365 days.— [prop/vasco | blitz]

[Deleted]

It's officially been a year since Six died. A full 365 days. And every single one of this has been Hell. Maybe some days were better than others. But were any of them really good? Had a single day gone by I didn't think about Six? That I didn't miss him? Would it ever get better? And then today, I watched my cousin kill someone on national TV.

Abel was struggling with his friends death, that much was obvious. It hurt my heart to watch, to watch my cousin so sad. To know that no matter how far he made it he could end up like Six did. That all of the pain and torment he felt now could be for nothing. And now? Now was probably even worse for him. He killed a human fucking being, how do you come back from that?

I would have to ask him or Kassandra that when this was all over in a few days. Whether he came back in a coffin or on a train would determine who I asked. After I saw he was alright, I couldn't watch the games anymore. I was tired of it all, honestly. It has hurt my family enough. It has hurt this entire district enough. Because before it was the O'Malleys, it was the Izars.

I knocked on Vasco Izar's front door. If he wasn't here, I'd check the mayors office next. But, there were less Peacekeepers here. Less of a chance of having to deal with my Uncle Cliff. I knew Cliff was pissed at me. Cain was pissed at me. Noah was probably pissed too. They all blamed me for Abel going in. Don't they realise I never wanted him to?

I knocked again, speaking up, "Vasco! It's Prop, are ya here!?"

For once I didn't smell of cigarette smoke, I wondered if he was proud of that. I was proud of it. I had been wanting to quit anyway, don't need my siblings getting any idea. Being finding out about Cleome... that's what set me over the edge. Maybe I could ask him about that too. But he already had to deal with enough death without me adding to the pile. And even his salary couldn't give her the treatment she needs. After all, they don't bother with those treatments in our district no matter how much money you have. Surviving it is for careers and Capitolites, not farmers.

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

v a s c o

So say, say what you want
Dose up on fiction, disfigure the truth
While I walk, life beating on
Aching for others, with love that stops short

I clicked my tongue and tugged the donkey forward. The plow scraped clean against the cracks of the earth pitching up dust behind us. Yani ambled along the other side, each of us quiet save for our boots crunching against the dirt. I held a moment to brush at the burro’s neck. He tilted his head into my hand, nostrils flaring with a huff. We marched under the heat of a yellow sun, bathed in the warmth and sleepy under its spell.

Yani had shown up at my office at the start of the games to ask for something to do. She’d stood with her hands behind her back, little smile tucking up under her cheeks, ready to explain that there simply wasn’t anything else to do. Not while the games blared across the district with images of boys and girls set about killing one another. Of the sad faces of men and women that she passed, stretched out across another year of desolation. For her, the games brought a nostalgia that could never rest in her stomach. It twisted down her throat and into her heart; she could only be reminded of a sister and cousins she’d never know looking at those screens.

But – that had been the reason I’d imagined, at least.

Because I’d selfishly thought that a girl her age would be trapped in grief, no matter what affection Emma or I had showered her with. She was destined to grow underneath the same gnarled trees and soil the rest of us had. I could only hope to defend against the worst of it, and that she’d one day turn around to a dawn that looked far different than what I’d ever seen.

She’d asked if she could help me file away my papers and take notes in whatever meetings a mayor would have. Boring work I’d have had Magdalena do, if I could ever find Magdalena (she seemed to disappear when any work needed to be done). So, I’d stood from my chair and offered her the chance to while away hours in the office, contending with the soft voiced meetings and capitol paperwork that crossed my desk.

At the start of my meeting with the district council, she’d made sure I had a fresh cup of tea and a brownie in front of me. And when I’d been in a meeting with a pair of peacekeepers to negotiate their level of force, she’d found time to knock at the door and pull me away when things had come to a standstill. In fact, as the week had worn on, Yani crept around corners with the same smile, sometimes a little wink (ya voy, she’d sing-song).

