicating with people. His appearance was his main communicator.
Third, his odd facial structure. (Especially his nose.) Even from a distance, it was visible. His slender nose, the one that boosted his elvish features more. His face, which was described using the adjective 'bony' other than 'gaunt'. His bony cheeks which made him look as if he was a sneaky little thief every time he smiled without parting his soft lips. His brown, soft hair which darkens every time he went out into the sunlight. Speaking in total honesty, he didn't like the shape of his face nor his nose, not the way he liked his ears. But, he did like how they aided him in looking more eccentric than the others, than the 'mundanes'- as he likes to call. They also aided him in the attempt to remove expressions from his face most of the time. His face helped him to look colder, sterner and more merciless than the others. Those three things acted as gigantic walls from the others, shielding him and keeping him in his own space.
The first was, of course, the ears he was proud of. But, he was not ashamed of his physique too. Starting from his chest to waist, he had developed-abs. He frequently said, 'the same goes for my arms' but, deep down, he knew the statement was not true. His limbs had muscles but smaller than the ones on his torso. This was mostly because he rarely picks up heavy things and does it only when in dire need to do so. He could lift them, but with some difficulty. He was also a slender boy, being generally tall in 6 feet 1 inches. He was graceful yet strong, having the weight of 130 lbs. Another thing about himself always interested him. His ability to run swiftly. He could outrun kids of his age, not very easily but, he always believed it was because of his slender legs and high stamina. Probably true.
Eccentric. It was a word he loved and the perfect one to describe his sense of fashion. He hoped and hoped, to be special and showy. And, this was not much of a problem. There was something he liked about spending his life in district 8. It was the clothes. His mother, being a dress maker, had numerous leftover clothes. Ones that the capitol did not favor and left to be burnt. He would steal them, sometimes, obtain them from his mother. Mostly, she gave them to him. The colors of most of his clothes are bright and vibrant, ones that call the attention to him. He loved being the center of attention, without really communicating with people. His appearance was his main communicator.
Personality:
Snow, stop acting so distant and emotionless, your feelings will explode someday.
Snow, stop acting so distant and emotionless, your feelings will explode someday.
That was also another thing his 'friends' said, usually in a matter-of-fact tone, to him. And, it was the painful truth. He liked to stay distant from mostly everyone and in order to do it, he attempts to get rid of any kind of emotions or expressions from his pale face. He thinks of emotions as nothing but obstacles, like enemies waiting to defeat him and pin him to the ground. But, he couldn't do the only thing he wanted to do most. He could not bottle up his feelings. Every single time, they would explode. He could hold it as long as he wanted to but not forever. Even being an intermediate at restraint and temperance didn't aid him. And when the event occurs, he tends to avoid people themselves, spending his time in his tiny room. Thus, he adapted to live by himself, alone and distant from anyone. Yet, the control over his own feelings and emotions were out of reach. Most of the time, he would act as if he had no care in anything. Acting was his strong point. And, he attempts, with every effort he has, to hide himself whenever his feelings turn into a tsunami and rushes out of him.
He is also the type of person to snap at others when he is in a state of depression himself and usual when he could not keep his feelings trapped in a tiny box. A depressive boy. But, this is a route he does not frequently take and it only happens when he is battling with sorrow or irritated to an extreme agree. If the situation gets worse, he is more than willing to be despairing. He had also encountered people who used the word 'erratic' to describe him. People who were not the friends that frequently made comments about his everything. He liked other people's honest opinions on him and he gladly allowed the word to be used in describing him. And, it was true. He can be unpredictable at sometimes, being stubborn and following his own theories and ideas only.
