barker, aspen linden

[ASPEN BARKER]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #ededed; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #000000 solid; border-bottom: 10px #000000 solid;] aspen barker Name: Aspen Linden Barker Age: Eighteen Date of Birth: January fourth Sexuality: Straight ... or something District: Seven Occupation: 95th Games Victor Family: Mother, Father, Brother - Elm (deceased at age 17), Sister (age 16) Affiliation: against the games Face Claim: sam way The fabric of the plaid shirt was soft. They didn’t have much - in the entire district or in their household. It wasn’t uncommon for homes to be filled with basics which barely worked. It wasn’t common to have luxuries. But the plaid shirt was something of a luxury to Elmer. It was bright and soft and kept him warm out in the pine forest. He wore it every day when he went out to work and would come home with the smell of pine and sweat sticking to him and the shirt. Aspen remembers burying his face into the plaid shirt when he came home from a day of work. He remembers grasping onto it with his fingers, just so he could feel the cottony material between his fingers - a stark contrast to the rough clothing that they usually wore. He also remembers stuffing the red shirt in the pine trunk the day that Elm died because he wanted the scent of his brother to cling onto the material as long as possible. Aspen would never really admit that the true reason for storing the shirt away and never taking it out had everything to do with the fact that he couldn’t see the red plaid without his throat threatening to form a lump and the tears threatening to fall. The girls were on one side and the boys were on the other, all sorted according to their age. Like livestock being sorted for the slaughter. He couldn’t help but think that that’s what this really was. All the kids of each district lining up so that twenty three of them could be brutally slaughtered. No matter what he was told to believe, no matter how many times it was pushed into their heads that this was a great honor, he couldn’t help but believe that they were being killed off for the amusement of the Capitol. He always kept his mouth shut though. He wanted to hold onto Elm - hold on and never let go. ”You’re name is only in there twice ... you’ll be fine.” his brother’s voice playing on repeat through his head as he stood with the other thirteen year olds. Some girl’s name was called - one that brought a sense of familiarity - probably from school, but evoked no real emotional response because he didn’t know her - he was too nervous. He was trying to not shake. He wasn’t a baby anymore. The hand went into the fishbowl and Aspen thought that he was going to throw up. He almost did when his name was called. And everything form that point on was a complete blur and if he was ever asked to retell the events of that day he would never be able to do so. He was on the stage. He was staring at the face of everyone in the district. He was searching for Elm. Elm was volunteering. He wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop, to tell him that he could do this - that he didn’t have to do this. But he couldn’t, his voice wouldn’t cooperate. He was saying goodbye. Elmer was handing him the red shirt, rolled up in a ball. Aspen was crying, holding onto Elm’s shirt, begging the peacekeepers to give him more time - to let them switch places. It was too late. Too late, too late. But Aspen doesn’t remember any of it. He remembers curling up on his bed, grasping onto the red plaid shirt for the last time before he stored it away forever. He remembers waking up from this endless daze when there were only four left and Elm was still alive because maybe he could do this. Maybe he would come home. He remembers watching his brother die on the tv screen. He remembers promising himself that by the time he turned eighteen he would go into the games. The way that it was supposed to be. He was fairly certain that his sister would never forgive him. Elm was the one who took care of them all. Elm had been the one that cared about everyone and never fought with any of them. Elm had been the one who took her out to play with her dolls in the forest. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if Aspen had died in the games. It would have been fine. The family would have been fine. They weren’t fine. It was Apsen’s fault. He quickly decided that he didn’t want to be one of those people that every one felt bad for. He didn’t want to be that person that everyone looked at and thought ”what a shame”. He didn’t want to only be defined by his brother and what had happened. He didn’t want to be that crazy person that everyone talked about but never talked to. He couldn’t handle that kind of lack of attention. It would probably drive him more crazy than seeing his brother stabbed to death did. He needed to do something that was his own and he needed to stop living in a haze. Sixteen and he dropped out of school to work full time. Who needed school in the district anyways? It wasn’t like he was going to magically move to the Capitol one day and work for the president. School didn’t mean anything. He didn’t need it. He did need money to help support his family and cutting down trees would bring in money. “You’re too small, kid.” “So? That doesn’t mean I can’t do it!” “You’re a liability ... I can’t have you working for me.” “You won’t even give me a chance? I can do this!” “Go and see if one of the plants needs more workers, they’ll take you there.” Screw that. He wasn’t going to work in a plant. He was going to prove him wrong. The hacking down trees and building up his strength had nothing to do with the idea in the back of his mind that one day he was going to go into the games. Nothing. It was so that he could prove that lumberjack wrong. It was so that he could chop