umber vivuus ☾ twelve, fin

dars Administrator 7,697 POSTS last seen Apr 27, 2024 15:23:09 GMT -5 — 🥀 —	umber vivuus ☾ twelve, fin May 15, 2020 2:06:52 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by dars on May 15, 2020 2:06:52 GMT -5 ^{U M B E R V I V U U S} ^{DISTRICT TWELVE} ^FIFTEEN _{sigrid / terrence / roslyn / umber}
	Last Edit: Feb 23, 2024 13:27:28 GMT -5 by dars ^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

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umber vivuus ☾ twelve, fin May 15, 2020 2:16:21 GMT -5

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Post by dars on May 15, 2020 2:16:21 GMT -5

[googlefont="Playfair Display:400"]UMBER VIVUUS

[googlefont="Playfair Display:400"]D I S T R I C T 1 2

[googlefont="Playfair Display:400"]F I F T E E N

"Actually, we don't store bodies here,"- that was the job of whichever funeral home the dead lived closest to. I'm supposed to suggest the Mortuus family when people ask, though. Why? Well, to them, my answer is that they provide 'outstanding post-life care for your lost loved ones' but the truth? The honest truth? It's because we know each others secrets.

The widow standing in front of me looks like this might be her last straw. She looks young to have lost a husband- it's common enough that it isn't all that surprising anymore though. I'm not really good at beating around the bush- that's what Sig says. I wish she or Roslyn were around right now; they're better at this part. I'm only fifteen; the only satisfying response I can think to tell this lady is that the Mortuus family lives nearby, so it's what I tell her. She peers at me with bloodshot eyes, tissue pressed to her nose while I speak. A smile that doesn't reach her eyes, and then she's out the door.

That's easily the worst part of having this job: the loved ones. The survivors. People always assume it'd the dead, but they aren't really much of a problem at all. By the time they get to us they're usually nailed into coffins and ready to be put six feet under. We don't store the bodies here, just like I told the lady.

But we have.

I was nine or ten when I saw a dead body for the first time. Mind you, up until that point I was so afraid of death that I hadn't ever stepped foot over the fence behind our house which bordered the graveyard. Sometimes when I was outside playing, I'd test my own will by seeing how close I could get before my fear outweighed my bravery. I knew it would be fine- unless there was a funeral actively taking place, it wasn't like I'd ever see anything other than headstones aligned in sprawling rows and vases of fake flowers getting sun-bleached with time. But still, I'd accepted that when I eventually saw a dead person, it'd be there, in that land. I'd had dreams about it- nightmares where Terrence threw our ball too hard and it went over the fence, and then when I had to go retrieve it a hand would breach the surface of the ground and grab at my ankles or I'd fall into an already-dug hole and land next to some bloated old man who'd wrap me into his clutches and refuse to let me go.

But it was elsewhere that I saw a dead body for the first time: here, in this house. By no means was it the standard, but sometimes when a body was found and there was no one to claim it or anything, it came straight to us for burial. Imagine my surprise when I made my way down into the basement looking for my baseball glove, only to find a corpse sprawled out onto the table, pale skin covered only by a white sheet. It was a woman I did not recognize, thankfully, but one whose face I don't think I'll ever forget. Which is nice, I guess, in a way. She had no funeral. There was no name inscribed upon her tombstone. There were no visitors, or flowers left for her.

After that day, the dreams stopped happening. And it was only a couple more years until Terrence and I were expected to start digging the holes for incoming bodies. Now, when I'm out in the cemetery, sometimes I stop by and stare at the blank little square where that lady is buried and I remember what she looked like laying on that table. It isn't a flattering memory, but it's a memory. I think if I died like that, alone in the world, I'd want someone to remember me.

I guess beyond the surface level, I still am just as afraid now as I was then. I mean, I've seen a lot more dead bodies so maybe that makes a difference. But I'd say I think about death a lot, even for someone whose family owns a graveyard, even for someone from District Twelve, even from someone whose name is still entered in the Reaping every year. I think the concept of next in general is what really gets me. Someone dies: what next? I grow up: what next? A meteor falls from the sky and lands right square in the middle of my house and kills everyone I've ever known or cared about: what next?

And no one seems to know: not my friends from school, not my brother or my sisters, not even my parents. Death is always a threat, and no one can promise against it. The only advice any of them ever seem to have is to not think about it too much: to bury it down, I guess letting it fester within me until I'm either ready to face it or it demands to be faced. But, like I said: I'm not really good at beating around the bush. I confront things, all things. Whether it's confronting Sigrid because she's in charge when Mom and Dad are away and loves to boss people around, or confronting a bully at school who thinks I'm weird because our family owns a cemetery, or confronting the inevitable inescapable fact that I might die before I wake up tomorrow: if it crosses my mind, it's best to say it.

Once the woman is good and gone, the door firmly shut behind her, I lean down behind the counter and pull my guitar back into my hands, going back to trying to tune it. There used to be a name that was not mine written in black permanent marker on the back side of the neck, but all it took was a couple good swipes with an alcohol pad to clean that up, and now in it's place, in my shitty penmanship, is my name instead: Umber Vivuus. The last name, Vivuus, comes from the word Vivus, which means alive, ironically. We make jokes about it all of the time. But the first name, Umber, that comes from the red clay our estate sits on. You can't tell at all during the spring and summer but sometimes in the winter, the warm red groundwater seeps up onto the surface before freezing and making it look like it has snowed blood on our home. Puddles of it fill the area: little streams of it pour down the hills of the graveyard. A positively ghastly thing to be named for, but if you still think I'm someone who should have the luxury of having any sort of kindness afforded to me, you have not been paying enough attention.

It wasn't me who started it, nor any of my siblings. But I think we all tell ourselves that to make ourselves feel better. We might not have known it was wrong when it started but now? I'm the youngest of us and even I know it's wrong to take from the dead. Precious things- yes, often also valuable things, but things that meant a lot to the person we're stealing them from. Things that are so important, in fact, that their loved ones wanted them to be buried with it. Jewelry, expensive alcohol, photo albums, and even more uncommon items like antique toys or, you know, guitars with names written on the neck in permanent marker. The things people are buried with varies about as much as the people themselves, but they all have one thing in common: none of it was ever meant for the Vivuus family to have.

And yet.

I pluck the strings absently, smiling when it finally seems to be tuned correctly.

The clock behind me notifies me that it's time for my break. I hop down from my chair and quietly climb the stairs up to the second floor, banging on Sigrid's door. "Your turn!" I shout. I don't wait to see if she's heard me. I don't really care- it'll be on her if she's late. But knowing her, she won't be. Likely, she was already dressed and sitting at the edge of her bed: waiting for my knock. Whether she is or not, I've already closed my own bedroom door behind me, crawled onto my own bed, and continued to play a dead man's guitar.

Last Edit: Feb 23, 2024 12:33:30 GMT -5 by dars

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

dars Administrator 7,697 POSTS last seen Apr 27, 2024 15:23:09 GMT -5 — 🥀 —	umber vivuus ☾ twelve, fin Feb 23, 2024 12:37:09 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by dars on Feb 23, 2024 12:37:09 GMT -5 🌱 kaitlin. gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale baby bro is done!
	^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale RP Tutor 3,267 POSTS Pronouns: he/him Member is Online	umber vivuus ☾ twelve, fin Feb 23, 2024 18:48:08 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale on Feb 23, 2024 18:48:08 GMT -5 1. this table eats 2. pls can someone give him a break