But, all those things were part of the rare self of him. He had his good points too, ones that everyone tend to avoid in making comments about. He always think that they were just plainly obvious and making comments would only seem stupid. He was a courageous person, a heart of a lion. But, when courage collides with minor laziness, it has to fight to win over the laziness. So, he does courageous acts but not frequently. Sometimes, he loves to just lay down and be covered in the satin sheets of his comfortable bed. He is also a very conscientious person, his reflexes as swift as a river and his tendency to be on guard most of the time. He can also be extremely daring over somebody he is rather very fond of, significant other. He has a hard time listing his virtues as nobody really points them out. But, he had been bedazzled how much he was able to focus on anything he desires. Perhaps that counted as one. There is also a grace to his movements, an effect of the gentle part of his mind.
But, he had an obsession, to something. A very severe one.
He is also the type of person to snap at others when he is in a state of depression himself and usual when he could not keep his feelings trapped in a tiny box. A depressive boy. But, this is a route he does not frequently take and it only happens when he is battling with sorrow or irritated to an extreme agree. If the situation gets worse, he is more than willing to be despairing. He had also encountered people who used the word 'erratic' to describe him. People who were not the friends that frequently made comments about his everything. He liked other people's honest opinions on him and he gladly allowed the word to be used in describing him. And, it was true. He can be unpredictable at sometimes, being stubborn and following his own theories and ideas only.
But, all those things were part of the rare self of him. He had his good points too, ones that everyone tend to avoid in making comments about. He always think that they were just plainly obvious and making comments would only seem stupid. He was a courageous person, a heart of a lion. But, when courage collides with minor laziness, it has to fight to win over the laziness. So, he does courageous acts but not frequently. Sometimes, he loves to just lay down and be covered in the satin sheets of his comfortable bed. He is also a very conscientious person, his reflexes as swift as a river and his tendency to be on guard most of the time. He can also be extremely daring over somebody he is rather very fond of, significant other. He has a hard time listing his virtues as nobody really points them out. But, he had been bedazzled how much he was able to focus on anything he desires. Perhaps that counted as one. There is also a grace to his movements, an effect of the gentle part of his mind.
But, he had an obsession, to something. A very severe one.
History:
Snow, where did you get that pathetic plant?
Snow, where did you get that pathetic plant?
That was another thing his 'friends' told him when they visited his house, briefly. Snow Basildon. Born to Juris Basildon and Thread Basildon. He always liked the fact that his mother's name was a humorous one, 'thread'. And, he always considered himself as a fortunate one, unlike the others who were left to be rot by their own kin, he was the result of his mother and father's lovingly intimate session. Both of them loved him and kept him as he was the center of their universe. But, if he was, he would not have been the sun or anything starry. He would be unique, he would be a cool, non-luminous moon or planet. And, they were the only members of their tiny family, including himself.
At the age of four, he had noticed the fade industrial fumes coming outside the window glass. He had been more than an infant yet still, his memories were a blur at that age. He only remembered a few things. The black twirling smoke would lazily float into the grey sky, polluting it, very similar to a poison drop falling into a clean glass of water and making it deadly. The air was thick and his parents kept the windows closed most of the time, no matter how hot it was. They cared for him deeply, not one single particle of charcoal laid on his bright cheeks full of fresh, scarlet blood.
"He is so full of life." Every time he recalled his childhood memories, the words of Juris echoed from the back of his head. A voice full of pride and joy.
"Indeed." Then, instantly, followed the laughter of Thread, a sweet, melodic one.
At that time period, he had thought of his household as an easy-going one. Mother does all the work and father works averagely, earning enough coins for the whole family to feast on. But, as he aged, the beautiful lie shifted into the painful truth.
12 years old. He had grown a lot by now, his height increasing to about 5'8 inches. He was tall for someone his age. Life had passed before his eyes in a motion blur, the blur itself carrying tormentful, joyful, sorrowful and exciting memories of his past. It was amazing how fast time goes and without waiting for anyone. He, on the other hand, has to wait for a few people.
