Intro VI: Treachery
- Six Feet Under -
The Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games
Ninth Circle: Treachery
Alanis Munari, District Eight Female
Stirring the pot full of vegetables and cheap meat, Alanis' eyes kept drifting towards the clock on the wall. The small hands ticked slowly, each minute passing agonisingly slow and still no sign of them.
"They'll be home soon," Alanis said aloud, as if reassuring herself. "Soon. I know they will."
"You don't have to keep saying it."
Alanis winced, realising that her younger sister, Taynara, had overheard. She glanced over her shoulder at the table. "Shouldn't you be doing your homework anyway?"
Taynara lifted the book up mockingly, "Duh, I am."
"All I hear is talking, not writing," Alanis teased.
"All I hear is talking, not writing," Taynara bit back, and when Alanis looked over, all she saw was a smug smile.
Alanis laughed, "Keep up with that attitude and I'll make sure all you get is a bowl full of courgettes."
"I hate courgettes!"
"I know," Alanis smirked, pulling one up with the wooden spoon and pointing it in Taynara's direction. "This will be alllll yours if you don't stop giving me so much attitude."
"Okay, Mom." The words felt cold in the air. Both girls' smiles dropped immediately. "I'm sorry, you know—"
"—I know," Alanis pushed it away, "I know."
But that's what she was — the surrogate Mom. At some point, both of her parents fell way off the wagon, and Alanis found herself stepping up. She balanced her schoolwork, a part-time job and made sure Taynara had all the help she needed. She even found time to ensure there was a cooked meal on the table each night.
She longed for a normal childhood. Or, at least, what was left of it.
In a few years, I'll be out of here, Alanis found herself thinking, then quickly reminding herself that Taynara still had a few years left of it and that the thought was selfish and cruel.
Alanis quietly dished up the meals, pushing the bowl towards her sister. The pungent smell of cooked vegetables wafted through the shackled home. Alanis slipped in the seat opposite Taynara and dove her spoon in.
"I picked out all of the courgettes," Alanis smiled as she bit into one. She hated them too… but it didn't matter.
"Thank you," Taynara smiled, gulping down some pork, "You cook better than Mom, you know. You do a lot of things better than Mom…"
"Hey…" Alanis shook her head, "You shouldn't talk bad about her."
"Why not? She's never done anything for us."
Alanis knew that Taynara was mad. For her younger sister, all she really knew was two drunkards as parents. But Alanis remembered the days before then — when Dad drank sparingly and Mom was teetotal. Then Dad lost his job… and Mom had the work accident…
"Because…" Alanis took another mouthful and swallowed, "They did all they could. They're both having a hard time."
Taynara didn't answer, eating quietly whilst her other hand scribbled numbers onto the page. Alanis watched solemnly, trying to find a semblance of positivity. She didn't want Taynara to hate their parents, but she also understood why she might've.
"You know," Alanis paused her meal, "I remember when you were born. You were so small and little… I never knew you'd grow up to be so sassy."
Taynara blushed, "Shut up. I'm twelve now."
"I used to bathe you!" Alanis laughed, "You would always tip back too far into the water. And you had the cutest little laugh when I tickled you!"
"Stop!"
There was a loud slam as the front door hit the wall. The atmosphere fell instantaneously as drunken laughter filled the house. Alanis' insides seized up as she stood up, peering into the hallway. Both of her parents were collapsed against the wall in fits of giggles, the smell of vodka permeating the air.
"Tay… take your food to your room," Alanis mumbled.
Taynara didn't even question it. She scooped up her book and bowl, running up the kitchen stairs.
Alanis watched with a steely expression as both of her parents eventually managed to make it into the kitchen in one piece, still laughing. Alanis' nose wrinkled as they got closer.
"You're late…"
"Alanis—!"
"We ar' so glad you're still awak'—"
"I've left you some food," Alanis gritted her teeth, the lump in her throat stealing her voice. "It's in the pot."
