And We Will Grow [Sampson]

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar

•••

I want to change the world

[/color]
Instead I sleep
I want to believe in more than you and me[/center]

•••

I’m at his favorite spot.

We used to come down by the creek, just down the hill from the gnarled oak tree—the one that had our names carved into it—and sit under the stars. He used to get real quiet and lay back in the grass, and stare up at the sky. We sat through fireflies and the summer heat; we inched through the snow and watched the ice steal away the water. When we were younger—when I was six and he was twelve—we’d skip rocks and tell tales and stay out as late as we could before Poppa would threaten us with a switch. And sometimes he’d hide behind the oak tree when Poppa came around, so he could jump out and scare him half to death. Except I don’t think he was ever really scared.

It’s quiet here. I think he liked that most. The sounds of the creek slip up and into the night air. Every so often I hear a rustle of the corn or the wheat in the fields. We could spend hours not saying anything. It was never the kind of talk that I see other people do. How was your day? How’s the weather? [/i] He didn’t have a mind for that. He could always tell how I felt, anyway. [/color] So we would talk about the stars, about life. He taught me that you never buy what you can get for free, that sometimes it’s better to say less than to let your mouth run, that the best way to catch a crawdad was with two hands. I ate up every word like I was starving.

And sometimes we would lay there for a while, and he’d let me think. Listen. He’d say and put his arms up over his head. Listen to it. And we’d watch the sky and the stars. We’d hear the wheat and the corn and the brook. But we wouldn’t say nothing. I liked this most of all, because I felt like someone was listening. That we were listening to each other, me and him.

We talked about the stars. He said, there’s more of them than any of us.[/color] I’d scratch my head because I couldn’t count as high as the number of stars I saw, but it couldn’t have been more than what we have in Panem. But he told me that there’s so much more in the sky than we can see, on account of what we know and what our eyes can see. Our Grandpa used to say things like this; he said that there was a lot of stuff we didn’t know that got lost. He said that the earth was just one place in a billion places, and that everything out there made us like sand on the beach. It made my head hurt.

After Grandpa died, I didn’t feel much like talking about the stars. We didn’t come out here for a few weeks. I don’t know if it was because he was sad or because I was sad, or that the both of us knew we’d have to say something. Death was a strange and distant thing because I’d never known anyone as close as Grandpa that had died. One day he was here, sitting on a rocker, smoking a pipe. The next he was put in a wooden box and buried down in dirt near the old saw mill. And then people stopped talking about it, about him, like he’d never been anything at all. And it made me wonder if we were ever anything at all—because what happens to you after you die, if you just disappear?[/color]

I cried a lot that week.

Momma tried to shush me and tell me I was silly, and Poppa told me it was the way of the world. Death is a release for us, he said, for which we ought be thankful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone as I did that night. I couldn’t stop crying. I thought Benat or Deval was going to beat me over the head. I heard Benat get up from our bed—there’s one big one for me, him, and Deval—and give me a tug on the shoulder. I got up and hugged him; I didn’t want him to hit me. But he took my hand and led me outside, down the dirt road, up along the creek.

We sat down on our butts by the reeds. I crossed my arms across my chest, and he gave me his vest so I wouldn’t get cold. We didn’t say anything for a good while. He just looked up at the stars, and to me, with a stupid smile on his face. I don’t feel good. I said. My stomach hurt and my eyes burned. And worst of all I missed Grandpa. What hurts? He leaned in close. Nothing. I don’t know. I looked down at the grass and played with it in my hands. I’m just sad. I can’t stop being sad. He nodded and lifted his eyebrows. Okay. Benat leaned back. About Grandpa?

I nodded. And then I shook my head. Sorta. But… I scratched behind my head. [/color]He’s gone now. And I can’t stop thinking about… being gone, too. He furrowed his brow. I knew he was a lot braver than me, though most of the time he treated the world like a joke. It was hard to get him to be serious. That’s scary. He admitted. I don’t like it either. And then he looked at me, and me at him—I didn’t see the same person that ran ahead all the time. I didn’t see him a whole head taller than me. I saw the lines in his face and the bags under his eyes. It made me chew my lip and look away. I didn’t like him being afraid, too.

But we ain’t got much of a choice. Benat whispered and drew his legs up to his chest. On account that everybody goes, sometimes before we want them to. I leaned over to put my head on his shoulder. I could already feel myself ready to cry again. I felt like even littler of a kid than I was. It’s not fair. I whispered, short of breath. It’s not. He nodded along with me, but kept looking back up at the stars. I let out a sigh. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer. It was warm against him, and I wiped away my tears to see what he was looking at.

Grandpa used to talk a lot about the stars. Benat started like he was trying to figure it out, his voice distant. He told me about how there are too many of them to know. He said the sun is one, and it’s giant and massive and bright. And there’s a hundred billion more, and more even. I wiped a hand across my nose and wondered what he was talking about. But he said that everything here came from out there. The dirt. And the water. And everything we need around us. I didn’t question him, though I felt like Grandpa said a lot of things that didn’t make sense.

He told me that when we get put in the earth we turn into it, too—that’s how it works. Now I knew he was crazy, I couldn’t see how that would happen. But that one day… all of us are gonna turn into something… like that, the stars, the sun, the moon… we’re all a part of that and we’ll be a part again. Because he said… we’re made of stars, you know? You and me, and all of it. Stardust.

I’ve never believed in anything more in my whole life.

I’m underneath the oak tree, but I can’t go any further. The spring has cleared away the snow, and all around me the grass is rising with clovers. I should feel a sense of calm—it’ll be a few good months before the heat of summer settles—but once again my mind wanders back to Benat. I should take his advice—that we’re all stardust, right? We are connected because we’re born from the same things; we’re made of the same dirt that we die in—and return to. But I can’t be satisfied. I can’t see how the world would rip someone—not just anyone, my brother—from me. It’s unexplainable… it’s…

It’s like standing over the edge of a cavern with him hanging over, hanging on with just my hand in his. I don’t want to let go, but it hurts to hold on. He’s slipping away from me and if I let go I know I’m going to lose him forever. But if I keep holding on I can’t get anywhere, either. I’ll be stuck, holding onto his hands, watching him watching me. He’s already lost—but I can’t let go now, not yet.

