Harry Sawyer

WIP, basic info probably won't be finished for a few weeks.

Backstory
And sometimes I don't even recognize myself. I look in the mirror and I run my hands across my face and I'm surprised because I can feel the smooth skin underneath my finger's pads but I don't recognize the man it belongs to. Sometimes a deep purple kiss has bloomed upon my right cheek or my left cheek or my forehead or chin. Sometimes a bright red mark has made it's home underneath my left eye and a bruise underneath my right. Sometimes. More than often when I look in the mirror I see blood. Splattered across my cheeks and dried in my hair. It stains my lips and I dare not lick them because I am repulsed by the taste. It's not my blood because I know too much. I don't get hurt because people are scared of me.

There are three of me, technically. Sixteen years ago my brothers and I decided we couldn't stand being the same person and the one man band became a trio. It wasn't very easy on my mother, bless her, but she managed. She always did. I was born first and they tell me I was quiet. They were scared I had died because even when they hit me the only sound I made was a whimper. My tears were not that of an angry child leaving his mother's warmth for the first time. Ma said she'd never seen a baby so sad as they whisked me away in a fit of tiny whimpers.

Henry and Hayden were their names. My brothers, my twins, and those I loved more than anything. Momma had a love affair with H's, I think, because everyone in our family had one. She thought it was cute, I guess. Admittedly, we are pretty damn adorable. But I am, and always will be, the oldest. They'll never forget it as long as I'm breathing because I am the oldest. If only by five minutes.

We were two years old when Hunter came around. I ran to mother on swollen toddler's legs and demanded to see the new toy she brought home. At least she told me I did. Mother would laugh when she remembered that moment and she tells me she told me Hunter wasn't a toy but our little brother. She says I got the stupidest look on my face and crossed my arms like she had when she got angry and told her I knew that but the other two were still my toys and the new one was no exception. In whatever garbled toddler language I spoke in all those years ago.

I still don't know if I believe her 'cause I have no memory of that time and I can't ask her now if it was true.

Father left and Mother died. That's my sob story. Good for nothing prick left Momma with four kids and no money and did whatever fathers do when they leave their wives. Probably fucked some twenty-something girl in an expensive hotel and ran away with her to complete a twisted love story he used to justify leaving us on our own.

I got no tolerance for a guy who don't treat his woman right and I'm glad he wasn't around to make Hunter or Henry or Hayden just like him. Momma made us promise we'd never treat a lady bad and I know I ain't never even dare to that. Woman are precious things, like a diamond and the perfect one only comes around once in a life time. They call me a romantic but I ain't ever gonna let her slip through my fingers.

"You aren't having second thoughts, are ya fuck?" my gun presses against his temple, embedding itself so deep that if I pulled Mandy away there'd be a keyhole shaped imprint upon his snowy white skin. He cries and I smile, a cold kinda smile that sends him into a fit of sobs and ragged breathing. Mandy returns to my belt loop and I can almost see the relief run through him as I slowly circle the heavy chair to which he was chained. The fat man had struggled so greatly against his bonds that blood runs down the arms of my chair and his wrists and ankles are raw. I'm no longer smiling.

"Those aren't cheap, y'know." he looks scared and I feel nothing. I ain't angry or sad or even happy, I'm just there and I'm doing my job. The lighter flicks open and his scream is muffled by the dirty gag shoved down his throat. He coughs and coughs and coughs until blood stains the gag. I watch, arms crossed and tapping my foot. "Are you done?" his head shakes frantically and my eyes force their way to the ceiling. (Well I can't wait any fucking longer.)

The lighter starts underneath his nose, bringing unsightly bubbles to his skin. It's no longer a snowy white. He screams but it's soft, he's torn up his throat without me even having to do anything. I don't appreciate someone taking my job.

The blue flame dances across the bridge of his nose and onto his forehead. He struggles and once his eyes began to close I snap the lid shut frown only deepening. I wasn't angry, more disappointed. "Your buddy lasted so much longer." I give his burns little regard as I remove his gag and I'm sure he'd would have tried to take my finger off had he the strength. But I never got hurt 'cause they were scared. Blood and puss make their way down his nose and onto his lap. He spits and sputters and before he can speak I've begun. The liquor makes its way around the chair first It soaks into his lap and onto his hair. He screams and screams when the alcohol makes contacts with his fresh wounds and for a second I'm tempted to end our interrogation early. Alas, I needed the answers.

"So, you gonna tell me you answered to? Who was stealing our shit?" I throw more liquor onto his face, "You know how much I hate people stealing our shit."

