Writer's Games Entries

Task 3: "Arachne's Web"

I don't know what happened between the moment my eyes closed, and the moment I open them again, but all of a sudden I'm somewhere else. This is not like the Arena at all. In fact, there's a more homely feel to it, but at the same time, it's grey and gloomy. I notice the clouds above my head. They are all dark and threatening. That's when I turn my attention to what's going on in front of me.

For some reason I am at the local graveyard, not too far away from my house. A crowd seems to be dismantling, but a few remain in front of what looks like an open grave. I try calling out, waving my hands to gain their attention. None of them sees or hears me. I walk a few steps closer in an attempt to gain their attention when I see who they are actually burying – me. My mother, and my two brothers are all standing there grief-stricken. My mother is mourning like any normal mother would after watching her child die. They say no parent is ever supposed to outlive their own children...looking at her, I feel such a terrible pain.

I then look over at my brother Leaf, the youngest one in the family. He looks somewhat confused about everything. It's like he wants to cry, but at the same time he wants to be strong. He keeps his fingers close to his mouth, biting nails as usual. He is always told to stop doing that, but some habits die hard. Right now it doesn't matter to anyone. My older brother, Aspen, is struggling to keep his composure. As much as I can see the anger on his face, I was his baby-brother. He will forever blame himself for not snatching that note from me in the first place.

After a while I stop thinking. I stop analyzing the emotions of family because I only just now notice that one is missing. On one hand I shouldn't have been able to miss the fact that my own father isn't here. I swallow slightly as I walk closer to the grave. It's so surreal seeing my own body in a cold, wet and insignificant grave. There's a thin piece of linen covering my body. The part that covers my head is stained red with blood. I don't even know how to take this. Is that how I am going to end up? Is this a dream? Am I imagining things?

As these questions, among many, swirl inside my head, time seems to fast forward a bit. The dark clouds are now unleashing their wrath on the District as my family has gone home. My grave has now been covered, and first then, I see my father drag his way past several tombstones before he gets to my grave. A part of me is disappointed he didn't take time off work like he was supposed to, or allowed to, but when I look at his face, I can't read it. I can't tell if he's angry, if he's sad, if he's feeling anything at all. It's just like the reaping. I couldn't read his emotions then, I can't read them now either.

He keeps standing there like a statue for what can seem like hours. He doesn't say anything, not a word. He doesn't even move a muscle all that time. What may confuse me as tears running down his cheek, is actually raindrops. I'm perfectly dry. The rain is pouring down around me, but not on me. Whatever the point of this thing is, I am starting to wonder what will happen to my family if I should die, which there is a big chance that I might. How are they going to move on?

"You brought shame to the family-name by doing furniture", my father finally says. I'm caught off guard by the fact that he speaks, but the word he chooses, burns more than I would like to admit. "You brought shame to all who have had the name Nairn because you didn't follow the Nairn-tradition, and I will be remembered as the father who let that happen", he's a lot angrier in his tone. I can't remember ever having heard him so angry before. The worst part of it all is that the words he is saying, are words that I always imagined he wanted to say, but never did.

"And now, thanks to you I am left on the fence. I don't know if I am supposed to be angry at you for the rest of time, or supposed to be disappointed in the choices you made with your life...or maybe even proud of the fact that you stood up for your brothers", he says, almost disappointed in the last option that he mentions. "Your mother is begging me to forgive you. Your brothers want me to remember you as my son, and as their brother. The problem I have about that is that I've spent so much time being disappointed and angry at you, and I don't know what else to do at this point", he goes on.

I can't form a single thought as I process those words. Even after I have died for my family, my father still isn't able to be proud of me. In the manner in which he speaks and acts, there is no way that I can or ever could get back the relationship that my father and I used to have. I'm about to just accept that when I see him pull something up from his pocket. "I want to remember my son as he has been described, intelligent and strong", he starts as I see the pocketknife that I made. "That's what your mother says, and she believes it. A part of me wishes that I would too", he says as I simply watch him toss the pocketknife on top of the pile of dirt.

I have been a fool. For the last couple of years of my life, I tried everything I could to make my father proud of me. I always hoped that one day, he would be able to make peace with the decision I made, but by the way he just throws away the thing I made for him like it was nothing, my entire chest feels like it might explode. If I can't make father proud, in life or in death, what do I do?

A loud thump snaps me out of it. Whatever that thing was, the thing where I was suddenly dead and witnessed my family react to it in their different manners, it's over and I somehow out of the webs. There is no sign of the giant spider-mutt from earlier. I look for it any direction because I don't trust that it's completely gone. At the same time I just feel this deep sadness in my chest. What's the point in continuing?