Out of nowhere, Dad's arms slumped over Alanis' shoulder, and before she knew it, she was snuggled deep into his leather jacket, smelling cigarette smoke and spilt alcohol. She cringed and struggled to push herself out of his grip.
"I love yo' so much."
"Come on, 'Tony, let's eat!"
Alanis finally released herself from their grip. She wanted to scream at them both. Why are you doing this to us? Why can't you just be our parents? But each angry thought was crushed by sadness.
Neither of them noticed as Alanis took her food and headed to bed.
…
Alanis awoke the next day to the sound of oil being fried. Alarmed, she threw herself out of bed, running down the stairs.
The sight was foreign — with her back turned, Alanis' Mom quietly sizzled some bacon, humming under her breath. Alanis blinked a few times, but as quickly as her hopes soared, she dashed them.
Every good day is just a moment in time.
It was always the same. The good days were so far and few nowadays that Alanis had quickly learned to never get used to it. Come the evening… the story would unfold the exact same way as it always did.
"Morning," Alanis mumbled, stepping into the kitchen, "I didn't think you'd be up this early."
"Why wouldn't I?" Her Mom turned around, revealing the brightest, most loving smile that made Alanis' knees tremble.
"You were pretty drunk last night…" Alanis mumbled.
"We just had a lovely night," Mom continued. Alanis watched as her Mom dished up some bacon on a plate and slid it in front of her. "There's no need to put a damper on it. Your Father and I are grown-ups."
Alanis let the turmoil sit inside of her. She stared at the bacon as if it was the most terrible thing in the world and pushed the plate gently to the side. She rose softly, sparing her Mother a singular glance. "I'm not really hungry."
…
Adrenaline pumped through Alanis' veins as she stared at the three girls around her. They had made it out of the initial chaos alive, intact, unscathed. She was feeling over the moon.
"We did it!" Alanis grinned through harsh breaths, "We actually did it!"
"I can't believe we made it out—"
"—we need to think of a plan—"
"—I'm super thirsty—"
"Girls!" Alanis was grinning maniacally, all teeth and wide-eyed, "Let's just take a moment to say we did it… we got out of there."
"It's not over yet, Alanis…"
"…and only one of us can stay alive, too…"
"But the point is that we did it! It might've been a small feat, but it proves how well we worked together," Alanis eventually calmed down as the adrenaline subsided, "I want to enjoy those small victories, too."
For the first time in a long time — possibly even years — Alanis didn't feel helpless. She felt like she was invincible and could do anything.
…
Alanis wasn't prepared for the kick that came outta nowhere. It slammed into her leg, causing her to scream in agony as she hit the floor with a muted thud.
The other girls around her were frozen, deer in headlights with wide, scared eyes.
"Help me!" Alanis begged, sprawled out on the cold, dirty floor.
"We're sorry…"
Alanis' eyes widened. "What!?"
Quickly, her entire alliance ran, and Alanis' heart sank. She watched their fleeting forms as they disappeared into the darkness. Alanis cried, tried to crawl away, but the tribute didn't let up. He silently rose his foot and slammed it down on Alanis' skull.
The betrayal hurt. The pain hurt even more. In that fleeting moment, Alanis realised that she should've focused more on herself…
The boot came down again. Over and over and over until eventually, Alanis' screams were cut off, and her skull was dented in.
Eustolia Gi, District Seven Female
The tiny pitter-patters of Eustolia's feet echoed throughout the wooden hallways as she walked, book tucked in her arms, purpose written across her expressionless face. She passed many doors, each containing a singular room and patient.
The large facility was located deep in the dense forests of District Seven, camouflaged by overgrown shrubbery and trees. It was all Eustolia had ever known — born in the very walls on a cold, rainy night.
Eustolia glanced out of the large, paned windows that showcased every detail of the forest outside. She had never left the building — a sheltered clinical therapist's daughter that never had any friends except the very patients her Dad treated.
