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her·e·tic
/ˈherəˌtik/
noun
•a person holding an opinion at odds with what is generally accepted.
》︎✳︎✳︎✳︎《︎
*Warning: some parts may not be completely edited*
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"Our willingness to wait reveals the value we place on what we are waiting for."
-Charles Stanley
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"MAMA! MAMA, LOOK!" Lucas squealed for his mother. Sadie ran out of her house in the heart of District four to see her son dancing on the roof of the market, where he spent most of his days selling clothes his mother had made.
"Lucas Flynn! Get down from there!" Sadie yelled at her son as he giggled, starting to do gymnastics from the high rooftop. Luckily it was flat, but it still worried Sadie. Sadie had discovered that Lucas had bones made of putty, being able to do insane tricks no average eight-year-old could do. Despite Lucas having no Odair genes, Sadie was confident he had gained her husband's athleticism. When she adopted Lucas from one of the many orphanages for children whose parents died during the war, he was only a few months old, and she raised him in District four. She didn't want Lucas to endure District eight's broken landscapes, so she bought a house near her favorite place in district four, the market.
"But it's fun!" Lucas whined as he continued dancing. His bouncy chocolate curls reflected the intense sunlight as he jumped from edge to edge.
"Get down before you hurt yourself," Sadie lightened her voice, and Lucas groaned, settling down. The dark-skinned boy jumped from the rooftop and pranced over to his mother. Giving her a wide side smile showing his many missing teeth. But despite having a bunch of gaps in his grin, Sadie couldn't help but see Finnick in that smile.
"How'd you like the show?" Lucas asked, his smile growing into a smirk.
"You really filled the position of being a show-off just like your father," Sadie stated, and Lucas gleamed as she led him back inside.
"I am taking that as a compliment," Lucas muttered, and Sadie rolled her eyes.
"Of course you are," she said, squeezing her son's shoulders as they went through the door. Lucas looked at a picture of Finnick as they walked through the hallway. He would often sneak out of bed at night to sit under the picture and tell his father about his day. He overthought about what it would feel like to talk to his father in person, not at a portrait. Maybe possibly even hug him or compete with him in a diving contest. Lucas was undefeated after all.
But he always told himself he would have to wait until he died to see his father, wherever he was. And he was willing to wait a lifetime if it meant an eternity with his father.
Sadie led Lucas into the kitchen, where she had dinner prepared for them, and they sat down, beginning to eat. It was a simple soup recipe of her mother's Sadie often made. Lucas stared down at the full bowl and sighed. "Tell me one more thing about him," he begged, and Sadie looked up.
"But you already got your fact today," Sadie teased, and Lucas gave her pleading eyes. Sadie sighed before trying to think of something. "Your father hated bourbon," they both laughed at the random fact.
Lucas popped one of the sugar cubes from the small bowl always in the middle of the dining table into his mouth and chuckled. "That sounds like him."