1. His friends. They were a squad of different people- from haughty girls to snobby transgenders. It consists of 5 people, the people that frequently made rude comments on his appearance. Comments that he became rather fond of and comments that shaped him into somebody he is today. They were as thick of thieves but with him being the least sociable person. But, he had always found himself waiting for the others in many situations: when they were going to for a minor shopping trip, when they were going to head off to the district square, etc. But, this ended when they all left for him for numerous reasons. Stupid reasons- as he likes to call.
"You guys are late." He always scolded.
"But you always wait." They always answered. Funny how they rhyme.
2. His parents. He had discovered their work timetables by this age. Thread Basildon worked starting from 7 am in the morning till late 10 pm. Juris, on the other hand, would disappear for long days before coming back home. But, he rarely stays long. 5 is the maximum. He explained to him that the factory he works required the workers to spend weeks there and that they offered him more money if he did. He learnt by the age of 6, the reason why the whole tenement of theirs was pitch black and more importantly, why he was alone. It was because his parents did not want the glares of the sunlight to wake him up. They wanted him to not know that they were gone.
3. The Reaping Ceremony. It was not a living people but an event. Something he feared and nervous for. Every year, he would stand awkwardly in the middle of the crowd of teenagers, biting his lip anxiously. How could he forget the way his heart beats? The way it did somersaults when the escort picked a piece of paper from a glass bowl. He could feel the racing pulse of his hands and it traveled deeper inside his head, causing a minor ache. But, every year, the names were people he did not know even though they had the exact same nervousness flickering in their eyes.
4. His rose. The eternal time he wasted while waiting for the flower to grow into its fully beautiful form.
There was a question he always, frequently, asks himself.
'Why am I allowing this plant, unspeakable and unmovable, to ruin my life and tear me away from my living human friends?'
And the best answer he thought of was,
'Because it's precious. There are more people in this district than plants. Than roses.'
Thread, his mother, brought the earthen flower post home after a long exhausting day at work. She smelled of fumes, charcoals and clothes. New clothes. Her brown hair was a mess and it was detectable from her weary brown eyes, the now visible lines on her face that she was dead tired. She told him that it was a gift from the capitol for some reasons he did not care to take into knowledge of. But, she had handed him it before falling into a deep slumber. The sound of his mother's snores echoed throughout the room while he was observing the object.
Dirt decorated his slender fingers as he tapped the fertilizer on it, searching for the seedling inside. It was buried in the soil, a small one. He remembered the excitement rushing into his veins as he began to wonder what kind of flower it would grow into. And, it did grow into a beautiful one. A showy one, like himself, with soft pink petals, as soft as cotton. But, he could not forget the fat blood drops that fell from his index finger when a thorn of it poked him. It stung. Still, he remained to water it daily, till this very day. And, he plans to do so in the future.
He closed his eyelids again and instead of the back of them, he saw the events that happened on a very tragic day. Should he use the word 'tragic'? He did not know. He cared but he didn't know.
15 and a half years old. It hadn't been long.
It was during the times of trouble. Poverty was spreading throughout district 8 like a fearful, lethal plague. And, it was also during the rainy season where most people tend to get sick. Some even died from the sheer pressure of their work combined with the rain, making it more lethal. Many had to work longer to fill the space of the decreased people yet they earned the same amount of income as before. It was the cruelty of the Capitol. The price of the foods had also rose into frightening numbers. He was missing dinner most of the time and sometimes, lunch too. The hunger he felt at that time was sickening and tormenting to the point he could not stand it anymore. The same goes for his circle of friends. The hunger led to impetuous, hasty decisions which they all made.
"The plan is simple. We'll go into the house of a rich person-our target-and steal some money. His name is Mr. Wayland. Even during this time, he still continues to have great, spectacular dinners. I had scanned the house, around 7 pm, he comes home and the maid of his house leaves at 50 past 6, roughly around it. But, both of them doesn't collide with one another. We'll take advantage of the time and go into their house. Someone of us distract Mr. Wayland while the remaining 5 go into his house." Said Jace, the boy who acts like he is the most intelligent person in the room. And, he probably was.