And we crept out of the doldrums, together. What started as a week in grays and black splashed into color, the two of us tackling the menial and mundane as though each time we faced no greater odds. We chattered away at lunch about all the nonsense work it meant to be mayor, and then too, the hard decisions that crossed my desk. And each time she drank up the stories, chittering her questions.

"Aren’t you tired," I’d asked her as the games had started, "you could be out with your friends or anywhere else." We’d at breakfast in the pale light of morning, me with my coffee and her with a slice of buttered toast.

'I thought about how I felt after the reaping,' she’d said, voice steady, 'and how when I looked at you on the stage, and it’d made me feel. That even when they’d pulled out a name I felt safe. And I wanted to hold onto that feeling, too.'

"Huh." I’d said, but I don’t know. "You don't have to worry about me, you know?" My voice had gone quiet, not matter how loud my heart had beat.

'Oh I know,' she’d taken a bite of her toast, 'But I thought about how every games you spent so much time taking care of everyone else. And I just thought – well – maybe we could spend it together. I thought I’d feel better and maybe you would, too.'

I’d called ahead to the office to say I’d be in the fields that day, tilling out with Yani.

She’d taken the burro when I’d gone inside to fetch some sweet tea for us. Yani had some over at a neighbor’s and contended we drink it, which meant making batches and batches. I’d been filling up a few canteens when a knock had come at the door.

'Vasco, it’s Prop! Are ya here?'

I let out a whistle and start down the hall, hardwood creaking as I opened the door.

His face says more in the first few moments than his voice had but, I didn’t have to think long about how he must’ve been. Six and then Abel, his family troubled, his heart had to have been, too.

“Buenas, Prop.” I stood back from the door and offered him space to come in, “It’s good to see you. I was just getting something in the kitchen. Care to have some sweet tea with me and Yani? She’s out back right now, but she’ll come in soon.”

I motioned toward the kitchen and took a step before turning back over my shoulder.

“Are you hungry? I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve seen you – I, well I meant to come to you. I don’t have a good reason not to have, except I’ve been spending so much time with Yani. I think I lost track of part of what I should’ve been attending to.” As I spoke I wondered if I should’ve felt more shame. But then I’d felt less tired, been less distracted these games. “It’s good to see you.”

elegant

[Deleted]

I was confused when Vasco opened the door.

He was… he was happy. That wasn’t normally surprising. For some reason that man always finds a way to bring light to even the darkest of situations. But, fuck man. Did he even know what had happened the last couple days in the games? The girl from Eleven dying. Abel’s district partner dying. Abel killing someone before the sun even fully rose today.

Not even he would smile  through all of that chaos and pain. Part of me didn’t want to tell him. But he had to know. And he mentioned his daughter, Yani. I knew she was young, Inside mentioned she was in the same class as the mayors daughter. And she didn’t need to hear about all of this. Especially if I did tell him about Cleome. I wanted to be quick, at least with the hard parts.

Kids around Panem have to grow up fast. I know that as well as anyone. But looking at my little siblings, even Lock who is almost a man now, it’s hard. It’s hard to think that they’re being forced to grow up earlier than they should. And watching my siblings have to cope with Six’s death, I know one thing in my heart. The more pain we can shield them from, the better. Even if they had stared death in the face 100 times before, we should try to protect them from ever having a 101st time or 102nd or whatever. Just because they do grow up earlier than they should doesn’t mean we have to stand by and let it happen.

So I got straight to the point as I followed him into the kitchen, “Abel… he fucking killed someone today man. Before the sun was even fully up. He just threw a javelin into someone’s eye socket and it went out of the back of their head. He fucking killed someone. I watched my little cousin… be someone he wasn’t. How the fuck do you process that? How did you process Raquel?”

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

v a s c o

So say, say what you want
Dose up on fiction, disfigure the truth
While I walk, life beating on
Aching for others, with love that stops short

I listened to him speak from the edge of the kitchen. I filled up a couple of glasses with tea and dropped in a few spare ice cubes from the ice box. From the window I could see Yani still milling about with the donkey. I took a sip of the sweet tea and clicked my tongue against my teeth. Plenty of people in eleven had offered me the stuff over the years, but it was Yani who’d got me to make it in my own house.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” which felt like the sort of answer any man could’ve given, not the mayor of district eleven. Not the one that’d always promised to have their backs. And where I should’ve found guilt there was only calm. As though age had dulled what could’ve been shame, I was happy not to have been touched by grief just as soon as it’d happened. It’d taken me a long time to learn that staying healthy meant I didn’t have to know everything all the time.