"Fuck you!" He spits and his blood is in my mouth. In. My. Mouth. Disgusting.

The lighter flicks open once more and in a moment, blue flames engulf what was once a man.

My body is bent over the kitchen sink and my guts are sprayed everywhere. Everything I'd eaten or drank that day has left me and I still wretch into the chrome surface. I can still taste the blood. I can feel my wits setting about me with every single gagging motion. I ain't regretting what I did, It doesn't disturb me, but I feel disgusting. I can still feel his blood on my tongue and it consumes me. Water sprints across the sink, sending all my weakness down the drain. I mumble a few choice words into the faucet's downpour and I wipe my mouth against my hand. I don't think of it any more, I don't think of him. I rush into my room and peel the dirtied clothes off of my body. I replace the black and grays with vibrant pinks and blues. I wash my face and I run a comb through my hair until I can recognize myself again. Harry reappears and my breath steadies.

And I don't think about it.

They'll be home soon and I'm behind schedule. I clean the sink and throw open cupboards, lining three tall glasses upon our table and slicing apples and peeling oranges. They're growing and Mom would have wanted me to take care of them. They were my toys, after all. There's a granola bar for each and a half cup of yogurt too. I've dropped blueberries in there as a special treat.

When the door opens I smile, I smile bright because I know they are home and I know I am not alone. "Boys! I've got a snack ready." I mock mother, running to embrace my brothers one by one. "You guys have no idea how much I missed you." (I killed another one, today. They're not stopping and I'm scared they're trying to bust us.) "Since you always seem to forget to care for yourself I've done it for you." I act as though it was some burdensome chore but they all know I'd do this if they needed it or not. Because that is who I am. Sometimes.

And sometimes I'm a monster because I have to be.

Mother was no saint. My job was hers, once upon a time. Maybe she didn't do everything I did, but she was still bound by blood to the gang. The Gang, it has a name but it has only every been the gang. Because this is where we belong. It was Ma's family as much as we were and she worked for it until her heart stopped beating. She was faithful like that. And when she was gone we took her job. Me and Henry and Hayden; we worked our asses off because that's what she would want us to do. And maybe she would have wanted Hunter to help us too but I won't ever let him as long as I live. Maybe the others don't understand me. I never work with them if I can help it. Not 'cause I hate their company but 'cause I do some pretty nasty things and I don't want my brothers to see. To see what I become.

Sometimes I can almost step outside myself. Like my body turns on autopilot and I can watch me sneer and goad and prod my victims. I've branded people, burned them until their bones showed. I threw burning water onto their bodies and shot them for the hell of it. I'm s'posed to intimidate people and that's what I do. Scars and bruises and burns need to be seen by the others so no one will fuck with us. It's a dangerous business, arms dealing is. It's a profitable one too and everyone who's anyone wants in on it.

That puts my family in danger and I won't have it.

I'm the oldest, even if only by five minutes.

I've lost count of how many times I've put my life in danger. Hell, it seems just by breathing I cause myself some sort of strife. It's a dangerous life, yeah, but it's what I was bred to be. And maybe mom woulda been disappointed in me 'cause I've gone soft. Not in the forests, not when I've gotta be strong and sharp, but on my brothers. She was as hard as Henry and as crafty as Hayden and she wanted us to be able to hold our own 'cause that's what life was like for us. We thrived in a world filled with corruption and we drank in the evil. We're not good people and I know that. We won't ever have to pay for it and I know that too. They're scared of us, we've got friends in too high of a place for karma to even touch us. It don't feel good.

They think I'm stupid for wanting to keep Hunter outta this. We've all got our own names, 'cause it's dangerous to have your real name out in the world. Can't have anyone referring to me as Harry 'cause then they'll be able to find me. It's about not leaving a trace and making sure that when I do, they're too scared to say a goddamn word. I'm Barrel, like the Barrel of a gun. Henry is Trigger because he's a stupid, overly eager motherfucker that I'm scared is gonna slip up one of these days. Hayden is Bullet 'cause that's what he is. He's fiery and explosive once he meets his mark, if he meets his mark. We call Hunter Safety 'cause it's cute. Barrel, Trigger, Bullet and Safety. Teddy is my little brother and I love him to death and I don't want him to see what I've seen.

