***Kisses to everyone who continues to show up*** 

I hope you are pleasantly--and not so pleasantly--surprised by this chapter. I'll be asking for your thoughts afterward, so pay attention!!

Kindly remember to VOTE and Comment!

Stay Safe and Take Care! ~CANGEL

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District 4

Aspen Flanagan

     The sand was warm beneath Aspen's fingertips, grains slipping between his fingers as he watched the sun skank lower over the horizon. The sea glowed beneath its last light, a liquid canvas of gold and violet, dappled with hints of orange and pink that danced on the surface of the salty water. The waves murmured secrets that Aspen was not privy to understanding, folding them onto the shore in rhythmic sighs.

     A little further down the beach, Cricket darted along the water's edge, her small hands eagerly scooping up shells and turning over stones with Mags trailing behind her, a protective shadow softened by the cool evening glow.

     Aspen pulled his knees to his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat of the world through the ground. The soles of his feet buried beneath the warm surface, reaching the cool, damp underside, hidden from the warmth of the sun. This was their quiet time, the rare moments when nothing Capitol-made or Capitol-ordered intruded; just the repetitive crashing of waves, the sound of birds flying high in the sky, and the joyful laughter of his sister's voice.

     As he watched Cricket hold up a shell for Mags to examine, he felt a familiar ache, something wedged deep in his chest, stubborn and painful. The memory tugged him back, pulling him under like a wave he had not anticipated. Seven years old again, barefooted against the cool floor, he remembered it clearly: a scream had torn through the quiet of the night, wrenching him from sleep.

     Aspen jolted awake, his heart thudded fast, his ears straining to catch any sound in the stillness that followed. It was just a dream, he told himself. But he could not settle, and the uneasiness would not leave. Something didn't feel right—I want my mom. With that thought, he scrambled out of bed, padding down the darkened hallway, each step silent, cautious, the way he'd seen his grandmother move when she was tracking a fish in the water with a spear.

     The air was thick, heavy with something he didn't understand but instinctively feared. Shadows loomed large against the halls, making the once familiar home seem strange, cold, and dangerous. As he turned the corner to his parents' room, the need to feel his mother's arms around him and hear her soothing voice became unbearable even as a small knot of dread tightened in his stomach. Not right. Something was not right.

     Their door was open just a crack—it was never open at night—he always had to knock before he could come in then—but through the small crack he could see his mother lying on the floor, her red hair fanned out in the stark contrast against the dark wood flooring. But... he stared at his mother in confusion...when had his mother's golden hair turned red? And why was she on the floor? Where's dad—

     Aspen looked up, searching for his father. His throat tightened when he found him on his knees just behind where his mother lay, his arms were hidden behind his back—why wasn't he helping mom?

     His breath hitched, a choked sob built in his throat, his small hands gripping the door frame, fingers digging into the wood. He wanted to call out, to reach for his mother and yell for his father to help, but the words lodged in his throat, tangled with the fear building inside him.

     His father's head lifted, face drawn and darkened with shadows, his eyes, normally as bright as sun, were dark and empty. And then his eyes met Aspen's through the crack, and something flickered in his gaze.

     Aspen took a step back, his father's face twisting from emptiness to a look of pure, wild anger as his father's eyes latched on something else hidden in the room. His father suddenly moved, lunging out of view. Crashes sounded; voices shouted—his father shouted. "Run Aspen! Get your sister and run!"

     He could barely comprehend his father's words, but the weight of them pressed down on him, forcing him into motion. He turned and ran, his heart thundering in is chest as he stumbled down the hall to Cricket's room. The sounds behind him grew louder—footsteps, voices, the clattering of boots on wood. He didn't dare look back, his father's words echoing in his mind. Sister. Get his sister.

     The nursery door creaked as he slipped inside, his eyes quickly adjusting to the shadows as he searched the corners, looking for anyone out of place.

     Cricket was tiny, swaddled in her crib, her smooth, little wrinkled fingers curled up near her face. He tried to reach her, his fingers just brushing the edge of the soft blue blanket wrapped around her. Frustration mounted, edged in desperation.

