o, fly on | { l e t o }

you won't wake me up
I need a saint, I need a God
I was swimming in holy water
now I'm drowning down the river

"You know her schedule." It was the same as her precious Brentley's.

The meaning of Artemus's words were translated by a look: You can come when she isn't here.

He waited until Calypso was gone, a shadow of anger slamming her bedroom door upstairs, until he said them. He leaned his head against the frame of the front entrance while Perdita crossed her arms over her chest in front of him.

"I know," she said, and then she was gone.

He was born with two sisters, and, for a while, it had felt like he had zero. He knew it was ridiculous to think so, but it felt as if they were taken by the ocean, like the rest of their home, waves swelling and falling, taking all they encompassed with them when they left. All that remained of his old life was buried somewhere in the sand, his mother crying while he salvaged their family pictures.

The water in District Four was tainted. His dad used to call it holy water, claimed it healed things medicine couldn't; just a common superstition, nothing Artemus had ever given too much thought until he decided he disagreed. It ceased being holy water the moment it took his childhood from him.

Perdita appeared exactly three times in the weeks to come, always when Calypso was out on a field class and always when their parents were not home. She would sit on one side of the table, and he, the other. He would brew coffee, and they would pretend that this was normal, that everything was okay.

He knew better, and good things always came to a dreadful, sudden end in what was left of the Leto home, but he planned on savoring every moment with his older sister that he was allowed until the storm came.

On that day, it was actually raining.

He thought, maybe, that was why Calypso had come home early: cancelled class. Still, those days, she was as rare a sight as Perdita.

The clouds clapped with thunder, lightning stretching down from the sky far on the horizon, kissing the ocean. Storms were a group effort, he had learned. He and Calypso were sitting on the porch swing, his feet tucked underneath him, while she recounted the events from her day, her continued annoyance with that new boy from District Seven.

"Well, I think you like him," he had said, when he noticed the cold stare that had taken over Calypso's features. When he followed her gaze, he saw Perdita ascending the stairs.

Instant tension; the kind he wished he could just will away. But it remained, as it always would, a stale air that made even breathing feel strange. Still, he stood, walked over to his other sister, and gave her the same embrace he'd given Calypso. (Against her will, of course.)

"How're you today?" he asked. He started to ask if she wanted coffee, but a quick and painful memory of the last time the three of them were all in the same place warned him not to; he would make it now before it was too late.

("How's about that coffee, Arty?")

"We were just—" he motioned to Calypso and the swing, not bothering to finish. Damn, the tension was stifling. He cleared his throat, paused for a moment. He knew what needed to happen.

"You can have my seat. I'll be right back."

Because, damn it, he was born with two sisters. It was time he felt like it again. Without another word, he slipped inside, and pulled the coffee grounds from the cupboard. Such a simple thing, he realized, and even so, it was still something he could instantly match with a memory. This one was not a good memory, but there were others. The picture of the three of them on the beach, which hung on the refrigerator. That was the day Artemus lost his first tooth, when Perdita had accidentally headbutted him. There was a red scarf hanging over the fireplace, like the ropes at a red carpet event. Five-year-old Calypso was convinced this scarf would ensnare any trespassers who were trying to sneak in from the roof at their old house. One of the first things Arty did when they got this house was tie that scarf to their new fireplace.

Most of their memories had been taken, and perhaps that was why they struggled so much to let go of the past, but Artemus still had hope that things could be different.

But hope did not always have the best outcomes, did it?

song: holy water