Eventually, the hallway flowed into a large common area. A few dozen people sat in chairs and wheelchairs, staring empty and murmuring between each other.
She watched, wide-eyed and innocent, as a nurse crossed the room and carefully fed a small tub of pills to a frail, wispy old woman.
"Oh, Eustolia!"
Eustolia spun on her heels, head slightly tilted to the floor. "Hi."
"What are you doing out here?" The nurse, Minnie, asked.
"I… I just wanted to see," Eustolia responded quietly, as if prepared to be told off.
"See what?" Minnie crouched down, tilting Eustolia's chin up gently, "You know that your Dad said you shouldn't be here… it's a bit scary for a young girl."
Eustolia hadn't seen her Dad in a few days. Staying in the facility meant that Eustolia was catered for by the many nurses and doctors, and filled her spare time with self-learning and curiosity.
"Sorry…" Eustolia whispered, knowing that deep down, she felt no remorse.
"Don't be silly!" Minnie smiled, "Let's sit you here then. You can keep Arcadya company for a little while."
Eustolia was ushered into the seat next to an old, crippled woman. Her skin was spotted and aged — her eyes circled in purple bags. Eustolia couldn't help but stare at the fascinating yet creepy woman.
"What's your name?" Arcadya asked.
"Eustolia…"
"Hmmph. That's a silly name," Arcadya responded, a coolness in her voice that Eustolia somehow felt comfort in. "How old are you?"
"I'm eight," Eustolia answered.
"What's your book?"
Eustolia pulled the battered book into her lap and opened it. "It's about the geography of Panem."
Eustolia didn't know what to feel when Arcadya — with arthritic, bent fingers — snatched the book from her lap. Curiously, she leant upwards, peering over as Arcadya flipped through it as best as she could.
"What are you doing?" Eustolia asked, a vague thump in her chest.
"I'm reading, what does it look like I'm doing?"
Eustolia's lips pulled into a smile, but she felt no warmth. A little confused, she sat back down, glancing around the room as if every eye was suddenly on her. Eventually, Arcadya tossed the book into Eustolia's little lap.
"It's boring," Arcadya commented, emotionless, "Why do you need to learn it anyway?"
Eustolia protectively held the book into her chest, but locked eyes with Arcadya. Something stirred inside her — a weird kinship to this much older, downtrodden woman. "I'm teaching myself it… I want to explore the world one day. I don't want to be stuck here forever."
Arcadya laughed, which only surprised Eustolia more.
"Why did you laugh?"
"The irony of it all, young girl," Arcadya's lips flicked into a smile again, "You've got a lot to learn."
As if on impulse, Eustolia opened her mouth before she even thought about the consequences. Her heart skipped a few beats but she didn't know why. "Teach me."
…
As it rained outside, Eustolia was sat with Arcadya, curiously jotting in a small, vividly pink journal. The pair weren't speaking — but the presence was welcomed, as it had been for the last three years.
Arcadya had aged to the point that she was losing her memory, and so, in a strange sense of comfort, Eustolia had written down her life so she could read it back to her.
"I want some water," Arcadya asked through cracked lips.
Silently, Eustolia rose and filled a small, plastic cup and held it to Arcadya's lips. The elder woman gulped eagerly as she downed it all.
"What's your name?"
"I'm Eustolia," Eustolia nodded, "And your name is Arcadya Rootborough. You were born during the war. You had an older brother who died when he was a teenager, fighting for District Seven's freedom."
"Stupid boy," Arcadya answered, "What was his name again?"
Eustolia flipped the page. "Alderin. You didn't like him much, apparently… you even called him a stupid, well, multiple times."
"I can see why. Stupid boy."
A ghost of a smile crossed Eustolia's lips. Over the years, spending time with Arcadya, she realised they were one in the same. Two individuals who struggled to show their emotions. Eustolia quickly deduced that is why she found comfort in the old woman — she didn't feel so isolated and weird.
"Eustolia," Arcadya reached out a hand, "Why do we sit and talk everywhere?"