"And who will that person be?!" Interrupted a girl who seems to be in her teens. She is, all of them are.
"I vote for Jewel." A boy leaning against the trunk of a damaged building said, as casual as he could.
"Idiot, no. I won't go. Even though I am pretty, I can't distract a person!" The same girl from earlier replied, anger flickering in her eyes. There was also fear, the two feelings mixing together in an unpleasant way.
"What about Snow?" Another girl said and the name caused a ring inside his ears. He was wondering why, why him? He was a pale boy and had slight muscles but he didn't have the necessary self-confidence. He was too scared to fail them and even worse, to be caught. It was also his first time breaking the law. His heard was pumping violently, as if it wanted to claw its way out of his rib cage. He felt his breath fastening but controlled it back into its normal rate after a second and catching it back.
"Snow seems like a good choice." Jace added, his voice oozing of confidence in him. His golden eyes were darted at him, filled with hope. His blonde hair was a damp mess. Every one of them were flirty, the rain had not taken a break. They were fortunate to have found shelter inside a deserted tenement. When the words left his mouth, they only made him feel more nervous than before.
"Why?" The question, oozing with concern and confusion escaped from his lips. It was true, he was not sure why they had chosen him of all people. Jace could socialize with people pretty well, most becomes a friend of his after one or two conversations. His golden locks and eyes, he guessed, were the main attractions. Sometimes, even he would become lost inside them.
"Because you are very good at distracting people with the way you talk and that cold aura around you. You can also blurt out pretty good words when you are dead nervous."
And, he was the one who took up that duty.
They stalked into a valley, so narrow, he could touch the sides of the two buildings on either sides. The rain had stopped a few days before their grand operation but the sick still remains, the death rate increasing day by day. The building they were breaking into was the one on the left. On their right as the concrete wall of a ruined tenement, the one of their left being the targeted building. The black material of his sweater was damp, most of his clothes were not that dry yet. The sunlight had not come out yet and so it was difficult for the moisture to evaporate into the thick air. But, the coldness was no match for the burning heat of his skin. He was not sick, he was just nervous. His heart was racing in his chest, galloping like a wild horse.
"Now, Snow." Jewel said in a hiss, gesticulating as she spoke. Her face looked weak and drained of blood. She had gotten thinner during the days, her bony limbs visible whenever she moved. The veins beneath her skin was even showing. He could only imagine the amount of stress she would be under as she was originally, one of the prettiest people in the district. Her brown hair was silky but now it was home to a swarm of louse. Dark circles were under her blue eyes, decreasing her beauty.
He felt himself nodding slowly and basically, silently, strode in front of the house in total silence. His legs had a grace to them and he was able to conceal the sound of his movements with a tiny bit of difficulty only. His ears picked up the sound of the howling wind, indicating the beginning of another shower. But, the rain hasn't fallen. Yet. He could see the grey cotton clouds from the corners of his eyes, rumbling slightly as he laid his eyes on them.
"Fire! In the South, in the Cruz residence!" A sharp yell echoed throughout the area. It was full of warning and trembling fear. He took a glance over his shoulder and he knew when he was clouded with fear. The feeling washed over him like another gigantic tidal wave. He heard the fade sound of footsteps approaching the tenement. But, the whole world blurred out before him. And, he found himself spinning on his heels and sprinting towards the direction of his house.
Fire was catching.
The Cruz residence was the neighbor of the Basildon residence. The two houses were located besides each other, their roofs touching. Untamed sparks of flames flickered from the ignited curtains of the windows. A wave of heat charged towards his face, drying his face immediately. But, that didn't prevent him from sprinting nearer and from approaching the building and neither did the firefighters. He was so swift, they did not even realize him running inside the Basildon residence at first glance. The flames were not large and extremely lethal yet. Just a portion- a room -of the house was covered in flames. The sizzling sound was audible as the fires met the cool touch of water. Peacekeepers had also made their way here, pushing the citizens back forcefully and rapidly asked them to evacuate the area. But, a few stood still, watching. He did not see the Cruz family when he arrived. He slid the horrible thought that was starting to form in his head away.
