eleven o'malley [d11] [fin]

“You look just like your brother,” was a phrase that Eleven used to love to hear. Although it could be applied to any of his older brothers, Eleven always liked to imagine they were talking about Six. Six had always been the brother he looked up to the most. He was old enough to be a role model, but he was close enough in age to still play and hang out with him.

Now, whenever somebody told him he looked like his brother, he knew for a fact they meant Six. They said it with a sad smile or a tender squeeze of his hand. There was an apology lingering behind their eyes. I’m sorry you’ll always have to remember him this way, their eyes said.

Now, whenever somebody told him he looked like Six, he would instantly be transported to the last time he saw his brother. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment the boy from One launched his spear into his brother’s neck. He couldn’t stop hearing the God-awful noises of Six choking and gagging on his own blood. He had to watch as his brother’s life drained out of him on that God-forsaken hiking trail. They all did-every citizen of Panem had to. But most of them wouldn’t even give Six another thought after the cannon went off.

But Eleven would. All the O’Malley’s would.

He saw Six everywhere he went. He saw his fiery mop of curls rounding the corner at school, enjoying dinner in his usual seat, whispering stories to all the brothers in their shared bedroom. Worst of all, he saw Six every time he passed the district square. He had lost Six there twice- once when he was reaped, and again when he was slaughtered.

a i n ' t   l i f e   j u s t   a w f u l ly   s t r a n g e ?

Eleven walked the same route home from school as he always did, but that fateful day, he decided to head home without any of his siblings. He usually would wait for his siblings in the grade above and below him, but that day, the pelting rain and booming thunder encouraged him to hurry home. He knew as he stampeded through the district square that the games would be on the screen, but he didn’t expect his brother to be up there fighting some career boys. He stopped in the middle of the square, behind the majority of the crowd, and covered his head with his hands to prevent rain from blurring his vision. As the camera swung around the fight on the hiking trail, Eleven pinpointed Six and his allies, Thread and Evan. Eleven recognized the career boys they were fighting, the boy from One and the boy from Two- that Love guy. He left a cassette tape for Six telling him he wouldn’t kill him.

Yeah, right, Eleven thought to himself as Love shoved Six to the ground.

There was a girl with the boys as well, and for some reason, she was the target of Six’s attacks. Watching his brother swing his machete at the girl was the most horrifying sight he had seen yet in the arena. He knew Six would have to act out of character to survive, but so far, he had only caught Six fighting mutts. Watching his brother hack at this girl made him feel deeply unsettled, but it wouldn’t compare to the almost bored look on the face of the boy who slaughtered his brother with ease.

“No,” Eleven whispered as he watched his brother collapse. “Six, no, no, no.”

The tears came fast and hard as he watched the hovercraft float over his brother’s limp body. He turned away from the screen, not able to stomach the sight of the Capitol taking his brother. His body was shaking all over from the combination of shock and the rain pelting him. He knew he had to go anywhere else, but Eleven couldn’t find the strength to pick up his feet and take off. Against his better judgment, he craned his neck back toward the screen to get one final look at his brother. With his lips just slightly parted, Six uttered his final words.

"They- they lied. There's no honor- only suffering. This nee- needs to end-"

And with that, Eleven ran. His feet carried him back in the direction of the school, even though his family would be expecting him home any minute. Every bone in his body told him he should head home to change into a dry outfit and grieve with his family, but Six’s words couldn’t be ignored. They lied.

They could’ve been anyone, really, but Eleven was left wondering if Six meant their parents. After all, who would be listening so intently to his message other than his brothers and sisters? Their parents had always taught them that the games were a necessary evil; the games were good for Panem, even. They were meant for sinners and rebels to die in and for holy loyalists like the O’Malley’s to win. We were taught that if we did as our parents and God told us, if we were reaped, we would win. It would be God’s way of blessing us for following His teachings.

So why, then, had Six died?

The conflicting thoughts duked it out in Eleven’s brain as he neared the school grounds. He veered toward the playground, setting his sights on the cabin-like structure sitting atop the slide and swings. He climbed the rope ladder to the top and pulled himself into the shelter, finally able to process his thoughts without the rain interfering. He took refuge in the farthest corner of the playhouse. He hugged his knees to his chest in an attempt to stop the shivering, but it was no use. His clothes were soaked through with rainwater, and his shoes had even filled up with little puddles. The rain had finally started to lighten up some, leaving ample space for Eleven’s choked sobs to fill.

He pressed the heels of his hands hard into his eyes, hoping the darkness would allow him to focus his thoughts better. Six’s death went against everything their parents had taught them. Six was faithful and good. Eleven could see that his brother had changed in the arena, but he did what he had to in order to survive. He was no worse than any of the others in that arena. So why didn’t God protect Six?

It was too much for Eleven to process. He was only twelve. He was too young to watch his brother die. He was too young to be questioning his beliefs. He was too young, but it could have been him in that arena. He could be ripped away from home any time between now and when he turned nineteen. If God let Six die, what was stopping Him from giving Eleven the same fate?

Eleven’s hands moved from his eyes to his ears and he pressed hard, no longer wanting to hear his thoughts. He rocked back and forth, cursing himself for not just heading straight home. His parents would have an explanation for this, and if not them, then surely Fly would have one. She was supposed to protect them. But how could anybody make sense of a child of God dying at fifteen? It was all too much for Eleven.

“Fuck,” he choked out in between sobs. Eleven hadn’t sworn before, as it usually meant a black eye in the O’Malley house. But he was out here all alone, for no one to hear, and God, he felt so alone. He doubted God was listening, as he clearly hadn’t listened to any prayers to keep Six alive and well.

The act of defiance felt good. It brought a sliver of warmth back into his freezing body. Eleven peeled himself off the plastic floor and crossed over to the entrance. He leaned his head out and turned it up to the dark clouds above. As he watched the rain fall at the same pace as his tears, he could almost believe that God was up there, mourning the loss of Six with him. But the sun started to peek through the clouds, even though it was still raining, and Eleven knew it was just the Devil taunting him.

“Fuck,” he choked out again, louder this time. He tipped his head back as far it could go and yelled out with all the strength he had, “Fuck!”

Eleven couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying at this point. The tears were still cascading down both sides of his face, but there was a cheeky grin in the middle. He didn’t know what to make of his defiance. He felt sneaky doing so out here all alone, where his parents would never find out what he had done. He wondered if this was how Lock had felt when he had done the same, or how Four felt when she left home.

The adrenaline rush only lasted for a minute, though. He knew he couldn’t put off going home for much longer. He wasn’t sure what the mood of the house would be when he arrived, but he was sure it would be a whole lot worse if he came home late. Letting out a heavy sigh, Eleven made his way down the ladder back to Earth. After he landed, he swiped at his eyes and nose in an attempt to compose himself. He knew it was in vain, as his clothes were still stuck to his body with rain, and his frizzed curls reached out toward the heavens.

He spent most of his walk in silence, as most people had already headed home from work or school. There were still a few stragglers in the square watching the games, and Eleven tried his best to avoid being noticed as he trekked across the cobblestone. Unfortunately, his fiery puffball caused him to stick out like a sore thumb. Every head turned to stare him down as he passed, each taking their turn to whisper,

“He looks just like his brother.”