The rest of them say nothing, because we’re not supposed to say. We’re just supposed to get over it and feel better. Just… get past what they took from me. Go ahead and move on… let them win. But even though there are plenty of other people that have gone through it, even though there are boys and girls in this district that miss their brothers and sisters… I can’t. I won’t. He was my brother, he was… It’s like an aching that won’t heal. Like a pain that breaks me down and has me crying all the time. I’m only twelve and I’m a boy but I can’t help it… I can’t not feel it. Maybe if he were here he’d teach me not to be such a baby. He’d tell me something that would make sense, about how I’m supposed to let go and move on since he ain’t ever coming back. But he’s not here to tell me what to do—and no one’s going to learn me.

I put my hands in the creek’s cool water. I grab at the smooth stones under the surface. I turn them over and over again in my hands. We used to skip them down the way, trying to see who could get them the farthest. Numbness overtakes my fingers in the cool of the water, and still I hold onto the rocks. Little prickles of pain run along the palm of my hand. At least I can still feel, I muse, even with him gone. The wind blows hair into my face. For the tiniest of moments I contemplate throwing myself into the creek to drench my entire body in the cold. Instead I move my hands above the surface. They shake in the cold, all muddied from the bed of the river.

I just want to know why.[/color] That’s all. Why it had to be him, of everyone? Why did they have to take someone that was good, that hadn’t ever hurt nobody—he didn’t even kill nobody in the arena—just to be a part of their show? He wasn’t supposed to go first… he wasn’t supposed to die and leave us this way. They say I’m stupid for crying about it, I should have cried everything out since he’d left. But I had hope that he’d be back, and that we’d be here, looking at the stars again. I keep looking up as if he’s going to come out of the bush and scare me again, but I know it’s a big fat lie.

And then I’m crying again.

My shoulders shake as the sobs come, down from the bottom of my stomach and up through my throat. I bring the fists full of pebbles up to my chest and I break—I lower my chin against my chest and cry again. We’re all stardust,[/color] I whisper, over and over, we’re all stardust. [/color]But it doesn’t do anything for the tightness in my throat. It doesn’t stop my hands from shaking. It doesn’t make the tears any less real, or the want—the need—for Benat to be back on the farm. At this point it’s as though it would always be this way, with a pain stabbing through me and breaking me down. I’m all of twelve, nearly thirteen, but here and now I’m no more than a child. Just a little kid missing his big brother—forever and always.[/color]

•••

But all that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now...

[/color]

•••

[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[Sampson]

Once, during one of the many nights I spent pacing our small home with cold feet, I heard Sampson whisper something about "stardust". Benat used to have a philosophy about it, but the only thing I really remember of it is that one word. The one time I'd overheard it, I was too focused on coming up with my own philosophy that would make his seem insignificant. I was such a child—a fool. I really wish I had listened to him when he'd explained it. But I mean, if you think about it, I was actually being polite by not listening when Benat was talking to Sampson that night about stardust. It wasn't my conversation to listen to. Benat hadn't grabbed me and pulled me outside because I couldn't stop crying about Grandpa. It was Sampson that needed to hear what Benat had to say. I'd just tagged along because they'd woken me up after making so much commotion from crawling out of our shared bed.

When I heard that one word that night not too long ago, I'd lingered by Sampson for quite awhile. He was alone in our large bed, which seemed so much bigger now that Benat no longer shared it with us. I had more trouble sleeping in it than I normally did, hence why I had resorted to watching Sampson. I didn't mean to, honestly. I normally left Sampson alone, especially when he was besides himself (which was a lot recently), but that time, I'd wanted to see if he'd mutter more things about Benat's old saying. I almost wanted to grab his shoulder and shake him until he woke up, just so I could demand for him to explain what Benat's philosophy had been because I couldn't remember. But I'd kept my hands at my side, unwillingly to yank him from the small peace he might have felt in sleep.

Now, pacing the rows of trees that make the many orchards of District 11, I'm racking my brain for Benat's words. I must have listened somewhat to his talk with Sampson that night. How else would I have insisted on crafting my own philosophy? If I hadn't known what Benat's original one was, I'd have had nothing to compare my own to. And now I can't remember and it's killing me. The only thing I can recall are the multiple failed attempts I had at making my own life saying about stars or dust or some combination of both. I can only recall yet another failure to upstage my older brother. What had he said? My fingers begin to anxiously peel off the bark of a nearby tree as I stop to think.

"But that one day… all of us are gonna turn into something… like that, the stars, the sun, the moon…" the thought passes through my mind like an unknown ghost, not registering as a memory until a few moments later. It was not my own words speaking; I remembered something of Benat's words afterall.
My fingers close around a slab of bark and I smash my fist into the trunk of the warm tree. The small portion of Benat's words was not what I had been searching for. Turning into stars, suns, moons? I can't believe it. He'd let our crazy, demented grandfather get in his head and I guess he'd infected Sampson too. Because it's impossible. I know it. We are just people, small, insignificant people that hold more power than we should. We're bones with some meat, some flesh and a heartbeat, but nothing more. We could never go on to be anything so great as stars or suns. Our kind is far too dull for that.
Then Benat had become what? After dying, where had he gone? Did he really think he'd just float up and become part of the night sky? I wonder as I pace the trees. If Benat became—say I go along with his philosophy for a just a moment—a star, where would he stay in the daytime? A smirk parts my pale lips, for I think I've just beaten him. He couldn't have become a star because the sun swallows stars in the daylight. Benat was bright enough to never be outshined, that I know. I flip the piece of bark into the air like a coin as I pick up my pace a little. My feet only falter when I realize the stars aren't actually gone in the day or that Benat could have very well been the sun, too. There are so many options in the sky. Benat. What are you? A star? The sun? The moon? Which one? You said yourself—you did, I remember—that we become one of those. So which one are you now? My mind talks like he's in there, listening and waiting. And then it hits me like a blow to the gut. Or should I say a dart from a blowgun?