Climbing the stairs to his apartment took more energy than before. He guessed it was because he had sprinted so swiftly, without giving a glance back. He pushed the door open, not taking the fact that he had forgotten to unlock it very seriously. The air was thick with deadly smoke, the one that you would choke on if you took it in as a breath. The particles of it rested on his head and blocked some figments from his vision. But, he knew the path to his room. It was self-taught. His legs moved again in the same swiftness as before and he pushed open the worn out door leading inside his room.
The flames were already out from the window glasses, like orange flags waving wildly in the air. The flower pot was going to be in its reach. Only seconds remained till the flames kissed the soft, delicate petals of the plant. Then, it would be gone. Forever. The only greenery he had seen and the thing he had looked after. His hand flew to the earthen pot, the object cool against his moist sweater. Then, he charged outside, missing to witness the torrent of water extinguishing the flames that were going to torch his bedroom, the place he spent his entire childhood in.
The Cruz(s) were out for a family trip when the accident happened. They found out that the source of the fire was a lit candle resting on the edge of the windowpane, one they forgot to blow out and kill. One room was torched and burned into blackness and the corridor was also burned but not as bad as the room. He hugged the pot, with a feeling of relief washing over him. But, it didn't take long for the grief to surface. He glanced around, scanning the area for any familiar faces. He didn't catch any until a group of kids came marching towards him, anger and disgust visible on their face.
"Snow! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" The guy who said that Jewel would be a good distraction was the first to snap at him. Kendall. His hands grabbed the stretchy collar of his hand and yanked him closer, as if he wanted him to see the scorching anger in their eyes. And then, his grip on his released. Pain flared up from his left cheek and he staggered backwards, losing balance and fell to the damp ground. Jace, with his fists clenched so tightly that they were in the color of ivory, stared down at him. He felt tears starting to form in his eyes but his arms around his plant had not fallen.
"WE WERE SO CLOSE TO BEING CAUGHT. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?! MAYBE NOT BECAUSE OF THAT PATHETIC, FUCKING PLANT." He shouted at him and it drew the attention of a few bystanders. He guessed that it was because of the anger in his voice. It was also crystal clear on his face, anger and hatred for him. It was much more than he could handle. He forced himself now to cry. He was slowly standing back up on his feet now, although the impact of the punch left him feeling dizzy and light-headed.
He parted his lips to speak but no words came out. He understood why his friends hated him. They were not even his friends anymore, he was extremely sure of it. He felt like a murderer and had butchered the delicate trust of them in coldblooded. When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse.
Jace was the only boy he felt attracted to. "This rose was the only plant I spotted in this wicked district.... and, I looked after it. It is rarer than... people here." He was rarer than the rose but he could not handle his thorns. He will never return the feelings he had for him. And, thus, saving the plant seemed more worthy. It was something he looked after for life. The living memory of his complex childhood and a reminder of his first crush who crushed his heart.
At the age of four, he had noticed the fade industrial fumes coming outside the window glass. He had been more than an infant yet still, his memories were a blur at that age. He only remembered a few things. The black twirling smoke would lazily float into the grey sky, polluting it, very similar to a poison drop falling into a clean glass of water and making it deadly. The air was thick and his parents kept the windows closed most of the time, no matter how hot it was. They cared for him deeply, not one single particle of charcoal laid on his bright cheeks full of fresh, scarlet blood.
"He is so full of life." Every time he recalled his childhood memories, the words of Juris echoed from the back of his head. A voice full of pride and joy.
"Indeed." Then, instantly, followed the laughter of Thread, a sweet, melodic one.
