Post by Airron Tide on Dec 11, 2014 19:05:14 GMT
Memories are such a crisp thing. Each one holding a new story. Some good, some bad. Every one of them are worth the shreds of time spent on them, even if they don't seem it. Airron didn't have the fondest of them, most of his rememberings bringing back an uncanny darkness and sense of dread. That wasn't the whole, though. There was a light mingling with the gloom and regret, most of them retaining one boy merely four years older and from One. The Mayor's son, traveling to Four with his father to expand his knowledge at such a ripe age in an effort to breed a genetic line of rulers. Airron was nothing like his blonde counterpart, the complete opposite actually. There was no wealth in his family, only fish and anger. His father was filled with spite, bursting at the seams with rebellious language. He hated the world he lived in, spat on the grounds of Panem, and that attitude rubbed off on the boy. He too grew to be angry, and handle things with violence, but luckily his mother kept him grounded. The gentle woman didn't allow the hatred to linger in her son's heart, always making sure he was level headed and gentle. He was a bag of mysteries. Either soft, or tough. No in between.
Airron was five, just a little boy weighed down by the ears he'd never grow into and hair just under his shoulders. His legs stretched on and on, making his young self the height of any sturdy eight year old. It was more a less a trait from his father, height prominent in his side of the family. Dressed in an oversized pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt handed down from his father, the boy looked like a shrunken man. He was alone, playing in the water in front of his beach home, his mother's careful eyes watching over him from the window up shore. He stomped across the sand, tossing handfuls into the water mindlessly. Even this young, he knew more than most, mainly learning from his mom when she had the chance. School helped out too, but the genuine knowledge of the woman was more than a book could offer. He'd sit in her lap and listen for hours, eyes strained on her face as he glared with understanding at her quivering lips. Most of the time, though, he was alone. His parents worked on the ships, and school only lasted so long. So Airron was more than used to the secluded feeling. There were his friends, but generally at this age, he couldn't just walk over to their house and play.
It was warm, unusual for winter, but typical for a sunny day in Four. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but he didn't doubt that it was snowing in another District. He really didn't know too much about Panem itself other than what his dad said. It was corrupt and horrid in his mind, but he still imagined greatness in the land. It was a childish thing. Plopping down in the sand, the little boy dug at the ground for no reason in particular. His attention was caught by a tap on his shoulder, his hazel eyes casting upwards to meet the wickedly ember ones of a boy he'd never seen before. His voice was soft, filled with a obnoxious sense of corrupted innocence, "Do you want to play?"
And those were the first words he'd ever said to his best friend, Damien.
Airron was five, just a little boy weighed down by the ears he'd never grow into and hair just under his shoulders. His legs stretched on and on, making his young self the height of any sturdy eight year old. It was more a less a trait from his father, height prominent in his side of the family. Dressed in an oversized pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt handed down from his father, the boy looked like a shrunken man. He was alone, playing in the water in front of his beach home, his mother's careful eyes watching over him from the window up shore. He stomped across the sand, tossing handfuls into the water mindlessly. Even this young, he knew more than most, mainly learning from his mom when she had the chance. School helped out too, but the genuine knowledge of the woman was more than a book could offer. He'd sit in her lap and listen for hours, eyes strained on her face as he glared with understanding at her quivering lips. Most of the time, though, he was alone. His parents worked on the ships, and school only lasted so long. So Airron was more than used to the secluded feeling. There were his friends, but generally at this age, he couldn't just walk over to their house and play.
It was warm, unusual for winter, but typical for a sunny day in Four. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but he didn't doubt that it was snowing in another District. He really didn't know too much about Panem itself other than what his dad said. It was corrupt and horrid in his mind, but he still imagined greatness in the land. It was a childish thing. Plopping down in the sand, the little boy dug at the ground for no reason in particular. His attention was caught by a tap on his shoulder, his hazel eyes casting upwards to meet the wickedly ember ones of a boy he'd never seen before. His voice was soft, filled with a obnoxious sense of corrupted innocence, "Do you want to play?"
And those were the first words he'd ever said to his best friend, Damien.