ajax | district 8 cb

He should write home.

His fingers trace idle patterns into the tabletop, chin resting on his other palm. It's an idle thought, immediately followed by a pang of guilt deep in his gut. They must be nothing like he remembers them to be, their voices deeper and their words more thoughtful. With each passing year they become a little more of a stranger to him, a fact he is painfully aware of.

For all the ways he's suffered for them, he still cannot call himself selfless. This horrible adventure of has always been more for his sake than it was to support his family.

Though technically a runaway, he keeps pieces home in his suitcase. Wrinkled letters from his little siblings, all clumsy penmanship and bleeding ink; full of senseless babbling about frigid winters and afternoons of fishing. The most recent detail Tonia's first date and Anthon's promise that he'd scared the boy so bad he wouldn't be back for a second.

He often reads them when it becomes too hard to remember what it's like to love. When he needs more than to hurt and be hurt in kind until the world's this bloody fucking mass at his feet and he calls it peace. It's not often that his thoughts get so dark but it's happening more often these days.

See he's got kind of an impossible goal, to burn ambition at both ends until he's untouchable. It could also be called a death wish if he were not so certain of his ability. And, luckily, he's never been very good at taking things seriously. There's no point in fighting if you're not having the time of your fucking life as it could very well be the last few moments of it.

Ajax knows that better than most.

He closes his eyes against the swell of bitter memories and the names buried alongside them.

Then, he pulls out a rumpled piece of notebook paper from his jacket pocket.

My beloved siblings,

It's been a while, hasn't it?

And he tries to remember what it's like to love.