At that time period, he had thought of his household as an easy-going one. Mother does all the work and father works averagely, earning enough coins for the whole family to feast on. But, as he aged, the beautiful lie shifted into the painful truth.
12 years old. He had grown a lot by now, his height increasing to about 5'8 inches. He was tall for someone his age. Life had passed before his eyes in a motion blur, the blur itself carrying tormentful, joyful, sorrowful and exciting memories of his past. It was amazing how fast time goes and without waiting for anyone. He, on the other hand, has to wait for a few people.
1. His friends. They were a squad of different people- from haughty girls to snobby transgenders. It consists of 5 people, the people that frequently made rude comments on his appearance. Comments that he became rather fond of and comments that shaped him into somebody he is today. They were as thick of thieves but with him being the least sociable person. But, he had always found himself waiting for the others in many situations: when they were going to for a minor shopping trip, when they were going to head off to the district square, etc. But, this ended when they all left for him for numerous reasons. Stupid reasons- as he likes to call.
"You guys are late." He always scolded.
"But you always wait." They always answered. Funny how they rhyme.
2. His parents. He had discovered their work timetables by this age. Thread Basildon worked starting from 7 am in the morning till late 10 pm. Juris, on the other hand, would disappear for long days before coming back home. But, he rarely stays long. 5 is the maximum. He explained to him that the factory he works required the workers to spend weeks there and that they offered him more money if he did. He learnt by the age of 6, the reason why the whole tenement of theirs was pitch black and more importantly, why he was alone. It was because his parents did not want the glares of the sunlight to wake him up. They wanted him to not know that they were gone.
3. The Reaping Ceremony. It was not a living people but an event. Something he feared and nervous for. Every year, he would stand awkwardly in the middle of the crowd of teenagers, biting his lip anxiously. How could he forget the way his heart beats? The way it did somersaults when the escort picked a piece of paper from a glass bowl. He could feel the racing pulse of his hands and it traveled deeper inside his head, causing a minor ache. But, every year, the names were people he did not know even though they had the exact same nervousness flickering in their eyes.
4. His rose. The eternal time he wasted while waiting for the flower to grow into its fully beautiful form.
There was a question he always, frequently, asks himself.
'Why am I allowing this plant, unspeakable and unmovable, to ruin my life and tear me away from my living human friends?'
And the best answer he thought of was,
'Because it's precious. There are more people in this district than plants. Than roses.'
Thread, his mother, brought the earthen flower post home after a long exhausting day at work. She smelled of fumes, charcoals and clothes. New clothes. Her brown hair was a mess and it was detectable from her weary brown eyes, the now visible lines on her face that she was dead tired. She told him that it was a gift from the capitol for some reasons he did not care to take into knowledge of. But, she had handed him it before falling into a deep slumber. The sound of his mother's snores echoed throughout the room while he was observing the object.
Dirt decorated his slender fingers as he tapped the fertilizer on it, searching for the seedling inside. It was buried in the soil, a small one. He remembered the excitement rushing into his veins as he began to wonder what kind of flower it would grow into. And, it did grow into a beautiful one. A showy one, like himself, with soft pink petals, as soft as cotton. But, he could not forget the fat blood drops that fell from his index finger when a thorn of it poked him. It stung. Still, he remained to water it daily, till this very day. And, he plans to do so in the future.
He closed his eyelids again and instead of the back of them, he saw the events that happened on a very tragic day. Should he use the word 'tragic'? He did not know. He cared but he didn't know.
15 and a half years old. It hadn't been long.
It was during the times of trouble. Poverty was spreading throughout district 8 like a fearful, lethal plague. And, it was also during the rainy season where most people tend to get sick. Some even died from the sheer pressure of their work combined with the rain, making it more lethal. Many had to work longer to fill the space of the decreased people yet they earned the same amount of income as before. It was the cruelty of the Capitol. The price of the foods had also rose into frightening numbers. He was missing dinner most of the time and sometimes, lunch too. The hunger he felt at that time was sickening and tormenting to the point he could not stand it anymore. The same goes for his circle of friends. The hunger led to impetuous, hasty decisions which they all made.