"We’re made of stars, you know? You and me, and all of it. Stardust."

The memory was buried, but I realize now that I did pay attention to Benat's philosophy. It stops me in my tracks, for I have been proven wrong and given an answer all at once. Those words, simple and heartfelt, had been my brother's thoughts on death. I think they're crazy. I think that no human—save Benat, maybe—could ever amount to anything as great as the objects that greet us every day and every night in the sky. I think it's just the deranged beliefs of a dead boy. But I believe it. With every fiber of my being, I commit myself to Benat's philosophy. He was my older brother, the shadow that constantly dwarfed me, and now I want nothing more than to remember him. I want to be with him. To be with him would mean to die and to ensure I end up right back beneath his shadow, right where I belong, I have to believe in our similar ends. I have to believe that I am stardust and I will join him in the darkness soon enough. I just don't want to choke on stardust while I'm looking for the breath of a life. His end can't be the thing that breaks me.
Yet, I know it defines me more than I'd like and I can't help it. How do you move one? How do you breathe without choking if everything is made of stardust? My fist tightens around the rough surface of the bark, crushing it beneath my pale fingers. They release the remains of the broken, letting the pieces fall away to the earth.

I could have volunteered.

A pain, worse than any broken bone, pierces my heart and I clutch my shirt with frantic fingers. I whimper, my chin quivering as I beg for the pain to stop. It's unbearable, something that strikes me so suddenly that I am blinded by its existence. I could have volunteered. The thought adds another pulse of anguish to course through my body. It has begun. At first, the guilt wasn't a physical problem. The first few nights after the Reaping, I hadn't been crippled by the gnawing weight in my heart. Now, as I am suddenly running through the trees once again, I can't breathe. I was 15. My boot slips in a pile of moist, decaying leaves, sending my right shoulder slamming into a nearby tree. I cry out through angry tears, but I can't stop moving. Sampson was 12. He couldn't have taken Benat's place. But what was I? 15. 15. 15. My body keeps moving in rigid movements. I don't know where I'm going, but I can't stand to keep still when my mind betrays me. He was 18. That was his last time. I could have gone for him. The Izars would have never had to worry about losing him again, if I had just taken his place. Sampson would have his big brother and I'd be dead, but what could I do for the family that Benat couldn't do better? And it all makes sense so I'm still fleeing. I'm running from death, from becoming stardust or stars or whatever it was Benat wanted to be. I was so wrong to let him go. I was so selfish to stand there in silence and act like I shouldn't have been the one to go. I should have volunteered.
Sampson would have his older brother to guide him, not me, not the fool who doesn't know if he's the middle or the oldest. He would have Benat to talk to when he can't stop crying. Instead, I'm there, avoiding him around every corner like he has some kind of illness because either I'm ashamed that I let our brother die or because I just don't know how to handle his tears. If he is disappointed in me, I wouldn't blame him, but it would kill me. But death would mean becoming stardust and Benat and maybe clarity. How bad could it be?
Benat would be alive if I had taken his position as tribute. He would have turned 19 and become untouchable to the Reaping. He would have worked to support the family and kept everyone happy with his little jokes. His shoes would have remained filled and the title of eldest would have stayed with him. Benat would have accomplished everything and still kept a smile, while here I am, running away.

My feet begin to sink as I come upon the river. The muddy banks swallow my boots and I'm stumbling forward. I feel cold water splash on my legs as I falter with my footing and rip through the river's stomach. I'm standing in the liquid when the words break through the sound of my heartbeat and my breathing.
"We're all stadust," the voice is a whisper. Inhaling the warm Spring air with deep, frantic gulps, I'm too focused on catching my breath to look for the speaker at first. It has to be my own imagination. Or Benat's ghost.
"We're all stardust," my eyes finally find the source. It is Benat's ghost afterall, that plagued thing I've been trying to avoid for so long—Sampson. My heart drops to my stomach. He's crying again. I'm so sorry.

For a moment, I consider the idea of continuing to run. I wonder if my legs can carry me far enough to get me away from the guilt eating at my heart. It's a foolish thought, but foolish thoughts are common for those who are fools. But I am tired and I know that running can't be my answer forever. My eyes staring at the handful of pebbles in Sampson's fists, I drag my boots through the water and muck towards him. The cold of the water has seeped through the leather of my shoes and it makes me numb as I sink to my knees beside my brother. Gently, I let my pale hands overlap Sampson's. He has to let go. I press my fingers into his skin, willing him to let the rocks fall.
"I-I-I'm so sorry," I barely get the words out.

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar

•••

I want to change the world
Instead I sleep
I want to believe in more than you and me

•••

We’re not supposed to be alone.

Even now, kneeling down by the river where Benat and I used to be, I’m not left to be. Deval comes thrashing through the trees and into the river, startling me, sending the first few pebbles tumbling into the water from my hands. I can’t stop my body from shaking, the sobs still sending a pulse up through my throat and out into the night air. I’m sure I sound like some dying animal, probably look like one too. Benat would have laughed at me, said I was just a big ol’ puddle of nothing. Baby, baby, don’t be a baby,

[/color] he’d tease me. Don’t be a baby, ‘cause I got done changing your diapers ten years ago.[/color] Ain’t anything that makes me feel better, knowing he would’ve tried to make me laugh. And now he’s gone—nothing but the words on my lips or the little memory in my head.

If he really was made of stardust, he’d be everywhere—wrapped up and around everything. But he ain’t, no more than he’s on the silly rocks I’ve scooped up from the bed of the river. It makes me feel stupid[/color]. Stupid and small, like the whole world will always see me. Why was I supposed to know what to do? Even in a place where they taught us every year that life was a sacrifice[/color], how was I supposed to know that I had to give up someone I loved for the rest of the world? My hands are cold, water dripping down off the rocks and stinging my fingers. I don’t care about nobody else[/color]. It’s selfish and it ain’t right, but I don’t care—not about momma, or poppa, or Deval, or anyone else in this dumb old place. If I could trade them all just for another five minutes with Benat I’d do it.

