‹ Prequel: Between the Sea & Me
Shattered Seashell
golden boy
For as long as the little boy could remember, he had worried about his mother.
Even at that young age, he’d been able to perceive her eccentricities, all-too-aware that these were not the things that normal mothers did. Though he never once doubted her love for him, that she’d move heaven and earth for her little boy, it was hard to ignore the stares others would cast in their direction whenever the two of them ventured into the town square, the words people whispered behind their hands when the mother and child were at the fish market.
“She’s insane,” they’d say. “She lost her mind right after her Games all those years ago. It’s kind of sad, actually.”
“You know Finnick was the only thing holding her together.”
“I don’t see how they let her raise that child of theirs on her own. She has to be an unfit mother.”
But they were all wrong because she was the best mother that Dylan could’ve ever asked for. Though there were the nights he’d hear her sobbing though the walls once she thought he’d fallen asleep, the brief instances when her seafoam eyes would turn to glass, when her mind was somewhere else entirely, she always took care of him. She always treated him as if he was the most treasured person in the world. Her was her little prince, her miracle baby, her golden boy: the life preserver that had kept her afloat after his father’s death. Dylan was the one thread she had left of her unraveled life to hold onto.
Sometimes, he’d catch her talking to herself, murmuring despondent love letters to the sea, to his father, and it scared him. Other times, she’d mistakenly call him by his father’s name before she’d realize that Finnick was gone, that he was never coming back. Afterwards, she’d grow silent, her lips trembling as she struggled to stay strong for her son, and Dylan would feel burdened by guilt just for being alive. He didn’t want to be a constant reminder of the love his mother had had torn from her grasp.
But above all else, she was his mother, and her love for him was as vast and endless as the deep blue sea. She taught him the ways of their district, like how to fish in the same way that her father had taught her as a child and how to weave things from the dense seagrass that grew around their home. There were those wondrously magical days that the two of them would spend building entire kingdoms out of sand and collecting the various shells and oddities that had washed up on the shore. They gave a home to all of the odds and ends that had been abandoned by the tide, the shattered seashells that could never be sold in the market or transformed into jewelry, if only because those were the things that both of them seemed to be the most drawn to. Because every little thing that’s broken and beaten down by the world needs that one person who still sees the beauty in it.
Even at that young age, he’d been able to perceive her eccentricities, all-too-aware that these were not the things that normal mothers did. Though he never once doubted her love for him, that she’d move heaven and earth for her little boy, it was hard to ignore the stares others would cast in their direction whenever the two of them ventured into the town square, the words people whispered behind their hands when the mother and child were at the fish market.
“She’s insane,” they’d say. “She lost her mind right after her Games all those years ago. It’s kind of sad, actually.”
“You know Finnick was the only thing holding her together.”
“I don’t see how they let her raise that child of theirs on her own. She has to be an unfit mother.”
But they were all wrong because she was the best mother that Dylan could’ve ever asked for. Though there were the nights he’d hear her sobbing though the walls once she thought he’d fallen asleep, the brief instances when her seafoam eyes would turn to glass, when her mind was somewhere else entirely, she always took care of him. She always treated him as if he was the most treasured person in the world. Her was her little prince, her miracle baby, her golden boy: the life preserver that had kept her afloat after his father’s death. Dylan was the one thread she had left of her unraveled life to hold onto.
Sometimes, he’d catch her talking to herself, murmuring despondent love letters to the sea, to his father, and it scared him. Other times, she’d mistakenly call him by his father’s name before she’d realize that Finnick was gone, that he was never coming back. Afterwards, she’d grow silent, her lips trembling as she struggled to stay strong for her son, and Dylan would feel burdened by guilt just for being alive. He didn’t want to be a constant reminder of the love his mother had had torn from her grasp.
But above all else, she was his mother, and her love for him was as vast and endless as the deep blue sea. She taught him the ways of their district, like how to fish in the same way that her father had taught her as a child and how to weave things from the dense seagrass that grew around their home. There were those wondrously magical days that the two of them would spend building entire kingdoms out of sand and collecting the various shells and oddities that had washed up on the shore. They gave a home to all of the odds and ends that had been abandoned by the tide, the shattered seashells that could never be sold in the market or transformed into jewelry, if only because those were the things that both of them seemed to be the most drawn to. Because every little thing that’s broken and beaten down by the world needs that one person who still sees the beauty in it.