"The plan is simple. We'll go into the house of a rich person-our target-and steal some money. His name is Mr. Wayland. Even during this time, he still continues to have great, spectacular dinners. I had scanned the house, around 7 pm, he comes home and the maid of his house leaves at 50 past 6, roughly around it. But, both of them doesn't collide with one another. We'll take advantage of the time and go into their house. Someone of us distract Mr. Wayland while the remaining 5 go into his house." Said Jace, the boy who acts like he is the most intelligent person in the room. And, he probably was.
"And who will that person be?!" Interrupted a girl who seems to be in her teens. She is, all of them are.
"I vote for Jewel." A boy leaning against the trunk of a damaged building said, as casual as he could.
"Idiot, no. I won't go. Even though I am pretty, I can't distract a person!" The same girl from earlier replied, anger flickering in her eyes. There was also fear, the two feelings mixing together in an unpleasant way.
"What about Snow?" Another girl said and the name caused a ring inside his ears. He was wondering why, why him? He was a pale boy and had slight muscles but he didn't have the necessary self-confidence. He was too scared to fail them and even worse, to be caught. It was also his first time breaking the law. His heard was pumping violently, as if it wanted to claw its way out of his rib cage. He felt his breath fastening but controlled it back into its normal rate after a second and catching it back.
"Snow seems like a good choice." Jace added, his voice oozing of confidence in him. His golden eyes were darted at him, filled with hope. His blonde hair was a damp mess. Every one of them were flirty, the rain had not taken a break. They were fortunate to have found shelter inside a deserted tenement. When the words left his mouth, they only made him feel more nervous than before.
"Why?" The question, oozing with concern and confusion escaped from his lips. It was true, he was not sure why they had chosen him of all people. Jace could socialize with people pretty well, most becomes a friend of his after one or two conversations. His golden locks and eyes, he guessed, were the main attractions. Sometimes, even he would become lost inside them.
"Because you are very good at distracting people with the way you talk and that cold aura around you. You can also blurt out pretty good words when you are dead nervous."
And, he was the one who took up that duty.
They stalked into a valley, so narrow, he could touch the sides of the two buildings on either sides. The rain had stopped a few days before their grand operation but the sick still remains, the death rate increasing day by day. The building they were breaking into was the one on the left. On their right as the concrete wall of a ruined tenement, the one of their left being the targeted building. The black material of his sweater was damp, most of his clothes were not that dry yet. The sunlight had not come out yet and so it was difficult for the moisture to evaporate into the thick air. But, the coldness was no match for the burning heat of his skin. He was not sick, he was just nervous. His heart was racing in his chest, galloping like a wild horse.
"Now, Snow." Jewel said in a hiss, gesticulating as she spoke. Her face looked weak and drained of blood. She had gotten thinner during the days, her bony limbs visible whenever she moved. The veins beneath her skin was even showing. He could only imagine the amount of stress she would be under as she was originally, one of the prettiest people in the district. Her brown hair was silky but now it was home to a swarm of louse. Dark circles were under her blue eyes, decreasing her beauty.
He felt himself nodding slowly and basically, silently, strode in front of the house in total silence. His legs had a grace to them and he was able to conceal the sound of his movements with a tiny bit of difficulty only. His ears picked up the sound of the howling wind, indicating the beginning of another shower. But, the rain hasn't fallen. Yet. He could see the grey cotton clouds from the corners of his eyes, rumbling slightly as he laid his eyes on them.
"Fire! In the South, in the Cruz residence!" A sharp yell echoed throughout the area. It was full of warning and trembling fear. He took a glance over his shoulder and he knew when he was clouded with fear. The feeling washed over him like another gigantic tidal wave. He heard the fade sound of footsteps approaching the tenement. But, the whole world blurred out before him. And, he found himself spinning on his heels and sprinting towards the direction of his house.
