[81st] The Reaping — District Six

Ash to ash.

Dust to dust.

A boy rises from the flickering spark, as if he wasn't capable of being hurt. Collapsed walls of a once tall opera house staring back at him, close enough that he can feel that childhood dream that his parents called a waste of time on the edge of the blackened wood and destroyed rubble. Cleaner than the last time that he had been to these ruins of Tempus Opera House. Construction having been started on the new Opera House that would replace those memories, almost as if his aunt were trying to hide the memories of the one before.

Cigarette smoke between his teeth, a glare of dissatisfaction, and only the sounds of District Six's failure to not be burdened by fantasy or reality. Caspar is the one to appear out of the construction with his aunt, laughing, smiling, and talking about the future like they had one. He's not in their sight, he knows better than to approach them.

"They aren't good for your future, Ronan."

"But, I want to be an actor Mommy!"

A flicker of annoyance in his eyes with a smudged cigarette into the tree he's hidden behind.

An echo of his mother's words in his head.

"You will not let your future crumble like your cousins."

Foolish people never come back with a crown. Riordan Einfallen's last performance had shown just that. A king of fools with no crown and bloodied words. After all of these years, he had watched his cousin crumble before them all, unlike himself. Rising up above the ash and the letter that crumbled Caspar Einfallen and ruined Twila Einfallen. A last outcry for help from Riordan, where only he could complete it by returning Tempus to where it belongs.

In the dirt, where no one has to suffer it's sight.

Cigarette on his lips, sparked to life by his lighter. Walking away from the new Rio Opera House in process of being constructed. Always stuck on the fantasy and the past. Never getting anyone anywhere, except for left with regrets upon their skin. Unlike them, Ronan had moved on from that. There is more to life than wasting time on the nonexistent dreams.

They would have been crushed anyways if he was like them.

With that, he marches along the path where fate and karma meets. Eyes staring into the sky as if they would crush him immediately, there was still a chance that they could. Staring into the sky as the memory of last night flashes in front of his eyes once more. Numb mind, all skin, and no love. A pleasant night to end on if fate and karma decide that he has to stop running.

He could only run away from karma for so long.

She'd eventually catch up to him. She'd give all the hell that she could, until he finally felt normal again. Except, even now, he thinks he'll never be that normal boy who dreamed of being an actor again. A glare pulls from the depth of his annoyance as he pockets his hands and continues across concrete, shouldering through medical units pushing teens to the square, where death lingers in the dust. A glare to a nurse who bumps into him as he mumbles a profanity at the nurse. Shoving past him and into the hospital wing where his mother resides in, waiting for him.

"What took you so long, Ronan!"

A moment for her to recognize that smoke smell on his skin and the bloodshot eyes of a hangover and he knew it only took her a moment before she started with him again.

"Are you kidding me Ronan? You look like shit!"

Rolling his eyes, he marches past her and to an empty hospital room. The flickering lights of the room making his head pound once more. The smell of lemon scented cleaners filling his nose and making him feel even more sick again. The medical books resting on the side of the bed as he groans to himself, leaving them alone there. No goodbye. No good lucks. Only more medical books that he's expected to read. Instead, his hands raise in a fury as he shoves them off the table and onto the floor before feeling the weight of his lighter in his pocket.

Fuck.

The flame echoes in the air.

Smoke fills the room.

The alarm goes off.

Ronan's already gone.

Cigarette on his lips and anger happily diminished.

A breeze of desperation coming in to chill their hearts. The square's packed with people who deserve to be punished. Fantasies and realities that cloud them, none of them were as capable. All too caring for others' opinions, others' vision of them, others' words for them. Useless and mindless fuckery for the pathetic lives of the normal beings. Even if they couldn't be considered normal. Six was full of whack jobs and broken people who live in a district where sickness spreads with a haste like a fire flickering among the population.

Burning them all into ash and dust.

Returning them to the earth, the only sweet release of fuck all.

At least then, he could be whatever the hell he wanted to be.

Instead of listening to the escort, he watches the people. Children hand in hand, like that would save them from the mouth that feeds them. As if it'll save them from the capitol if they wanted to take that life of theirs and throw it into emptiness. A chuckle on his lips as the first name comes up as a young girl. A young girl for District Six like so many years before. Vesper, Faline, Serena, Quest. Almost as if the capitol wanted to watch the people of Six burn.

Almost as if Karma wanted him, he knew that his luck had always been running out. Alcoholic nights and partying, never leave that satisfaction in his chest. The hearts and people, he's sent into mentally breakdowns is too many to count. As if things could be worse, he can't help but hear the escort call out to the crowd.

"Ronan Keeni-Einfallen."

Karma's a bitch and that was the only truth.

Hangover, cigarette, messy clothes, and disheveled hair as he approaches the stage with the glare on his eyes. A performance is all he dreamed about, but now he was thrown into the biggest one of them all. Arms crossed with that unnerving annoyance and snickers across the square as many know he deserves this bullshit.

The ruins that he leaves behind mocking him now, but he's not afraid.

God, he's never afraid.

Instead, he pulls the cigarette from his lips and tosses it on the ground of the stage, stomping it out.

Ash to ash.

Dust to dust.

Ronan Keeni-Einfallen was no more.

Reborn from the flames of his own fire.