"We're both lonely," Eustolia answered, a small pit in her stomach. She knew it was sadness, she just… didn't understand why. "I feel weak."
It was a powerful statement — one that she had felt for a few years and didn't understand why — but her uncomfortability with her own emotions had made her realise that she was weak.
"You're not weak," Arcadya scoffed, coughing shortly after, "You're a young, smart girl. You just need to get out of here before it kills you."
…
Eustolia walked across the hallway once more, as she did every day, a small spring in her step for once. She had woken up feeling vibrant and energetic, foreign feelings that felt strange and yet… right.
As she entered the common area, however, Arcadya's seat was empty.
"Minnie? Where's Arcadya?"
Minnie's smile was sad. "She's with your Dad… she took a turn for the worst last night. I don't think she has much longer left, Eustolia. I'm so sorry…"
And just like that, Eustolia's mood crashed in a fiery heap of sadness. Her heart raced. Her eyes filled with tears. Standing still, lost in confusion, Eustolia didn't know what to do. She just stared at the seat and clutched onto her pink journal that detailed Arcadya's life.
"Where are they?"
"I— I don't know," Minnie's voice shook, "…but I know your Dad wants to see you."
Minnie guided Eustolia from the room and down a few hallways. The whole time, Eustolia was trapped in her head with all these feelings and confusion that she just couldn't sort through. Eventually, they reached a large door that Minnie opened and ushered Eustolia inside.
"Go downstairs," Minnie's voice was quiet, a shadow of its former light, "And be safe, please."
Eustolia's heart raced further as the door shut and she descended the metal stairs. In all her life, she had never been downstairs into the basement. It was often forbidden — but her Dad spent a lot of time down there.
"Eustolia, is that you? Come, come."
Eustolia reached the room at the bottom. Hemlock Gi, a proud man, stood in his white lab coat. He smiled at his daughter as he encouraged her into the room.
Eustolia immediately noticed the artefacts on the walls — Limos' wooden crucifix, a staple of District Seven's off-brand religion with Her. Candles lined the wall and, in the very centre, a robed figure was bound to a wheelchair.
When she saw Arcadya, she stopped.
"What… what is this?"
"Arcadya Rootborough is unwell, Eustolia. She must be saved."
Eustolia crept forward, fingertips shaking with each step. Hemlock Gi reached out and snatched his daughter by the wrist, pulling her into the circle. A dozen lab technicians surrounded Arcadya, her eyes sealed shut.
"Is she dead?" Eustolia asked, morbid curiosity spilling from her mouth.
"No, no, she's just sedated. Eustolia, you were the closest person to Arcadya. Your prayer will be the strongest."
"—what?"
Hemlock snatched his daughter's hands into the air. "Pray for her, Eustolia!"
Panic set in and, never one to want to disappoint her Dad, Eustolia squeezed her eyes shut. "Heavenly Limos, p—please—"
"Louder!"
"Heavenly Limos!" Eustolia shouted, fear trapped in her chest, "Please save Arcadya from her illness! Please spare her!"
There was a muted thud and a gasp, before the room silenced. Eustolia's eyes opened shakily, revealing a knife buried in Arcadya's skull. Her breath caught in her throat but she couldn't look away. Her vision was frozen on the old woman — no, her friend — now dead.
"She has been spared any pain," Hemlock embraced his daughter, arms wrapped around her head. She was petrified, shaking, but every emotion collided in her until she was a complete mess. "She is no longer weak, she is strong."
…
I'm not weak… I am strong…
Eustolia's world was crumbling around her.
She couldn't bear to look at the body at her feet. In a fit of frustration with herself, she reacted — and Dru was too close to defend himself in time. The knife in her hand dripped his blood, hitting the soil at her feet.
Why did I do it? Eustolia took a few deep breaths, but she was shaking, exasperated, clinging to whatever little bit of stability she had left. She closed her eyes, trying to escape.
