Thank you slim-chance 17 and krikanalo for your reviews, it means a lot knowing someone is reading my story!
Shocks and Returns
Clara was a charming young girl with a mysterious past. Even Courfeyrac, who she spent most of her time with, didn't know her whole story. For Clara, it was just too painful to talk about, she focused on moving on with her new life in District 12. It was undeniably different, but in many ways, Clara preferred it.
She had been educated by a governess at home, and so could read and write. But this was only the basis of Clara's intelligence, even as a child she showed great promise, not that her family would ever allow her to show it.
Clara and Courfeyrac were able to keep the family together. Clara raised Posie almost as her own daughter, and Harry and Freddie continually looked up to their brother.
Courfeyrac physically grew up very quickly. By the time he was 11, he easily looked old enough to trade in the Hob and in this way, Courfeyrac, with Clara's help, earned plenty of money, selling their game from over the fence.
A year after Clara's arrival, they went back into the woods, but with a new agenda. Courfeyrac had found a broken bow and quiver of arrows on the side of the street, while searching for items to sell. He brought them home and Clara fixed the bow in much the same way she fixed her ankle.
Courfeyrac wanted to sell it straight away, but Clara stopped him. She suggested they go beyond the electric fence and try hunting. Courfeyrac thought she was joking but she looked deadly serious. He also knew he could never say no to Clara.
On their first trip, they spend 2 hours searching the forest but found no animals worth hunting. They were just about to give up when a flock of birds flew over head.
Faster than Courfeyrac could comprehend, Clara raised the loaded bow and aimed upwards. A bird fell to the ground with a satisfying thud. They ran over to collect their spoils.
'Where did you learn how to do that?!' Courfeyrac asked in disbelief.
'I was taught well,' Clara replied. And that was all that was said on the subject.
Clara's guard always shot up when Courfeyrac questioned her about her past, and he thought it was not worth investigating.
From that day onwards they went to the woods almost every day. Courfeyrac was earning more money that he ever had in the past. The family was still poor but they were surviving. Courfeyrac realised that was in Clara's eyes the day he found her, despite lost hope, there was a determination to survive.
Clara and Courfeyrac taught their younger siblings to read and write, and Clara had haggled with an ex-medical peacekeeper to buy his collection of medical journals. Whenever he was at home, Courfeyrac was dead to the world reading one of them.
Courfeyrac had tried to keep in touch with Enjorlas, he wrote letters but never got a reply. After a while, he gave up, and focused on his new life with Clara.
Meanwhile, in District 2, Enjorlas had settled into a repetitive routine. He'd been forced into the belief he should be seen but not heard, and all the freedoms he had experienced in District 12 were faint memories to him now. His supposed friend had never even replied to the numerous letters he sent out.
He went back to trailing behind his father and mother visiting the Districts, but they never returned to District 12. Enjorlas had heard his father mention the Capitol thought it wasn't worth it. But one day that changed.
'Come Enjorlas,' his father had announced one breakfast time, 'the head-peacekeeper of District 12 has been called into question. We must question him and decide the best course of action.
Enjorlas supressed his delight, 'Yes Father,' he replied earnestly. He couldn't believe his luck! He hadn't seen District 12 since he was 8! His 12th birthday was only a few weeks away. His happiness subsided when he remembered the no returns from Courfeyrac. Why hadn't he replied? Had he imagined their friendship? He made a silent vow to discover what had happened to him.
He sat in silence with his father as the train came in to District 12. His father made no effort to hide the disgust he had with this place, which made Enjorlas very angry. He felt a protective instinct towards 12, maybe because it was the home of his only true friend or, that's what he had thought.
He walked behind his father has he made his way to the head peacekeeper's house. The scene was much the same, it was as if 3 hours had passed, not 3 years. Enjorlas was stunned that nothing had been done to help these people.
His father knocked on his door, but there was no answer. He sighed in agitation and looked at his pocket watch.
'Well he must be doing his rounds,' he decided. 'At least he's doing something right.'
'Father, what is that building beyond the Justice Hall?' Enjorlas asked nervously. He could have sworn he'd seen a boy with dark curly hair walk in with quite a load, and a small girl by his side.
His father seemed pleased at his interest.
'That my boy, is the centre of trade, the 'Hob' I believe the locals call it.' He said locals like one may say vermin. Shall we take a look?' His father began to walk before Enjorlas could answer. He silently followed.
Inside was incredible. The market was bustling with traders and customers. There were sounds of laughter and familiarity. Enjorlas immediately warmed to this place. All the people seemed to know each other and were at ease, as if you could go up and talk to anyone and it wouldn't seem strange or obscene, as it was thought of in District 2. And best of all, there was no hierarchy, everyone was equal. Enjorlas loved that idea.
My home could not be more different, Enjolras thought.
He scanned the room. THERE. He looked a lot older and a hell of a lot more mature but there he was, his old friend Courfeyrac. But who was that next to him? Enjorlas guessed the girl was probably about 10 years old. They were talking with the stallholder and the girl laughed. It was one of the most beautiful sounds Enjorlas had ever heard, her smile easily matched it.
Enjorlas shook the thought out of his head and focused on Courfeyrac. Unfortunately, his father followed his gaze. Suddenly he yelled across the market, claiming everybody's attention.
'Those two over there! Those children! What is that you are holding? Game?! Where did you find that? You better not have gone beyond the fence!'
The girl's smile transformed into a look of fear and this bellowing man. Courfeyrac also looked concerned, but the girl looked positively petrified.
His father started to move towards them. Enjorlas saw the stallholder mouth the word, 'Run' at Courfeyrac and his friend, advice they took only too readily. They made for the only doors, delicately running over, under, and in between stalls, as if trying not to break anything, but getting away as quickly as possible. Enjorlas noticed the locals stalling him, blocking his way, apologising, tripping him up, allowing their friends to escape. Enjorlas couldn't help but smirk, a stallholder nodded in approval. His father looked ridiculous, sweating from the 'exercise', tripping up, sometimes over nothing and continually looking for children who were no longer there.
He ran in to the town square yelling, 'VERMIN!' which achieved nothing except a few puzzled looks from the locals. He tried to regain his composure.
'Enjorlas, come, we're…' he looked around.
'Enjorlas? Where are you?' He had disappeared.
Bah! His blasted son had run off. That child would be the death of him! He always knew it!