It just… it hurts me something awful, standing there, out under the stars without him. I hadn’t thought about the emptiness—I hadn’t known, lying in bed, how much bigger it would seem without his heavy body next to my own. He wasn’t even that tall or big or nothing, but the space between me and Deval is continents, worlds, universes[/color] away. And the silence without his snoring—he used to wheeze something awful at night sometimes—I can’t sleep right. Even tonight there ain’t as many stars—has he taken some of them away, too[/color]? I want to braver, I want to feel like the world ain’t crashing down on top of me. He told me to be strong—I remember his voice clear as day[/color]—because he knew that he wasn’t coming back. But here I am, shaking in the night, missing him with my whole heart[/color].

When Deval’s hands creep atop my own they bring warmth that burns my hands. My eyes are still full of tears when I look at his face. We haven’t talked much since he’d gone away—not that we did much before—but there was even less love between the two of us. Where Benat had been gentle with me, guided me, taught me, there was that same distance between me and Deval. He was still older—smart, maybe smarter than Benat, even—but he struck me as… as the same as the rest of District 11. He was normal—good at his job, clever, never seemed to question papa. Where Benat was the sun, Deval was the moon—living in his twilight.

I wasn’t naïve enough to think he didn’t hurt. We all did. Momma and papa too. It was a shared grief—just like everything else[/color]. We was supposed to feel bad together, to smile when it hurt, to rebuild when the victory tour came through, and to move on like nothing ever happened. That’s what made me pull my hands back, scattering more pebbles into the water. I let out a croak as he whispered his apologies. I-I-I'm so sorry…[/color] The words drip down his mouth and I close my eyes again. Here the two of us are, standing in the muck under the stars, and he wants to apologize for something that he couldn’t save us from? I want him to let get of me—no[/color]—I want him to go away. He’s not allowed to share in this place with me, it wasn’t his. It was mine. This place was MINE. Couldn’t anyone understand?[/color]

“No,” I whisper as I pull back. “No. No you can’t! Don’t. Don’t you apologize…” I shake my head at him. He thinks this is about him, they all think they’re allowed to take what little I have left and make it their own[/color]. It ain’t fair. All I’ve ever been is behind the both of them, never once myself—never once on my own, ‘cause I’m too young. And now Deval had to ruin this too. He couldn’t just let me lie; he couldn’t just let me cry when I needed to. ‘Cause he’d never understand me the way Benat would. He didn’t have the touch, he didn’t know what to say or what my favorite color was or that I’d accidently called a boy cute instead of handsome and had been laughed at for weeks. “Get away… you just…”

I clench my fist around the pebbles and bring my fists down by my sides. Like a fire started down in my chest, the anger is tearing to get up and out of me. I just want to hit something—I want to smack something so hard and break it into little pieces. I want to tear apart the limbs of the oak tree and smash it down into nothing. Or claw at the muck of the riverbed until I can’t lift up no more. And then maybe—when I’ve exhausted every ounce of fevered strength, I can fill the emptiness with sleep. Ain’t no way Deval understood, apologizing for Benat’s death.[/color] It made me hate him. I let out another yell, and flung the remaining stones in my hands as hard and far as I could.

“Get away from me!” I heave out as I start toward the water. “You… you get away, just leave me alone!” I reach out my fists to give him as hard a shove as I can, and suddenly I’m waist deep in water. I’m thrashing about, wanting to smack him in the face, claw out his eyes. My little arms flail about as I continue to cry. “You don’t care, you don’t! You don’t care—none of you know, you don’t! You ain’t sorry, you ain’t never gonna be sorry! You ain’t ever been so sorry in your whole LIFE.” All the words are ugly, every last one. The heat fills my brow as I charge, tears down my cheeks again. They would never let me be alone—they would never understand just how much it hurt, would they?

•••

But all that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now

•••

[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[Sampson]

The cold that came from Sampson's hands left my skin almost as quickly as it had come, causing a shiver to waver through my body. It was the kind of cold one felt with death, something that only a corpse could carry. I can't stop the tremble of fear that passes through me. Has Benat's death meant two deaths for the family? I'm tempted to grab for Sampson's hands again, to see if my warmth might be added to his skin, but something tells me it would be inapt. My brother, my one remaining brother, is angry. I am not wanted and neither is my apology.
"No," Sampson's words begin and I withdraw as he does, "No. No you can’t! Don’t. Don’t you apologize…" The instinct to flee rises in me again. I can feel it in my chest, the similar ache that welled up when I remember anything about the 63rd Hunger Games. I'm ready to run. My legs just won't move. With their rigid muscles, stiff with the intention to run, they are stalled by the very chemical that sets them up for a quick escape. The numb feeling from the cold earlier has left my feet and I curl my toes into the thickness of my boots' leather. A quick sprint into the river and then beyond the horizon of trees—where pointed tops meet the clouds like spears to flesh—and I'd be gone. It would have been easy. My legs just stay locked and I realize I should have kept running while I had the chance.

"Remember, your body has the instinct to do one of two things, Deval: fight or flight." It's Benat's voice that I find sounding in my head. He had me in a headlock, rubbing his knuckle into my skull while he laughed away. While walking back from the fields, after a particularly long day harvesting various amounts of feed corn, Benat and I had taken a quicker route through the denser parts of the woods. I hadn't objected because of how exhausted I was and my desire to get home faster, even though I really hadn't known the path. It wasn't until Benat had slipped off into the shadows as some form of a prank, that I had realized my mistake. Alone in the middle of the trees, I became a target of unwanted attention. I was a sitting duck, unable to move forward due to my lack of knowledge of the route and unable to go back out of fear that Benat stalks there.
"Deval," the whisper made me turn towards one direction, but then suddenly something was colliding with me from the other side of the woods. I remember the feeling of air leaving my chest and my fists punching empty space. Benat had me in a headlock in no time flat. His noogie originally made me frantic, anxious to expel my older brother from me out of a fear that someone else would see me vulnerable. I pushed at him, muttering his name and hoping that he'd just let me go, but his grip didn't loosen at all.
"Benat," I growled as he continued to laugh. His laughter was a deep sound, one that echoed right up from his belly. I remember it as clearly as the rest of the memory. I remember how contagious it was and how impossible it had been to avoid joining in. At my own expense, I'd laughed. There had been no one there to mock me, no one there to judge me, and I'd finally let Benat have his fun. My arms relaxed and so did Benat's hold on me. Wiping away tears, my stomach hurt from cramping, but I still smiled at him as he spoke up again. Placing a big hand on my shoulder, pulling me to closer to him, he muttered.
"You're a fighter. That's your instinct."

