[88th] The Reaping - District 3
Jun 8, 2021 0:16:40 GMT -5
Post by Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom] on Jun 8, 2021 0:16:40 GMT -5
A smoking gun only has so many answers to it.
The smell of gunpowder left behind coating the air in a mystery. The sound of a body falling onto the floor with a thump. A boy desperately biting his tongue to contain the scream he desperately had wanted to let out. His heart breaking under the clothes of the closet where his tears stain the whites of a shirt. It's been years since that day, but a smoking gun still remains the only clue behind his father's death. A smoking gun, the memory of a boy, and his own tears staining the whitest of shirts. The smell lingers in the air most days when he feels like he's choking on the pieces of his own lost past. A drawing board thrown up in his small room where he feels trapped in a sickening loop of emotions. A gun with no bullets, the silver of it's destruction still blinding his vision. A factory where his father worked, designing weapons for the capitol, and known workers with nothing more than pity towards him. No clues on who killed his father.
Every morning feels the same for Bellamy Scott. Wake up, eat breakfast, pretend he's not heartbroken over Lucas and Sierra, and look for a killer who's gotten away with murder for over fifteen years. Rinse and repeat. Over and over again. Except, today was reaping day and there was one extra step that he didn't want to take. The reaping never seemed important when you've built up a whole detective board to solve your own father's murder. Who cares if he's reaped, it's not like the capitol will have any answers he's looking for. Instead, he always treats it like a nuisance. Smiling at the other orphans, trying to pretend they'll be okay because why would the capitol want them in. Everyone knew the reaping was rigged for the capitol's enjoyment and Three wasn't exactly an exciting district to most of the capitol.
Breakfast is where he goes first. Fluttering wings of a butterfly sending a tsunami of emotions at him at the sight of Lucas and Sierra. A beautiful couple if that's what they wanted to be known as. The sight of them sends a distaste for the food through him. Sierra is nice and all of that, but there's a pitiful feeling of loss bubbling up in his stomach. His stomach lined up with butterfly wings that desperately pull at the edges of himself, littering him with the smell of imaginary gunpowder and bullet holes. Bellamy hates that a single boy can make him feel like the world was shooting him in the foot. "Are you okay?" One of them says, but he can't tell which one. No one says anything as he gets up and sets down his meal in the trash, the words falling from his lips as he leaves for his room once more.
"I'm okay."
It's a lie.
Bellamy makes it the truth.
Getting dressed for the reaping is easy, especially when he has nothing new to wear. The shirt of white which was once stained with his tears at the ripe age of three, buttoned up to the top button. A tie wrapped around his neck, fingers set in doing up his tie like Lucas had shown him years ago. Desperate for the butterfly wings to stop sending tsunamis through his heart, riddled with gunpowder and tears. Staring in the mirror he had stood in front of to see the dark circles of late nights writing down his investigation into the red lined board behind him, stringing pieces of a story together to pinpoint whoever it is that killed the one family member he had left.
His reflection stares back at him, worried and annoyed at where Bellamy Scott stands. "I'm fine." His voice whispers, but his reflection doesn't look fine. His eyes scream it all where hazy clouds block out the light from being there. Holding tightly to the little notepad in his hand, the world feels heavy as if the grey clouds follow him and pour rain across him. How much loss can a boy endure? How can he solve the murder of his father? Why must he suffer from all of this? Can't he just have one happy thing? Lucas Ashling was never meant to be his. Instead, he stands across the hall, pulling on his clothes for reaping, missing the days when Lucas would join him with cigarette smoke and a smile that lights up his world.
Bellamy Scott heads to the reaping alone. Cigarette unlit tucked behind his ear, forcing himself to take the walk all the way to the square alone. His father's killer was still out there, but after fifteen years and losing his second to a girl with red hair who deserved him more than himself, he was at a dead end again. His father's coworkers having given him nothing more than some clues on what happened that evening, but none of it added up. A strange individual meeting his father, them going out together, and the disappearance of his father until he came home and told Bellamy to hid. The blood coated walls were still there after fifteen years. He'd visited it the day before and still had so many questions after all these years.