The weak need to be sacrificed for the strong to survive.
When she opened her eyes — and saw the knife wound in Dru's skull — she fell to her knees. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with emotions she had never felt: guilt, trauma, something familiar that she couldn't quite place any more.
I don't want to feel it…
She placed a hand over her heart, breathing through gritted teeth, and focused on fixing her emotions.
It had the opposite effect.
Suddenly, Eustolia was in tears, screaming and crying as sadness overwhelmed every inch of her body. She gasped for air, clawing at the soil, screaming into the sky as raw, emotive pain made her reach for the bloodied dagger she had dropped and plunge it into her chest.
As she fell to the side — and blood poured from her wound — her emotions eventually disappeared. Any semblance of fear seemed to wash away.
I guess I wasn't strong enough. I'm sorry, Dad, Eustolia felt at peace, dying with a genuine smile on her face.
Thiago Doherty, District Five Male
The warm, midday sun kissed Thiago's neck as he leant forward, paintbrush in hand, and carefully swooped it across the canvas. He paid close attention to his strokes, glancing up every now and then to make sure his muse hadn't fled.
The small, twittering bird stayed perched in the trees, constructing a nest. Thiago couldn't help but smile — painting animals was his favourite, particularly birds. The way they seemed so effortlessly free and fancy made his heart swell.
"Are you going for realism or interpretation?"
"Interpretation," Thiago answered his best friend, Molly, "It's all about how you see it."
Molly was sitting on the grass across from him. She carefully painted with precision, unlike Thiago who eventually devolved into slashes and strikes as his picture came to life.
"You're getting paint everywhere," Molly mumbled.
"It's all about expression," Thiago smiled, warmth in his chest. Around him, the grass was dotted with paint, proving his mess, "It'll all be fine. Grass grows over everything, you know— lightbulb!"
Swirling his brush in the vibrant green, he made sure to almost camouflage the bird amongst the foliage. He wanted it to feel snug and protected, like it would in the wild.
"What do you think?"
Thiago turned the painting to Molly so she could see. Somehow, obscured by green, a small little bird sat hidden.
"It looks… lovely," Molly smiled.
"Thank you," Thiago blushed, warmth in his cheeks, "Let's see yours then."
Molly turned her painting around, revealing the most realistic portrayal that Thiago had ever seen. She had captured every detail — right down to the plumage — as if taking a snapshot of the scene.
"How do you do it?" Thiago shook his head, mildly envious.
It was Molly's turn to blush, "It's just a lot of practise."
The pair of them had met at an art class. Thiago was pressured into going at a young age — to make sure he didn't become a reclusive hermit like his Mom feared — and there, not only did he fall in love with art, but he met Molly: a quiet, timid girl who shared the same passion and had the same story.
"Do you want to paint something else?" Thiago asked, eager.
"I have to get home," Molly replied, collecting her stuff, "But we can do the same tomorrow, if you want? I'm sure there are some other animals we can find."
"You know I love birds…" Thiago smiled, tucking his paints into his case.
"I know, but maybe we can find some fish? Or maybe even a deer or badger," Molly laughed quietly, "I'll see you tomorrow, Thiago."
"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Mols."
Thiago watched as his friend crossed the grass and disappeared down a side street. He finished packing his equipment and made the short journey back to his house.
He didn't live far from the park — fortunate that his parents were both fairly well-off merchants and being located in town meant their businesses boomed.
Thiago unlocked the door and stepped in, "I'm home!"
As per usual, he was met with silence. A tiny meow echoed through the hallway as his pet cat came rushing at his feet. Thiago smiled, petting her along the back. "Do you know where Mom is? Or Dad?"
The cat meowed in response.
"Thought as much."
Thiago dropped his stuff and walked through the empty home. It looked as if nobody had been home all day, letters piled up on the table, unopened, and the cat having not been fed for a few hours. As he went to grab the kibble, though, his eyes caught sight of a small note pinned to the fridge.