It's Sampson's yelling that draws me away from my memories, away from Benat's lesson. His lesson. He'd said I was a fighter. So why do I want to run so badly now? Why are my feet pointed away from everything, from the angry mess that is my brother, Sampson? My dark eyes find his face in the shadows of the umbrage the tall trees provide. It's almost like I can visibly see the anger contorting his features. There are demons in my little brother, monsters that I cannot even begin to understand. He hurls the rocks he once held so tightly in his fists and I shrink back more. I try to think above Sampson's yelling.
"You… you get away, just leave me alone!" his voice is full of hate and I realize I've made things worse. So much worse. He is reaching for me, ready to attack the trigger that has just set him off.
"Go on, then! Go on. Hit me," I snarl back at him, watching him flail before me. I am a fighter. So I do what my instincts tells me. I ignore the needles in my feet that say 'flight' and allow my fist to draw back and say 'fight'. Be angry at me. I don't care. Hit me. I don't care. I've fought bigger, fought better. I'm angry at everyone. I'd fight anyone. You're no different, Samp— My arm trembles with anticipation. This is the moment where I will draw the line, where I will decide what kind of healing my brother and I will face. Will we hit each other until our draining blood as stolen all of our anger? No. It wouldn't be fighting, not with Sampson already so broken and weak before me. Striking my brother would be an act of mercy at this point.
“You don’t care, you don’t! You don’t care—none of you know, you don’t! You ain’t sorry, you ain’t never gonna be sorry! You ain’t ever been so sorry in your whole LIFE.” The words hit my ears and I'm forced to release my fist. My pale arm stretches towards him, fingers outstretched as if to hold him back by pressing against his forehead if he were to get too close. I won't hit him. I should have run. This is something I can't do. The writhing creature before me, up to his waist in the river wailing in agony, is out of my league. I have no idea how to handle him and the one who did is dead and I am such a fool. To stop and apologize? I've poured salt stardust in his wound.

“I don't give a cuss if I've never been sorry before,” I'm firing back at him because I am so confused about what to do, “But I'm sorry now.” I'd been sorry before then, ever since I'd allowed that one crucial moment to pass when I'd had the ability to save Benat. The guilt makes me want to hit Sampson, but I've already handled that urge. It still boils inside me as I remain poised to stop my brother from touching me, from harming me. But he means no harm, I know it. He's felt all the harm he can manage and now, this attack on me, is some kind of outburst that says "You don't know me." And I don't, so I can't say much besides apologize to myself because my little brother won't listen and he's the only one who could possibly understand. Yet, were just there, both yelling as we stand in equal dimensions where we are incapable of understanding the other.

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar

•••
I want to change the world
Instead I sleep
I want to believe in more than you and me
•••

I’m through the water in an instant, my shoes soaked to the bone as I struggle to reach Deval. My eyes are burning from the heat, and I can feel the snot dribble down my chin. I’m ugly as the feeling in my heart, the need—no, the want—to hurt Deval so he feels as badly as I do. He should be crying. He should be weeping the way I am, crying out to the stars for our brother

[/color] . Before I can get out a good hit he’s already got a hand against my forehead to push me back. I swing feebly, my arms swiping at the night air before losing my balance and landing on my butt, waist deep in the murky water. The loons call out from further on down the creek and mix with the chirp of the crickets. But I’m still crying, wailing like the babe I am, wet in the mess I’ve made of myself.

No one never told me about how to feel. The whole world runs like a great big machine: plant the crops, till the soil, water the soil, watch ‘em grow, rotate the crops, harvest, and start it all over again. Whether the sun burns our backs or the winter freezes our fingers, we go in and out whether we want to or not. Benat was just about the only one that could make me laugh—just about his whole life a joke—but now it seems like maybe we ain’t supposed to laugh at nothing at all. What good does living less seriously do? Got him killed, just about certain of that[/color]. But it aches, my chest it just hurts so bad. Maybe it’s the cold of the water or the shortness of my breath, but I can’t get the pain out. Even after all the anger and strength I threw at Deval, still hurts deep.

”I don't give a cuss if I've never been sorry before,” I hear the words even through my sniveling. It would serve me right for him to hit me, but the hands never come. I wipe my arm across my nose and look up at his face. “But I'm sorry now.” It hurts even worse, knowing he’s sorry for Benat’s death. Were they all sorry for just about the greatest brother in this whole universe[/color]? It can’t be what he means—ain’t nobody better than Benat, not for the man he was—and I try to stand again in the muddy water to face him. I’ll defend his honor until my own last breath, I’ll show him[/color]—but for irony or my own imbalance, I plunge to my knees in front of Deval. I let out another cry before sputtering out into a cough.

“Why can’t you just…” I move to wipe my hand across my eyes, dirt and all. “…be sad like me? Why you got to be so…” But the words don’t come, ‘cause even if I found ‘em, he wouldn’t know what they meant.

Three voices—was it three different languages we had? Seemed more like Benat was the interpreter, able to read just about every one of us for what we were. The fiddle that kept time— or no— the conductor to our poor orchestra. And now our voices ain’t in harmony—we ain’t the three stars on Orions belt anymore. We’re nothing but two different voices, calling out to one another. I watch the stars on the surface of the water, still steaming mad. I don’t want to smash his face in anymore, if only because I know he’d throw me back down into the dirt if I tried. I want him to feel something more than sorry. To make him hurt, so that he don’t feel sorry for our dead brother.