     He glanced toward the door, sure that it would be kicked open next at any second. Aspen jumped up, resting his stomach over the edge of the crib side, the wood bit into his skin, but he ignored the pain and scooped his baby sister up into his arms.

     She stirred as he lifted her, her body warm and soft, and for a moment, Aspen felt a fragile sense of safety, something he could cling too. As he jumped back down to the floor, she let out a quiet whimper, at the sudden movement. He shushed her quietly, clutching her close, his small hand the same size as her head, his mother's voice ringing in his ears, her neck is weak, you have to help her hold her head steady.

     She quieted then, cocooned in his warmth and he glanced around the room desperately, searching for a place to hide. His father's words to run sounded then, and Aspen saw the balcony—an exit to the outside. But as he opened the glass paneled door and looked down over the ledge, he realized with bitter disappointment that he could not climb down with little Cricket in his arms.

     Heading back into the room, he looked around with barely caged panic. There, the closet in the corner of her room. Aspen closed the door behind them, sliding down to the floor against the back wall with Cricket still wrapped in her blanket and held tightly in his arms.

     The darkness pressed in, and he tightened his grip on her, holding his breath as he listened to the sounds of the house being torn apart. Boots stamped across the floors; voices shouted orders he couldn't understand. Each crash made him flinch, his body tensing as he tucked Cricket's head against his chest, her quiet, steady breaths his only anchor in the chaos surrounding him.

     Time seemed to stretch, blurring into an endless series of sounds and silence, fear building in waves that ebbed and flowed as he strained to hear. He didn't know how long he sat there, his legs numb, his arms aching, but he held his sister close, a fierce resolve taking root. He was the only one left to protect her, the only one keeping them from the people storming their home. He had to keep her safe.

     Eventually, the footsteps began to fade, the voices growing quieter, more distant. Aspen's breath came shallow and quick, but he didn't dare move, even as the night's silence returned, leaving only the sounds of gentle waves crashing and a few lone birds squawking.

     The darkness seemed to pulse around him, holding its breath, waiting.

     Mommy. Daddy. Come get me.

     The closet door creaked open, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, every muscle going tense, until he heard the familiar voice—a soft, gentle voice that grounded him, even through the terror.

     "It's me, Aspen. It's Mags," she whispered, her words rougher than usual, but warm, a lifeline he could cling too. Mags was a victor. His grandmother. She could keep him and Cricket safe. She could protect his mom and dad and make everything right again.

     She scooped both him and Cricket into her arms, holding them tightly, her steady presence a balm against the ache and fear lodged deep in his chest. Only then, wrapped in her embrace, did he finally let himself cry.

     Now, sitting on the beach, Aspen shivered, even with the lingering warmth of the sun and sand. He took a deep breath, letting the salt and sea soothe him, a balm over the scars those memories left. 

     Mags hadn't been able to help his mom or dad. They had both been long since dead by the time she had come. It had been a bitter realization to find out that his grandmother was not all powerful like the image in his head.

     But she had protected him and Cricket and as his sister's laughter drifted over to him, he watched her, her little face alight as she held up a crab for Mags to see, it was enough for him—what Mags had done and not done.

      He felt a warmth in his chest, something old and resilient. It wasn't happiness exactly, but a quiet, enduring strength. In moments like this, watching his sister laugh and his grandmother's soft smile, Aspen felt a flicker of something close to hope—small and fragile, yet as constant as the setting sun and the rolling waves.

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So, were you expecting this? Did you like it?

What do you think about the Flanagan family? Mags, Aspen, Cricket.

What do you think Flynn (Aspen's mother) did? Do you think she did anything?

What about Dolan's (Aspen's father) actions? Why did he do that?

How about Aspen taking up his role as Cricket's protector? Do you think that this will help or hurt Cricket? To me, it might get a bit suffocating as she gets older and wants to stretch her wings.

Do you have any predictions for what the future holds for Mags, Aspen, and Cricket?

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! More will be on its way and remember to VOTE if you have enjoyed!

Take Care and Stay Safe! ~CANGEL