Fire was catching.
The Cruz residence was the neighbor of the Basildon residence. The two houses were located besides each other, their roofs touching. Untamed sparks of flames flickered from the ignited curtains of the windows. A wave of heat charged towards his face, drying his face immediately. But, that didn't prevent him from sprinting nearer and from approaching the building and neither did the firefighters. He was so swift, they did not even realize him running inside the Basildon residence at first glance. The flames were not large and extremely lethal yet. Just a portion- a room -of the house was covered in flames. The sizzling sound was audible as the fires met the cool touch of water. Peacekeepers had also made their way here, pushing the citizens back forcefully and rapidly asked them to evacuate the area. But, a few stood still, watching. He did not see the Cruz family when he arrived. He slid the horrible thought that was starting to form in his head away.
Climbing the stairs to his apartment took more energy than before. He guessed it was because he had sprinted so swiftly, without giving a glance back. He pushed the door open, not taking the fact that he had forgotten to unlock it very seriously. The air was thick with deadly smoke, the one that you would choke on if you took it in as a breath. The particles of it rested on his head and blocked some figments from his vision. But, he knew the path to his room. It was self-taught. His legs moved again in the same swiftness as before and he pushed open the worn out door leading inside his room.
The flames were already out from the window glasses, like orange flags waving wildly in the air. The flower pot was going to be in its reach. Only seconds remained till the flames kissed the soft, delicate petals of the plant. Then, it would be gone. Forever. The only greenery he had seen and the thing he had looked after. His hand flew to the earthen pot, the object cool against his moist sweater. Then, he charged outside, missing to witness the torrent of water extinguishing the flames that were going to torch his bedroom, the place he spent his entire childhood in.
The Cruz(s) were out for a family trip when the accident happened. They found out that the source of the fire was a lit candle resting on the edge of the windowpane, one they forgot to blow out and kill. One room was torched and burned into blackness and the corridor was also burned but not as bad as the room. He hugged the pot, with a feeling of relief washing over him. But, it didn't take long for the grief to surface. He glanced around, scanning the area for any familiar faces. He didn't catch any until a group of kids came marching towards him, anger and disgust visible on their face.
"Snow! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" The guy who said that Jewel would be a good distraction was the first to snap at him. Kendall. His hands grabbed the stretchy collar of his hand and yanked him closer, as if he wanted him to see the scorching anger in their eyes. And then, his grip on his released. Pain flared up from his left cheek and he staggered backwards, losing balance and fell to the damp ground. Jace, with his fists clenched so tightly that they were in the color of ivory, stared down at him. He felt tears starting to form in his eyes but his arms around his plant had not fallen.
"WE WERE SO CLOSE TO BEING CAUGHT. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?! MAYBE NOT BECAUSE OF THAT PATHETIC, FUCKING PLANT." He shouted at him and it drew the attention of a few bystanders. He guessed that it was because of the anger in his voice. It was also crystal clear on his face, anger and hatred for him. It was much more than he could handle. He forced himself now to cry. He was slowly standing back up on his feet now, although the impact of the punch left him feeling dizzy and light-headed.
He parted his lips to speak but no words came out. He understood why his friends hated him. They were not even his friends anymore, he was extremely sure of it. He felt like a murderer and had butchered the delicate trust of them in coldblooded. When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse.
Jace was the only boy he felt attracted to. "This rose was the only plant I spotted in this wicked district.... and, I looked after it. It is rarer than... people here." He was rarer than the rose but he could not handle his thorns. He will never return the feelings he had for him. And, thus, saving the plant seemed more worthy. It was something he looked after for life. The living memory of his complex childhood and a reminder of his first crush who crushed his heart.
Other: He is an open homosexual male.