“Don’t you love him?!” I whisper out. “Don’t tell me you don’t… that you won’t miss him and his stupid jokes… his stupid face…” I clench my fist again and move to smack the water. “The way he used to burp at the table or snore at night…” It’s as though he’s on the surface of the water then, a reflection of the moon breaks with the slamming of my fist. “I just…” My throat forces me to stop and I sniffle again. It’s suddenly cold in the water and I shiver. “I can’t…” It’s all I have not to break down again, then and there. I don’t dare look at the stars, afraid that he might be looking back down at me and my shame.

“I don’t know if I can do this without him…” Does that make me pathetic?[/color] But I don’t care—I ain’t ever been afraid of the truth, even if I never say it aloud.

•••
But all that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now
•••

[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[Sampson]

When Sampson falls back into the water, soiling himself in the muck of the river, my initial reaction is to reach towards him. I want to pull him from the mud, take him away from the cold river and remove him from the mess he has created for himself. Benat wouldn't want to see him like that. He'd be mad at me for allowing him to keep crying and wallow in the agony that came with his death. My hand opens, as if to offer some form of assistance, but instead of spreading my fingers for Sampson's behalf, I simply brush back my hair. It's not unlike me to run my hand through my hair but as I do it, the action makes a disgusted feeling sink in my stomach. Why? It's a cop out. I know it is. The habit takes up the use of my rough hands, to avoid picking up my brother from the mud. I'm not trying to pick him up as I stare down at the tear streaks making paths through the mud coating his face. I'm not taking responsibility for my little brother. Instead, it's like I'm staring at a stranger having a breakdown. This boy can't be mine. I can't help him up. If I do, his touch might break my final barrier that I've built up to keep everything out.

His words begin again. "Sampson, stop, please.." my begging falls to deaf ears. He won't listen. His anger holds him responsible. Since I won't let myself feel the hurt, won't claim this ruined boy, he's brought it all upon his weak shoulders. It isn't his. I'm supposed to be in mourning, too. I'm supposed to be crying with the agony for my lost brother beside the brother I still have. But I can't. If I do, if I let all the pain I've frozen into anger melt, I'll drown. I will choke.

So I just listen to him and hope that Benat is busy watching over the remaining tributes in the Games or looking at our parents inside our little house. I want his eyes to not be on us, to not be on Sampson, as I try to figure out what to do with this broken human being. Except, I know the stars are shining directly over us. There is no roof blocking the stars, no arena dome keeping their shining forms from seeing. He has front seats to our display. Even the canopy of trees, that covers the majority of the surrounding area, fails to hide us as we struggle by the river.

“Don’t you love him?!” Sampson's whispering reveals the dying intensity of his anger, but it only seems to revive mine with new life. How dare he accuse me of not loving Benat. Sure, I might have been jealous of him or irritated by the shadow he cast on me, but I never doubted my love for him. It makes my fist return, the vein on the side of my head showing like it always does when I get upset. My jaw tightens as I attempt to bite down my budding rage.
If not crying for someone means you don't love them, then I don't know love. Is Sampson right? Does he know more about the feeling than I ever will? I'm an expert on anger, on guilt, on hate, but my knowledge on love pales in comparison to the other emotions I am so in tune with. There are people who I know I love (Benat, Sampson, my family), but I'm not exactly positive what actions portray love. If loving Benat meant crying, then I didn't. If loving Benat meant volunteering in his place, then I didn't. If it meant being able to support his other brother after his death, then I didn't. But I did. I do. I know it, even if I can't prove it, even if I didn't prove it when he needed me to.

Sampson shivers and keeps talking. His voice has faded with his anger, leaving this used up soul kneeling before me. "I don’t know if I can do this without him…" I'm listening close enough, disregarding my fury for a few moments to let the words poison my veins with fear.
"You.. don't know..?" my words are shaky, only barely revealing the surface of my suddenly unstable mentality. The thought registers like an impact breaking a bone. Sampson did not know if he could go on without Benat. If he discovers he can't, does something stupid, then I am alone in Orion's belt. The empty space where our trio should stay, together in the black abyss of the sky, has never seemed so hostile. My fear propels me to finally grab Sampson. "You can, Sampson! You have to," I am tugging him up, hoping to pull him away from the river that I suddenly think might take him away from me. My words are an anger stricken hiss, one that fluctuates with my emotions, fading and growing as it pleases, "If you don't, I..." His clothes are soaked; the flesh they are supposed to cover is just as cold as the river's water. "Everything he did, everything Benat lived and died for, will be a waste. His death can't be yours too." My words are as rough as my hands as I continue to tug him up. Benat can't see us like this, even if I am sure he already has. I can't lose my only remaining brother, either. These two things feed into my fear, my aggression, as I panic.

Get up. Get up. Get up. You must.

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar

•••

I want to change the world

[/color]
Instead I sleep
I want to believe in more than you and me[/center]

•••

I hear his voice slip down into the water, “Sampson, stop please…” him pleading with me not to hurt him anymore. I’m ashamed of myself. The kind of anger that I have isn’t for him—not for Deval, my blood, my kin. It’s the universe that took Benat away and placed him among the stars. I could be mad at the world for the rest of my life, but hating my brother was as futile as bashing my hands against the surface of the river. I would never block out the stars, hard as I might try[/color]. Yelling at Deval had gotten the steam out from between my ears, but the emptiness and hurt still remained. Why did every breath feel like a little knife under my chest?[/color] I listened to the gurgle of the water as I sat, breathing in and out the cool night air. The wind blows, smudging my vision with salty tears and burning my cheeks with embarrassment.