down trees. It wasn’t so that he could survive in the games. It wasn’t so that he could prove that he could have done it. It wasn’t so that his brother’s death would, in the end, be useless. Those from districts 1, 2 and 4 had always been seen as the pets of the capitol - the ones who trained for the games, the ones who took pride in being a citizen of Panem. Anything and everything that they did was looked down upon by the majority of the other districts and were definitely looked down upon by the Barker family who had lost their eldest son to the harshness of the Capitol and Snow. If they had known that maybe he wasn’t being completely honest about everything, they might have stopped him. If they had known that he was going to volunteer that year, they would have told him not to. He wasn’t going to become a puppy and a sacrifice to the Capitol and their twisted ways. They weren’t going to lose another son to this. “I volunteer.” he was seventeen. The same age as Elm. He was wearing the red flannel shirt - the one that he hadn’t seen in four years. The soft, red fabric still smelled and felt the same. I’m doing this for you Elm. The crowed was silent. The fifteen year old boy on the stage looked relieved that this stranger was here to take his place. The escort looked pleased. This would be interesting. No one in the district could remember the last time that two siblings volunteered themselves up for the slaughter. It was unheard of in seven. This was a suicide mission and they all knew it. Aspen thought he knew it. If he was being completely honest, he fully expected to die in the games. His parents were furious. His sister wouldn’t look at him. He gave her the red shirt and told her to not lock it away, that it was the last thing that he owned of Elmer’s. She nodded and handed him the wooden ring. The one she had made of pine in one of her classes. He folded it in his palm and hugged her goodbye for the last time. He fully expected to die until she whispered ”do it for him. Win.” before she pulled away. He couldn’t leave her. Not after taking Elm away. She expected him to be the same. She wanted him to be the same. He just wasn’t. “He’s a shell of what he used to be.” she tells people when they ask about him. it was a good thing that the last time he had eaten was breakfast because he would have probably thrown up by now. it was killing him to do this and even though he had talked to him and told him what this was all about oliver had still agreed to do this and there was nothing he could do about it. he still didn’t really get why. no one ever really wanted this it just happened to people. and the ones who did want it were out in nevada or some shit where it was legal and safe and pretty classy compared to what they did. but no one wanted to wait out on a street corner hoping someone would pick them up so they could pay for their next hit. dodge knew that a lot of them did it for the food and the shelter too, but most of them did it for the drugs. and dodge was pretty certain that wasn’t oli’s reasonings. maybe for the place to stay but there were homeless shelters for that and someone would take him in. he was cute enough. dodge didn’t know why he was thinking about any of this - maybe just to keep his mind off of what was really happening because if he couldn’t numb himself out then maybe he could keep his mind preoccupied with other things. maybe he wouldn’t have to pay too much attention to the way that oli was looking at him right now because that would mean admitting that he was doing this to him and nothing would ever change that fact. the second dodge left that room he would be forever responsible for doing this to him and the guilt was already eating away at him. he needed to de-attach himself from this kid like he had everything else in his life so he wouldn’t have to feel so bad. just like he de-attached himself from what he did so he wouldn’t feel completely worthless and so that he could live with himself. just like he did from the other guys so when one of them just ... disappeared he wouldn’t feel so heartbroken. but he couldn’t. oli had wormed his way into his life so much so that he wanted nothing more in the world to punch this guy in the face. but that wouldn’t end up well for either of them, and pulling oli out of that room wouldn’t either. that would just get the both of them beaten if not by the john then by fagin. he couldn’t do that. dodge bit the inside of his cheek at the guys words because he wanted to say something. he usually didn’t feel brave with them but since he knew he wasn’t the one being paid for it gave him this sense that he could do anything. but he couldn’t because that would just cause a world of trouble for oli and he wasn’t going to take that chance. he wanted to say something to oli, he really did. but his mind went blank and any possibility of words were stuck in his throat. dodge could remember three whole times in his life where he had cried. the first time had been when his dad first hit him. it was drunk and mean and across the face, and non-apologetic, followed by him instructing his six year old son to stop crying and to wash his face. the second time was when he left ten years later and no one tried to stop him. he hadn’t been surprised by his dad not trying, but his mom and his brother - that one stung. the third time was when one of the guys he had worked with turned up dead - oded on something or other, and after that dodge taught himself to not get to attached to the rest of them. and this made four. that look on oli’s face - the one he had caught just before the door slammed shut in his face - pushed him over the edge, onto the ground with his head in his knees. OMFG I’M SORRY ABOUT THE ~~~INAPPROPRIATE~~~~~ SAMPLE BUT IT WAS ALL I COULD FIND ;~; ella. twenty. none.

table by CALIFORNIA DREAMING of CAUTION 2.0.

[MARGIE]