I moved back toward the living room, my old boots scuffing against the hardwood. I offered the glass of sweet tea to him. A little drop of condensation came down the glass and trickled over my index finger.

“I didn’t process it, mijo.” My voice carried out just above the whir of the ceiling fan. “No, I – I didn’t take any of it so good.” I held my glass in my hands and thought about how I would’ve added some tequila if I’d known this was what I’d be talking about that afternoon. “I barely slept that week while she was alive. I watched her every second I could, even when she’d gone to sleep. Because I thought, well maybe if I watched her, it’d keep her safe. Or that I wouldn’t forget who she was.”

But all the prayers hadn’t brought her home; no one had shown her grace when she needed it most.

“Who she was in there, what she did… how could I judge her for it? I didn’t even have the strength to watch what they’d turned her into.” I rubbed a hand across my face and shook my head. “I blamed myself. For what she had to endure. And for not doing something, anything.” It’d been a long while since I’d buried myself in those memories. I’d always thought if I lingered too long in them, I’d drown.

“It didn’t stop me from coming apart every time I saw her fight for her life.”

elegant

[Deleted]

It was shocking how far Vasco and I had come. When I first met him just over a year ago I spat in his face, being too smart to punch the mayor of my district no matter how much I wanted to. I wanted to say I had grown since then, but my fist fight with Kassandra proved otherwise. At the very least, I understood more. I understood trying to control myself, no matter how hard it was. I understood not everyone was my enemy. The old Prop wouldn't have given Cleome the time of day, so at least I can be grateful I met her after Six died.

That was the catalyst really, him dying. When he died, I fell apart. No amount of booze or cigarettes or even weed could make it any better. None of that would bring him back. And I hated myself, I blamed myself for never volunteering. I still blame myself. But, I was able to lean-on other people where the booze and cigarettes failed. I found comfort in my family, in my siblings. Instead of letting my thoughts spill out as anger, I began to write them down and let them spill onto the paper instead.

I thought about apologising for last year, but what would be the point in that? Apologising wouldn't undo what I had done or said. Apologising wouldn't bring Six back from the dead. I was prepared to apologise to Six by making sure no other O'Malleys had been reaped. When I was called up, I was prepared to die so my family could live. I guess Abel had similar thoughts. Even if there was nothing I could do to stop him, it was still my fault.

Anything that happened to him was my fault. I saw Vasco blaming himself and me blaming myself as different because of this. Nothing he did caused Raquel to be reaped and there was nothing he could have done to stop it. I could have stopped Six. I should have volunteered. And with Abel? With Abel it was because of me he volunteered. If anyone else had gotten reaped, he would have stayed quiet. And now his side of the family won't even talk to me - not that I blame them. I sipped the sweet tea, not wanting to overwhelm the poor man.

"I just... I don't get why he volunteered.     He said because my leg was broken but Abel isn't... he isn't like they're showing him. People are making him out to be some sort of secret weapon. Him shooting a mutt in the eye, his score, and now this. He's not... he's not like the guy who killed Six. He has more confidence than Six, but not much. And he's never been much of a leader, always following around Cain. Whatever he's turning into, it's because of me..."

I took a deep breath once I realised how much I was shaking. I thought back to Abel. Him and Lock used to be such good friends as kids until Cain started bullying Lock. After all, once Cain started doing something so would Abel. Abel was a little bit of a scrapper, but he's always been scrawny even by O'Malley standards - especially for that part of the family. Look at Noah and Cain. He wasn't whatever I saw on TV.

"If he comes home, which version will I see? The one I remember, or the one they're shoving down my fucking throat?"