I made you an early dinner. Love, Mom.
Thiago smiled and opened the fridge up. Inside, a small container of casserole awaited him, carefully plated up. He popped the lid and realised that his Mom had made him his favourite.
That's how she showed her love — adorning Thiago with trinkets, good food, anything that brought him happy memories as a way to make up for being a workaholic. The sad part was that all of his happiest memories didn't contain his Mom… she was barely ever around.
Thiago tossed the food into the microwave and turned it up, going back to feeding the cat.
"How was your day, Miss Puss Puss?" Thiago cooed, tipping the kibble into the bowl, "Did you miss me at least?"
The cat didn't respond. But that was okay — Thiago didn't mind not having anyone around.
As the microwave beeped, Thiago dished up his food and ate greedily, all alone in his big house.
…
It was a lovely day again as Thiago left the already-empty house and headed for the park, case of paints in hand and canvas tucked up under his arm. He hurriedly through the winding, packed roads until the parkland came into view.
Molly was already there, laying down a blanket to sit on as she set up.
"Hey," Thiago smiled as he approached her, "I thought you wanted to go and find some other animals today?"
"Look—" Molly pointed up at the tree, "—she must've been looking after her eggs, because they've hatched."
Thiago's heart soared at the thought of teeny, tiny baby birds. He gushed. "Awww!"
"I thought you'd probably want to paint them," Molly smiled.
But Thiago had already decided on something else — he wanted to paint them as realistic as Molly did. "I want a closer look!"
"Wait, I don't think that's a good idea— Thiago!"
He was already running for the tree, eagerness coursing through his veins. He reached the trunk and skillfully hoisted himself up onto the lowest branch. He shimmied across and pushed himself up to the next branch.
"Thiago!" Molly called from down below, "Thiago, this isn't a good idea! They're really high up!"
Nah, they're not, Thiago emboldened himself. His naivety and youth made for a dangerous combination. It also didn't help but Thiago wasn't a risk taker, but felt the need to do it.
Eventually, he reached the branch, hearing the cutesy chirps from the small little birdies. He gushed inside as he crawled along it, feet swinging haphazardly underneath as the breeze slid up his trouser leg.
"I'm… almost… there…"
"Thiago!"
As he crawled closer and heard the chirps grow louder, he felt brave. He didn't feel introverted and quiet — the adrenaline left a bright, vibrant taste on his tongue that he savoured as he peered up to see the birds sitting in the nest, hungrily smacking their beaks.
Awwww! Thiago wished he could take a photo of his memory.
"Molly, you should see—"
The world turned as Thiago lost his grip on the branch. His scream seemed to vanish into the wind as he crashed into the ground below, pain shooting up his jaw. His vision was peppered with hot, white stars as Molly's voice broke through the agonising haze.
"Thiago! You're bleeding!"
…
Thiago's trembling fingers instinctively reached for the scar along his jaw. He touched it gently, nervously, breath caught in his throat as the rocks crashed around him.
"I don't like it here!" Thiago screamed over the noise.
"We just have to brave it a little longer!"
Thiago pushed himself as far back against the cliff as possible, until a harsh stone dug into his skin. He couldn't stop rubbing the scar as if seeking some sort of strange comfort from it. At the edge of the cliff, however, the long drop into eternal darkness made his stomach churn and gurgle.
"Can we go back?" Thiago begged his ally as more boulders crashed around them.
"It's a landslide, Thiago! We have to wait it out!"
His heart was racing, his hands were sweaty, and all Thiago wanted to do was curl up into a ball like he had watched Miss Puss Puss do countless times…
A rock fell almost directly next to him and Thiago almost screamed. His hand shot out in the general direction of his ally… when he felt a hard hand grab his shoulder and shove him forward.
Thiago's scream resounded around the cliffside as he fell, betrayed by his ally in a moment of madness.
His scream was abruptly cut off as he crashed into the ground below, dead upon impact.
