acidic [Sydney one-shot]

Sydney Faustus

"Olivia." I screech in front of me. "Olivia, move!" My voice peels out of nowhere, but in front of me, I'm watching Olivia die all over again. I've had this dream a few times in the last 13 years, but for some reason, as I stand here, standing still in this dreamlike state, I can't wake up. Imp stands beside me as I glance in her direction, but she doesn't even notice my attendance. Instead, she's yelling at Olivia, yelling at her own self for harming her partner.

Once again, I have to witness this Imp-poster throw her shuriken at the girl from my district. The block locks of the girl cascade down her shoulders and as the knife enters her face, It is the same as the day I saw it in real time.

Gut wrenching pain.

Stomach churning with acid.

Throat burning with heat.

My eyes explode open with the dreams memory and I find myself rushing to the bathroom only to expel the contents of my stomach into the basin. Minutes pass by and my recollected visions of the games that took that girl away flash in my mind again. The visual representation of my heart explodes every time. My hands wrap around the seat and I'm forced to lay my forehead on my arm, resting as my throat screams in agony and my stomach begins to settle. Like the dreams in the past, it brings up so much emotion that I find myself producing tears.

I hate nights like this.

It isn't always Olivia. I've had the same dreams with other tributes, too, but Olivia's was more detrimental to my health. I had thought of her as a friend first before making her an adversary and then death separated us before I could confirm what my heart wanted to do. Then other people I've met in life seem to alter the dreams. Mostly through the search and rescue missions I've accompanied. It's a rough gig, but without my daughter to fight for and come home to every night, my purpose in life might not be so grand.

"Mommy... are you okay?" Jules' sleepy voice suddenly breaks my thoughts and I look up from my resting spot. Cradling the toilet seems to be a familiar place if I've drank that night and last nights obligation to my mental health seemed like a good thing at the time. I might have had a little too much. Still, she stands there in the doorway and as I look at her, growing as she is, she's half asleep, left eye closed with the right is squinted at me and she yawns. I grumble as I lift myself from the toilet, flushing it and grabbing a tissue to dab at my mouth one last time before I wash up.

"Yeah. Mommy's fine sweetheart. Just had a bad dream. Dreamed I was forced to drink sour milk." I convince her of such but there's been so many times when she's woken to my presence in the bathroom for one reason or another. Before I can dry my hands, she's stumbling down the hallway and I rush to dry my hands and I reach her before she gets to her doorway. The darkness lingers around us except for the dull gleam of her nightlight and I scoop up her tiny frame and then lay her in the bed. She mumbles something about my screaming again but I shush her gently with the covers being pulled up. My hand rests on her forehead and my thumb rubs it twice over.

"Mommy sure does love you, Jules. Never forget that." I hum. I find myself sitting on the bed and laying my hand on her arm, letting my nails gently stroke her skin back and forth in a calming method. She makes a sound similar to an approval and within moments, she falls back to sleep and that was that.

Darkness and solidarity once again surrounds me and I find myself staring at her face. Oh how it looks just like her father. How much she looks like Quinton that it hurts me sometimes to see how she will grow up without him. Her dark brown hair falls between her shoulder blades now and the freckles that decorate her cheeks. There's not been a single male specimen who could ever replace the man I loved nor one that would ever replace the father my daughter had.

I fear, at times, that we will always be alone and the two of us will never find another that we feel comfortable sharing our heart another time. Luckily, she was three when her father passed away, so any memory that she had of him has since faded into such a distant memory that all she has is my words of how much he loved her and how much he made me happy and feel loved. The picture under her pillow also helps her look in the mirror to see exactly what I see when I look at her. She proudly claims that she will always look like him just so that I will remain happy.

With Jules slumbering again, I glance at the clock beside her watching it flash just half passed four. Only a few hours remain of the morning before dawn hits and with such a rude awakening, I linger from my daughters bedroom to the kitchen. The light floods the entire room and there's something so eerie the way the house feels in the dead of night. Everything seems to be out of place, but in place as well. Nothing has changed since my husbands passing. Change is something that isn't welcomed in this house.

Not if I can help it.

I make my way to the cabinets and pull out a few ingredients. A simple concoction to settle the burning in my throat. A bit of honey and a little water with a scoop of tea. Slowly it simmers on the stove and with a simple stir every few minutes, I let the time slip away slowly. Before I know it, morning has come barging in with the sunrise peeking through the window and before long, I can hear Jules clambering to gather her school stuff and get cleaned up. All the while, I find myself still lingering on the dreams and visions.

"Come on Jules. I'll walk you to school, love." I yell out to her. If this is like any other normal day, then three more times I'll have to yell at her before she'll come down to greet me. It'll take two times of pep talking her to eat her breakfast and about a dozen times to get her shoes on. The child is definitely mine in the sense that she tends to do things at her own pace unless provoked, but the similarities are more common. She loves to eat peanut butter on crackers and hates any types of jam. She prefers her hair to be anything but straight. I spend more time learning new tricks to style her hair. She has a knack for wanting to help people and hates when I have to go to be a volunteer. Jules even wants to become a peacekeeper one day but I hope it never comes. I am glad that it never happened for me because when I was fifteen, I fell in love with my best friend.

A lot has changed since I was fifteen. That much is for certain. It's just a day to day quest to see where I end up now. It's a journey.