Parker Vahns | District 5 | FIN

You don’t believe in mystical things don’t you?

You never have, you, a boy that had no clue what it was like to grow up with an ounce of wonder.

You are kind though, pushed through the mud when you were a kid because standing up for yourself was not seen as heroic. The kids at school had always teased you for trying to make things out of nothing, even when isolating yourself, they found you, told you that what was happening was not realistic. 

For a while, you fought back. You told them as you held pen and paper up in the air with whatever you drew on the page would come to life. You thought you had superpowers, but you didn’t. Sometimes your parents would wonder when you would grow out of that phase. They thought they had taught you better after all. Realism was all that existed here in five, that is what they told you as they threw out various things you drew. Dragons would not come save you and take you to some far off place. You would not be rescued by some knight in shining armor. No girl would come and sweep you off your feet, tell you that you were special. Because you weren’t.

They made that very clear as they rolled up their sleeves and handed you a work uniform the moment you were done with school. 

---

You didn’t live a fortunate life. It wasn’t awful though, if you were being honest. You kept to yourself for the most part, even though growing up with such an imaginative mind, did get you into some trouble sometimes. It just depended on who you talked too. 

Sometimes the people you hung out with had been kind to you, let your mind wander to places that you didn’t think existed. Places that didn’t involve Panem, or the world, or even the very reality you lived. Instead there would be castles, with dragons guarding them. Everyone would be happy and healthy and be kind to each other as they saw fit. Of course, no world could be perfect, but it would be better than the one you lived in. You wouldn’t have to suffer, or be told that you were crazy for thinking that one day, everything could be different.

Hell, you still were judged, even by the people that let you dreamed. However, they didn’t do it to your face. Hearing it in the break rooms at the rigs though did not help your case. At least they were kind enough to let you wonder, even if they didn’t want to call your crazy to your face.

You still wished he thought that way.

---

You met a boy that indulged you. Held you close and told you that anything you thought of was good. He even went as far to call you a genius in your own write.

You did not trust him.

But it was nice to have someone tell you that they loved you in that weird way. Maybe they loved you for sense of imagination, or maybe they loved you because you were a distraction. 

You never knew because they had always made it a point to step around the conversation when you would ask what they meant. He always told you that he meant nothing by it, and sometimes that is what you had to hold onto. That anything you ever said was valid because it came from your lips, not his, or anyone else’s. However, he did not love you the way you thought you deserved. He told you multiple times that you were just friends. 

You hated those words.

He told you that there was more to love then a relationship, and that was the magic of it.

You despised that word.

Magic.

There was nothing magical about being told that no one could love you.

That whatever you did, you would not make someone happy, even when you did everything right. Your parents told you it was dangerous to wear your heart on a sleeve, but that didn’t stop you now did it. Magical boy of the lost and damned. 

---

Even now, you don’t think like you used too, because nothing good ever came of being imaginative, or creative, or even magical. Maybe you were someone’s manic pixie dream boy, or maybe you were just another guy who thought they could be special. Someone who strived for the absolute best but got shafted because they really weren’t unique. 

You wanted to live in a world that involved wishes beyond the scope of what you could do with your own two hands, but that would never happen here. Would it?

Your parents always asked you why you stopped drawing.

You never had a real answer for that, even though you did try to explain it in a way that made it just seem a little more, simple.

You had been so distracted by the boy you thought you loved, that you lost sight of things that you loved.   Maybe its because you chose to block it out, you non magic believing broken heart of a man. 

You asked your parents how to heal a broken heart.

They simply smiled, holding up many sketches of fantasy and wonder.

”With magic.” They said.

Magic.