Ludwin Auric, District Two Male
On the edge of town, a large cathedral stood proud. The architecture was magnificent — large spirals of stone and glass that ascended into the sky. It was almost the centrepiece of Two: a place where everyone came together as one.
"We should always have faith in Her!"
A resounding response of cheers and excitement.
"Praise Limos!"
The congregation replied unanimously, a triumphant chorus that swooned through the wondrous building. On the front row, Ludwin stared up at the man at the altar with wide, proud eyes that only a son could have for his Dad.
He was everything Ludwin wanted to be when he was older: charismatic, captivating, genuine and good. Not only a man of Limos, but a man of the people, too.
People began to slowly file from the church in high spirits, chattering away like excited little birds. Ludwin waited until everyone was gone before he jumped up from his seat, suspenders tight around his shoulders.
"Dad! I loved it!"
The older man chortled, embracing his son. "I'm glad you got to witness it first hand this time, Ludwin. It's one of my greatest achievements… to be able to stand up here and spread her gospel, in front of my brightest son…"
Ludwin's heart swelled. "I want to be just like you!"
From the corner of his eye, however, Ludwin caught a glimpse of two individuals — his Mother and his younger brother, Del.
"Alvera…"
"Why are you doing this to our family?"
Ludwin immediately shrunk into his Dad's side. His eyes locked with Del's that held a certain level of animosity for a six-year-old. Religion was destroying their family and, even at that tender age, Del knew.
"Let's not do this here," Ludwin's Dad pleaded, "We can discuss this at home. I only have one other sermon to do—"
"Why are you exposing Ludwin to this?"
Ludwin's heart pounded in his little, eight-year-old body. He wanted to scream. I want to do this! I like this! I want to be like Dad! But instead, he kept silent, afraid to answer in case he just burst into tears.
"You're not the same man I fell in love with," Ludwin's Mother accused, "You've changed, you've been… poisoned… and now you're poisoning our son!"
"M—Mom…" Ludwin's voice was a whisper.
Angrily, Ludwin's Mother shoved her hand into her pocket, pulling forth a wad of papers. They were crumpled, smeared, as if not only written hurriedly but regretfully. Ludwin's Dad accepted them with wide, sad eyes.
"Alvera, I—"
"Ludwin?" His Mother turned to him, "Come home."
Without a single thought, Ludwin slipped his hand into his Father's hand, scared to let go. He knew what those papers were — Rogan from school mentioned that he saw papers before his parents decided not to live together any more. Ludwin knew it was happening to him… he just didn't want to believe it.
"Ludwin?"
"Mom…" Ludwin's voice quavered, "Please…"
…
Ludwin stared at the mirror as he got ready.
He hadn't seen his Mother in over a year — not only had the divorce been messy, but it effectively ruined their relationship when Ludwin chose his Father — and, effectively, Limos — over the woman that birthed and raised him.
He was scared. He was nervous. His shaky hand pushed the tie right up to his neck as he took a deep, slow breath.
She's just your Mom, Ludwin encouraged himself. She doesn't hate you.
The door to his room opened. His Father stood in the doorway, dressed for church, a warm smile across his lips. Ludwin wore his heart on his sleeve and his truth in his words. His sad eyes gave every detail of his emotions away.
"My boy…" Ludwin's Dad knelt down, cradling his son, "You're a brave, strong, honest boy. You have nothing to be worried about with your Mom. She just wants the best for you, as do I."
Ludwin didn't answer — he felt his throat shake with oncoming tears.
The knock on the door downstairs only furthered his fears. Ludwin's Dad rose, leaving the room to answer it. Ludwin took a few deep breaths as he heard his Mom and Dad exchange tense pleasantries.
"Ludwin! Your Mom is here!"
Slowly, Ludwin crept out of his comfort blanket and faced his Mother on the stairs. In the whole year they had been apart, she hadn't changed — tight hair, tight faced, tight lipped. She was the opposite of his Dad. Instead of being warm and welcoming, she was closed-off and cold.