The reaping is quiet. Children holding their breaths and saying their finally goodbyes to family and friends. Boys and girls holding hands like their lives may depend on it. Lucas is somewhere out there, probably kissing Sierra good luck. The red hair is easy to find as he plasters on a smile with a robotic ease, knowing his heart is still shattered on the inside. A single wave to both of them as he nods his silence, there's a quick fluttering of his heart, but he bites it down and stares ahead at nothing. The voices ring through the air and the smell of gunpowder catches his nose, his focus reaches a boy who looks to be much more afraid than himself.
"Mauve....!"
The boy flinches as if the reaping hasn't called the girl's name before. His eyes look quizzically at the shorter boy who looks fearful, reading into the stance of stress that oozes from the boy's skin. Bellamy can remember the fear of the days long ago when he was trapped in a closet desperately wishing for a bullet to have missed and the smell of gunpowder to no longer follow him. The days when he was so scared of the sunshine in front of him that he hid in the dark messiness of his own room. Lucas Ashling was the sun and Bellamy Scott knew he was the moon; both needing one another to survive. This boy in front of him reminds him of the sun, burning with life.
"Ollivander Nixton!"
A gasp falls from the boy in front of him's lips. The light behind those eyes dims and Bellamy can smell gunpowder around him. Pity builds on his face, but he doesn't do anything. Instead, he glances up to see a silver gleam of a gun somewhere far away. A barely flickering light that catches his attention as he stares towards the stage. Looking down to the boy, he can see the fear as there's someone else the boy is looking for. His eyes follow the direction noticing the dead man who resembled the moon. The feeling of the butterflies in his stomach comes once more as he thinks of Lucas and himself. The loss he's already had as a tsunami of emotions comes tumbling over him.
Bellamy Scott believed he was the only one who could solve their parents' murders.
The clues were running drier and drier by the day. People's memories fading away from that day, but Bellamy can smell gun powder and glint of silver still reaches his eyes. Looking to the crowd, he looks for them. Lucas and Sierra, who stand separately. His eyes meet Lucas' as he smiles that smile he only reserves for the boy who's wiggled his way to his heart where Bellamy would do anything to keep the grief out. There's a feeling of loss that builds and builds, spilling over his heart, until he has to look away.
Sierra is the one he catches sight of next. Red hair and a beauty he'll never be able to match as Lucas didn't look at him the same way. Bellamy Scott believed he was smart, but he needed to find out more. He needed to do something risky. The air grows tenser as the boy, who was named Ollivander, steps closer and closer to the stage. Looking over to Sierra, he mouths only a few words, hoping she'll get them. Take care of him for me. Bellamy needed answers for his father and Lucas' parents. His eyes pull away as he looks to Ollivander burning like a sun and Larceny Theft who glittered like a moon.
Bellamy Scott couldn't let this happen.
His eyes catch Lucas' as he gives a teary eyed smile. Like an idiot, he steps up, grabs Ollivander Nixton's shoulder. The boy jumps, but Bellamy Scott ignores it for his own voice. "I volunteer." The two words echo like a bullet shot through the sky. Reaching in the dark for answers, knowing he'll find some with the Capitol's Tech. Lucas would call him idiotic, but there's enough butterflies in his stomach to know the boy who made his grey skies bright orange with a sunrise that he never expect to come would survive. Stepping forward past Ollivander who's eyes brighten at the relief, but the guilt and Bellamy shakes his head at the boy. Continues forward until he's standing up on stage next to the girl with a smile hiding something dark behind it.
"I'm Bellamy Scott."
Bellamy Scott was tired of never being enough.
No clues.
No sunshine.
No Lucas.
All that's left is him standing on a stage with the smell of gunpowder.