He's just as strong as us, but his body is a cruel son of a bitch. His heart ain't too good and we gotta take good care of the tyke or else he'll hurt himself. They want him to grow up too fast. Hayden and Henry don't see the problem with him becoming something like us. They either haven't seen what I have or they've become far too callous to the monstrosities 'cause our world ain't pretty. I don't want him thinking this is some glamorous life with money and women and treasure. (It is, but that ain't always a good thing.) It'll ruin you, ruin any innocence you got and I couldn't stand to see the innocence melt from that boy's eyes. I've seen it melt from my own three times over and it's a disgusting thing. You get hard and you stop caring. Taking a life is something you do. It'll get covered up. No one will miss that one guy who owned that one store or that one addict who ran screaming down the street that one time.

And any day it could be you who no one would miss.

It could be me or Henry or Hayden. I'd stare into my own dead eyes and have to keep moving because that's how things are. We could die or we could live but the one thing I couldn't do was show weakness. I couldn't afford to be a human and have real fears because it wouldn't only hurt me but everyone I love. The world is complicated like that. I want Hunter to stay innocent for me, so that I know there's something in this world to hope for. They don't understand and I don't expect them to, but I'll fight 'em tooth and nail the whole way.

I don't say a word when we come home. There's a kind of solemn understanding between the three of us: don't talk about it. Teddy doesn't know but he asks. He's a smart kid, a kind kid and I simply wrap my arms around him and don't talk about it. "She'll be back." The words weren't to assure him, they were to deceive myself. I'd gotten good at that, these last few years. I was thirteen and yet I though I had the world in my hands. We were all grown already. Maybe it's 'cause we have to be.

Lunch consists of sliced apples and milk. I can't bring myself to make anything else and I doubt any of us could stomach much more. The house wept in silence, a vibrancy missing with her heartbeat. We were alone and scared. I was alone and scared but I couldn't show it. I just sat, staring at my hands as though they were the most interesting thing in the world. I counted the seconds as I waited. It was a weird kind of feeling, that of numbness. If I turned my attention to the situation at hand, I'd have cried. I could feel the sobs against my eyes and bubbling within my chest. Tears were my own language. I was easily overwhelmed and they escaped me at a constant rate. When I was too happy or too scared or too angry I cried because I didn't know what else to do. Instead I just sit, numb, and watch the sun sink behind the horizon.

I sleep on the floor that night, just in case she comes home. So that someone will be there to unlock the door. I didn't expect her to come home and she didn't, but I was still there.

The alarm woke me. My back ached and my neck was stiff but forced myself up in an instant. I cried because that is what I did. There was a breakfast made up for all of them but it was barely touched. I cried because I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't fix this, I couldn't take her place. She was always above the law and this time had clipped her wings. An angel sent crashing down upon the concrete and it broke its neck because that's how the world works.

We shuffle out the door and I pull my family close to me. They regard us with sympathy, our neighbors do, maybe even with pity. The four children whose father left them and now their mother was dying. The poor kids who were only thirteen and one was eleven whose lives were one tragic accident after another. They were probably bastard's too and their mother was a whore who had drunken sex and spawned the three of them and their father ran after another was born. I could see it in their eyes. The pity for the four unfortunate children who would watch their mother die today. I didn't look at them, I just walked.

My eyes were dry, all my tears were gone. They made everyone look at her, every single person looked at her. She was the worst kind of star. The Capitol loves to watch people die.

Hunter's is a good kid. He strains against my arms and tries to get to our mother. He's a good kid but he doesn't realize it's over. I've never been remarkably strong but when I wrap my arms around him I feel like the strongest man alive. I need to keep him safe because I cannot lose my mother and my baby brother. It hurts. He kicks and he bites and he keeps on but I cannot let go. I don't tell him to stop, I just watch. I watch her eyes find us and I watch the last show of affection we'll ever receive from her. I watch her fall and I cry because that is what I do.

When I wake, fistfuls of blankets wrapped within my palms, I'm crying too. It's not really a nightmare; rather than my worst memory. One I get to relive on restless nights when sleep only greets me in the early morning hours. It's been four years and the pain has not ebbed. Four years and a pillow is still shoved into my face, I'm sobbing because I watched my mother bleed out in front of me. Made an example by a society that'd kill us any way.

That's why I kill and that's why I put myself in danger. It makes no difference who's on the other side of the gun because it ends in the same way. The Capitol is corrupt and we feed on it. We grow strong in their weakness and we thrive off of their stupidity. I'm not angry my mother was killed because that is how things are, but I'll do what I can to become the son she wanted me to be.

Ma was no saint and neither am I.

But Hunter's a good kid and he's going to stay that way.