"Ludwin. You look lovely," His Mother complimented him, but the words didn't fill Ludwin with any joy.
"Mommy…" Ludwin's eyes watered and suddenly, he felt so incredibly small as he ran down the stairs, crying, and threw himself into his Mother's legs. "I've missed you!"
In that moment, every emotion of fear, anxiety and hopelessness disappeared. A year's worth of pain and separation had caused Ludwin to kick down his walls and let every single sad emotion overwhelm him to the point of tears.
But Ludwin wasn't wrapped in a loving embrace. He was barely acknowledged — a pat on the shoulder as he wept into her skirt.
…
Ludwin stared at the small, freshly swept home and let the dread sink in. He would see his Mother once a month for a whole weekend. It was something Ludwin had grown to dislike doing — not because he hated his Mom, but because their relationship never healed.
The door opened, revealing the stony-faced woman.
"Mom," Ludwin offered a shy smile.
Ludwin stepped through the threshold, noticing his brother, Del, almost immediately, sitting at the table and quietly doing homework. Ludwin walked over, trying to engage with the brother he barely knew.
"What are you working on?" Ludwin asked, genuinely curious.
"Homework," Del answered.
Ludwin laughed lightly, "Yeah, I mean what kind? I've just finished some calculus. It wasn't easy."
"Cool."
Ludwin awkwardly lingered, "Yeah, it—"
"I'm busy," Del replied coolly, and taking the hint, Ludwin went and tossed his bags in the colourless, barren spare room that he stayed in each time he visited.
…
At school, however, things were different.
Ludwin's laugh was infectious — it drew in every teenager from around the hallways, placing Ludwin at the centre of attention. He had no real best friends, but he had lots and lots of friends from across the social constructs.
"Wow, Ludwin, you're so funny!"
Ludwin felt confident, vibran: he was growing into the man he had admired for so long, drawing in crowds with a whisper of words.
"My man, Ludwin!"
He was happy and free, unburdened by his Mother's judgement.
"Ludwin, sit with me!"
At school, he was the golden boy: he was praised and adored and felt truly, happily, wonderfully placed in his little world.
…
"Kill yourself!"
Slightly raised above the others, Ludwin couldn't see past the horde of people at his feet. Their distorted faces screamed for blood and death, and he just couldn't understand why. Every time he tried to speak, his voice was stolen.
"Die!"
"You deserve death!"
"Useless! Trash! Unwanted! Unloved!"
Please… Ludwin whimpered as something tight roped around his neck. He felt it push against his windpipe, slowly crushing it. Please…
"Die already!"
"Your Mother never loved you!"
"Limos can't save you now!"
Tears pricked at Ludwin's eyes as his lungs and throat burned, air feeling tight and trapped in his body.
He wanted to scream for forgiveness, for understanding, for some guidance in what he did wrong. Eventually, though, the floor beneath him seemed to disappear, causing his throat to constrict even tighter until… everything vanished.
The scene slowly faded away, revealing a grotty toilet cubicle. Ludwin's body swung like a pendulum from a piece of rope wound tightly around his neck.
Behind a layer of tears that protected dead, bloodshot eyes, Ludwin was already six feet under.
w w w. sixfeetunderhg. blogspot. c o m.
Questions!
Which was your favourite out of these four?
Name a singular tribute (apart from your own) that you'd root for Victor from intros alone?
Introducing: Alanis, Eustolia, Thiago and Ludwin.
And that, my friends, is a wrap on introductions! What a wild ride that was.
If you'd be so kind, there's a fun little poll on my profile where you can vote for your six favourite tributes from the intros. Nothing will come of it — just a fun little thing.
Secondly, let me know what you think! This will be the last chance to influence or sway me in a certain way about a tribute/tributes before I pretty much lock in plots and refuse to budge. So tell me who you liked, disliked, hated, loved! I'll be taking a lot into consideration and am open to evolving stories.
~Corey.