He doesn’t let me wallow, not for an instant. “You can, Sampson! You have to…” His voice cuts through the air and I shiver. Does he care?[/color] I look up slowly from my spot in the water. A loon calls out again, and I squint to peer through the darkness. I see the lines of his face, and the ever present Izar nose. Help me,[/color] I want to say, but my throat is blocked. Here and now I’m clinging to the edge of the cliff, overlooking the abyss. I can feel the heaviness willing to win, wanting me to be sad. It wants me to hate my brother, my family, all the boys and girls of the games. It wants me to curse them all, to never get out of bed again. It wants me to throw myself from the top of the oak into the river, and to keep my head below the water until my lungs burn themselves down to a pile of ash. Because I hurt so bad[/color] I don’t think breaking into a thousand pieces could be much worse than never having my brother back again.

His hands are warm against my skin, and I close my eyes as he pulls at my shirt. He doesn’t have enough strength for the both of us, he can’t[/color]. "If you don't, I...” The both of us are broken.[/color] And I let him hiss at me. He can yell. He can scream. It won’t make one bit of difference now, I’m too heavy in my own heap. But I’m wrong. For as I close my eyes and bow my head to give in, he speaks again. “Everything he did, everything Benat lived and died for, will be a waste. His death can't be yours too.” I look up at Deval, mouth suddenly clenched, despite the shivers coursing through my body. Benat’s death had brought me down further than anything in my life. It had blotted out the wonder of the stars and turned me into a shrieking little boy. I couldn’t shake the pain, and thought it would be the death of me—of us, in a twilight that would never cease. For when would I ever laugh again?[/color]

I crawl forward and grab at Deval’s leg. Slowly, I rise from the water. It takes the strength and balance of the two of us to get to my feet. And all around me the world is quiet, the stars burning in their endlessness. There is no call of crickets or rustle of the trees. It’s Deval and I now. And there is the space between us, an empty space[/color], one that I will not let disappear. I need him as much as—maybe more[/color]—than he needs me. I move to wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head against his chest, feeling small as I am. I want some memory of Benat to wash over me now to tell me what I’m supposed to do to make everything okay, but nothing’s coming. It’s how the world has always been, I look for my brothers to tell me what to do when I’m most afraid. For what feels like the first time, I’m all alone—is that what I wanted?[/color] But that’s a lie—Deval is right here, his big, warm body against my own. His heart beats in his chest, his breath escapes into the night air. He is real, not just among the stars. [/color]

“Please Deval…” My voice cracks. “I just want it to be okay… I just…” I rub my face against his chest. The pain is back again, but rather than falling into the abyss I’m reaching for a hand. I pull back to look up at him. “I… it just hurts so bad…” I feel tiny, looking up at him now. “It just feels like it won’t never go away… and part of me… wants it to hurt, like I deserve it, like I’m supposed to hurt…” I shake my head. “I just wish I could… tell him how much I miss him… how much it hurts he ain’t here…” I rest my head back against him. “I need help…”

•••

But all that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now...

[/color]

•••

[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[Sampson]

With his whimpered words and teary eyes, Sampson is everything I've tried so hard not to be. I can't be as broken as him about Benat. We both can face the stars that are brighter than ever shining with our dead brother's spirit, but only one of us can cry because of it. If all the Izar brothers come tumbling down after the oldest, I fear our family will never move on. We'll be poisoned by Benat's death, doomed to dwell in its misery for the remainder of our lives. I can't bare the thought of dishonoring him like that. But I can never see myself stepping up, either. I can pull myself away from all the pain and mess that Benat's death has caused everyone, but I know that's just as selfish as blaming Benat for going and getting himself killed. I can keep pretending I have some control, when none of this is in our hands. Ever since they pulled his name from the bowl, the Izar family has been manipulated like puppets on pale strings.

It's my job to cut the rope and let us finally fall.

We've got to have someone who's strong enough to overcome this horrible tragedy. Out of us both—the pair of Izar brothers that used to be a trio—someone has to pull through. It has to be me, right? I'm the only one at least pretending to still be functioning. The mess that is my brother portrays that perfectly. It's just my inability to even dare and step up as the oldest Izar that keeps us both wrecks.
My dark eyes settle down on Sampson's ruined form as I finally let him go because I know I can't pull him up all alone. He can't do it on his own and I can't do this by myself, so there we are, hopelessly stuck, suffocating with stardust.
How do we finally catch our breath? I know it has to be some kind of combined effort. Neither one of us is capable of pulling through this alone. Alone. It's what we've been up 'till this point and I don't know if I'm quite ready to be not by myself. It doesn't seem to be my choice, however, as Sampson's hands pull on my legs. Somehow, this is some form of working together, for my little brother finally manages to stand.

I'm about to make my way out of the water because I'm tired of feeling its cold, slick touch, when Sampson embraces me. A hug. I can't remember the last time he hugged me. Did we even hug before the Reaping and the Games? I have so many unanswered questions about Sampson—maybe just as many as I have for Benat—and I'm so thankful he's alive to answer them if I ever get the courage to ask. With his damp clothes pressing to my chest, I shudder. It's a reaction I don't expect, yet another thing I have no control of. Sampson is hugging me and I am terrified. He is already so broken, so long shattered by our other brother. There is no doubt in my mind that I could cause the same amount of damage to his fragile spirit.

"It just feels like it won’t never go away… and part of me… wants it to hurt, like I deserve it, like I’m supposed to hurt…" Sampson's words linger in my head like the sound of Benat's cannon. It had taken me an entire night of laying awake in darkness, while listening to Sampson's sniffles and the crickets still singing, to get the repeating sound of cannonfire to leave my head. Everytime I get too anxious or exhausted, when my heart beats so loudly in my ears, I panic because the sound is so similar to a blast from a cannon. That panic is something that suddenly fills me in that moment. My fingers delve into Sampson's back with purpose, as if something has threatened to take him from me. Now that he's in my arms, it seems like my time is limited with him. I feel like my heartbeat, the cannons in my head, are for him. It's desperation that coats my eyes with a wild glare. He thinks he deserves this pain. The thought threatens to send tears rolling from my eyes because this isn't his weight to bear, yet I know there is very little I can say that will make it any better. My lips press on the top of his head; it's something our mother used to do to me when I was little and upset.
"It'll never go away," I breathe out the words, swallowing lumps in my throat and blinking the tears back into my eyes, "You just learn to deal with it." The words are not comforting—not like I want them to be—but I don't know what to say. I'm so incompetent as a brother. Benat was good enough one for both us that my complete lack of skills was never noticed. Now, in the middle of our family's struggle, my uselessness sticks out like a sore thumb.
"I just wish I could… tell him how much I miss him… how much it hurts he ain’t here…" Sampson's sorrow consumes me, "I need help…".

