lithe stront | d6 | fin
Sept 14, 2017 18:48:05 GMT -5
Post by Lyn𝛿is on Sept 14, 2017 18:48:05 GMT -5
[Googlefont="Calligraffitti"]
Lithe Stront district six. fourteen. male |
The fine, white sands shift softly, crunching beneath your shoes as you stand gazing out at the horizon. This must be the ocean, you once thought, watching the waves lap at the beach, for the water is so wide you can see no inkling of what lies on the other side.
The first time you visited, it was summer. Father took all of you here. Even now Mother tells of how you slipped from her grasp, darting through the throngs of people and straight into the water, fully clothed, before your parents or your older siblings could stop you.
But it is silent here now, as your breath comes out in little puffs of fog against the gray sky. The waves continue to break, their roaring the only sound on the deserted beach, but no one is swimming in the freezing waters. Icicles form a shimmering curtain hanging from the empty dock. In the distance, the lighthouse is sheathed entirely in white.
It is all very fitting. Winter means death. Your father died in the winter, just old enough for you to remember him but not old enough to fully understand that he was gone forever. You asked Mother about him again and again, and for months you waited for the day Father would walk through the front door again, smile half-hidden by his bushy beard, and scoop you up in your arms.
Though it is not far, you have not been to the beach with your family since Father died.
You cherished the memory of these moments all the more because of how few there were - he was busy, after all. He was doing very important work, and was highly valued by the Capitol.
A little part of you wonders sometimes if the lab accident was, in fact, an accident. Father was too singleminded towards his work, or so they say, to ever get involved in politics and maneuvering. But you hear whispers, that after your family fell from grace, other moved up to fill the prestigious position Father had once held, and new safety regulations passed that were restrictive but ultimately ineffective.
It's just an idle theory of yours, nothing more. You would never dare say such things out loud.
There are a lot of things you notice that you don't dare say out loud. Like the neighbor's house, the one where the inside dimensions don't match the outside dimensions, and you're pretty sure there's a secret room she's hiding something - or someone - in. Or that one guy at your mom's work, whose numbers always seemed a little too neat, a little too even.
Being a scientist is all about noticing little things, or so they tell you. But you know better. It's about noticing the right things, at the right time, in front of the right people. Anything else would only get you in trouble, and it is hard enough to stay out of trouble when you stumble upon so many questions, each of them nagging at your mind until you find a matching answer.
You wonder how adults resign themselves to thinking about only one of them at a time, or sometimes none at all.
And then you wonder if you'll ever be as steady and dependable as your older brother Franc, as mature and self-aware as your sister, as resilient as your mother, if your idle curiosity is mere distraction against the inevitable marching of time -
It is at times like these, to tamp down your racing thoughts, that you run. The streets of District Six stretch out before you, all familiar landmarks and well-worn intersections. You've never gotten lost here before. You're not sure you could, even if you wanted to. All roads in Six seem to lead back to the Institute of Psychology, the towering gray building that stands in the center of the district.
You hope to work there some day. You hear that people in the Institute have tricks to not only make others do what they want, but also want to obey them. You hear that the researchers meet all the most interesting and strange people in not only District Six, but from all over Panem.
Maybe one day you'll come up with a grand unifying theory for what makes people selfish or altruistic, violent or fearful, cautious or reckless. You'll tell people exactly how they should feel, and their emotions will obey.
Your own emotions would obey, too.
At least, a boy can dream.
The first time you visited, it was summer. Father took all of you here. Even now Mother tells of how you slipped from her grasp, darting through the throngs of people and straight into the water, fully clothed, before your parents or your older siblings could stop you.
But it is silent here now, as your breath comes out in little puffs of fog against the gray sky. The waves continue to break, their roaring the only sound on the deserted beach, but no one is swimming in the freezing waters. Icicles form a shimmering curtain hanging from the empty dock. In the distance, the lighthouse is sheathed entirely in white.
It is all very fitting. Winter means death. Your father died in the winter, just old enough for you to remember him but not old enough to fully understand that he was gone forever. You asked Mother about him again and again, and for months you waited for the day Father would walk through the front door again, smile half-hidden by his bushy beard, and scoop you up in your arms.
Though it is not far, you have not been to the beach with your family since Father died.
You cherished the memory of these moments all the more because of how few there were - he was busy, after all. He was doing very important work, and was highly valued by the Capitol.
A little part of you wonders sometimes if the lab accident was, in fact, an accident. Father was too singleminded towards his work, or so they say, to ever get involved in politics and maneuvering. But you hear whispers, that after your family fell from grace, other moved up to fill the prestigious position Father had once held, and new safety regulations passed that were restrictive but ultimately ineffective.
It's just an idle theory of yours, nothing more. You would never dare say such things out loud.
There are a lot of things you notice that you don't dare say out loud. Like the neighbor's house, the one where the inside dimensions don't match the outside dimensions, and you're pretty sure there's a secret room she's hiding something - or someone - in. Or that one guy at your mom's work, whose numbers always seemed a little too neat, a little too even.
Being a scientist is all about noticing little things, or so they tell you. But you know better. It's about noticing the right things, at the right time, in front of the right people. Anything else would only get you in trouble, and it is hard enough to stay out of trouble when you stumble upon so many questions, each of them nagging at your mind until you find a matching answer.
You wonder how adults resign themselves to thinking about only one of them at a time, or sometimes none at all.
And then you wonder if you'll ever be as steady and dependable as your older brother Franc, as mature and self-aware as your sister, as resilient as your mother, if your idle curiosity is mere distraction against the inevitable marching of time -
It is at times like these, to tamp down your racing thoughts, that you run. The streets of District Six stretch out before you, all familiar landmarks and well-worn intersections. You've never gotten lost here before. You're not sure you could, even if you wanted to. All roads in Six seem to lead back to the Institute of Psychology, the towering gray building that stands in the center of the district.
You hope to work there some day. You hear that people in the Institute have tricks to not only make others do what they want, but also want to obey them. You hear that the researchers meet all the most interesting and strange people in not only District Six, but from all over Panem.
Maybe one day you'll come up with a grand unifying theory for what makes people selfish or altruistic, violent or fearful, cautious or reckless. You'll tell people exactly how they should feel, and their emotions will obey.
Your own emotions would obey, too.
At least, a boy can dream.