I swear I can feel his broken heart beating dully against me. With his ear right on my chest, I'm sure he can hear mine too, cracking with the realization that maybe I am incapable of helping my brother. My chin rests on his head now as I hold him, making sure that he doesn't plummet back into the river's murky water.
"You can still ask him, talk to him. He's up there in the stars," I want him to know that I believed and loved Benat, just like him, "And I'm here". If our brother thought we were all made of stardust, then there is nothing stopping me from believing it now. I'm pretty sure that's what Sampson needs. Benat has to still be alive, somehow. Whether in whole stars or stardust, he has to still be there for his brothers. I know he wouldn't leave us and Sampson must know it too. "Stardust," I mutter with my brother still tight in my arms and my eyes still straining to see the sky through the trees.

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar

•••

I want to change the world

[/color]
Instead I sleep
I want to believe in more than you and me[/center]

•••

A flicker. That’s how it starts, spiraling across the sky. For the briefest of moments, you imagine you’re seeing some kind of magic, all flame sent from a distant place you can only dream of[/color]. Out in the fields, Benat and I used to call them sky blazes, on account of them burning up and out of existence so quickly. I truly, honestly believed that in those six seconds that I—one[/color]—was seeing a miracle—two[/color]—could wish for anything in that moment to be real—three[/color]—that this moment was only for us—four[/color]—even after it disappeared we would still remember— five[/color]—our hearts race—six[/color]—and nothing would ever be quite so special ever again. There we are left staring at the empty sky, with eyes wide and marveling at the few precious moments it had to light up our lives with wonder.

But I’m all wrong. Because in that same moment there have to be at least a hundred eyes all around Panem looking at the same tumbling star. Do they think about how much of a miracle it is? Or is it an omen? Could there be a boy with his brothers looking at the same trail of stardust, spiraling out and disappearing so fast as to leave him breathless? I press my arms tighter around Deval and let out another whimper. Benat, why did you burn out so soon?[/color] My heart still bangs in my ears, tears shedding and slipping down against my brother, some of them tumbling down into the murky water. It’s been so long since I’ve hugged Deval—how much littler was I then?[/color] But tonight is not about the past. I can sense it in the way he holds me, too. Tonight, in the wake of Benat and underneath his starlight, we are two brothers, two distinct and different brothers becoming one.

People talk a lot about love. I hear most about the kind that burns through veins like a star that sputters across the sky. It’s supposed to be beautiful, unrequited, hot and cold, fierce and pandering. The exciting kiss that I hope someday to steal from the boy that wants to steal a kiss back. I hear a lot less about the quiet kind, between brothers and sisters, or cousins. It’s always supposed to be there, an unwritten rule that some take to heart, but sometimes, it disappears entirely. We separate and drift across the horizon until our languages ain’t even the same. But what we got—what I got with Deval—it’s a steady sort of love. And I say it, even after throwing my fists and rocks at my own brother. I love him with all my heart[/color]. I wipe away the grunge from my eyes and squeeze him in a tighter embrace.

“It'll never go away… you just learn to deal with it.” Everything threatens to bubble to the surface again, especially seeing my brother’s glassy eyes. You bleed, I bleed.[/color] It’s the way it’ll always be, whether or not the two of us turn to dust in an arena or spend the rest of our days sitting on the porch, laughing at how death has forgotten about us. But I swallow the tears this time. The pain dulls as it presses down my throat and into the pit of my stomach. I close my eyes and steady against his chest. It’ll be better tomorrow. It has to be, or I’m going to break.[/color] I let out another sigh as I pull back to stare at my brother. I’ve never paid attention to how big he’s gotten[/color].

“You can still ask him, talk to him. He's up there in the stars…” He starts again, his voice above the slow crash of waves of water. I can tell the stars all my stories, every single last breath until my lungs burn out my chest. I shake my head. I think that this will never settle the pangs in my stomach but—I trust Deval[/color]. For the singular moment that it’s the two of us, and he soothes me, the pain is a little less. We’re in this together.[/color] Neither one of us can stand on our own. Both stuck in the mud and under a dark sky, I imagine neither one of us would get very far, though Deval is still stronger than me.[/color] I shiver again and lean on him for support. The two of us can make it through, no matter the pain. Maybe I can’t do it alone, but it’s okay to need him, too.[/color] And I want him to understand, I want him to see through the smoke that he’s in my arms too. I bury my face in his once again, crying, this time my voice choking out a laugh of all things, thinking how Benat would have made a joke about the two of us being all wet. [/color]

I twist up, pressing on my tip-toes. I land a kiss on his cheek. Stepping back, I entwine my hand in his and give it a squeeze. “Stardust,” my words suddenly echoing his. My voice is still shaky, the pain still in my chest and my breath short. But underneath those beautiful, sharp stars I see his figure coming into view, one that had been too blurred by my own tears and anger. Deval is brave and though broken, he is my older brother. Blood of my own blood. [/color] Not hidden behind the figure of Benat, no shadow cast over him now. “I’m sorry,” I say the same words that sent me into a fit just a few minutes ago. I know I’m not perfect—not anywhere near it—and I hope that he can understand that.

“You’re…” I lick my lips. Words upon words—does it matter what I have to say now, in the still of the night? Our languages are different, we’ve already spent so long coming to this. I lurch forward, once again snaking my arms around the crook of his body. “I love you Deval…” And that’s all I have, my whispered words dripping down onto him. I press my forehead against his neck. “Don’t ever forget that…” I whisper into his ear, eyes closed.

•••

But all that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now...

[/color]

•••

[/blockquote][/size][/justify]