everything good young people should be{Rook/Stare}

[rook]

RUBIK WOODARDS

so don't you worry, they tell me hell is
an okay place to be this time of year
so don't worry, they tell me hell is
the hippest place to be
and i'm dying gradually to get there

It was raining when Pandora died. The beach he fought on that day was soaked by drops of rain and tears and blood. It rained here too. I sat on the roof of our tin-pot house and let the storm wash away my tears. Hope's screams didn't even draw me back inside. Was I dead too? I just sat there like some empty shell. I had lost my other half. I wasn't a whole person anymore.

It's raining now, and all I can think of is that day. The water cuts cold at my face and drenches my green jumper, turning it near black. My mop of hair clings to my head like it is plastered down. As if work wasn't taxing enough, I now have to walk home in the rain. Heavy and fed up, I take a moments rest under someone's front porch, where the rain can't get me.

They say that time heals all wounds. Six months ago I thought that to be a lie, but things have definitely gotten better. Who would have thought it? I have learned that I was never half of a whole but a person in my own right. Growing from a half into a whole was painful. I could no longer have that feeling of dependence. In a way, I'm glad I matured because we have a better life now.

Since our father left us things have gotten better and better. We don't have to pay for his alcohol, nor fear his drunken wrath. What's more, I've gotten a better job at the factory. Maybe my boss took pity on me because of Pan, or maybe I just got lucky, but we are more affluent now, which is great. Hope has a small job too, stitching up torn dresses for her classmates, and that pays for our all important heating bills. When did she become so grown up? Then of course, there's Hitch.

Hitchcock arrived not long after father left. He doesn't live with us - because I don't allow it - but he does help us financially. He's like Pan, but sleazier. He's not my twin, so I can't begin to relate with him at all. Is it wrong to hate someone you've only just met? There's friction between us, mainly because he turns up on our doorstep after eighteen years expecting to play happy families, but also because he's an arrogant little shit. Just like Pandora, then.

"You can't be here..."
The voice takes me aback. An old woman starts waving her walking stick at me like it's an extension of her index finger, pointing it accusingly. Her weathered face has seen too much. Who in this world hasn't? I've seen some things you wouldn't believe, woman.
"This is my husband's property, and he'll be back any minute!" She continues waving her stick from the safety of her doorway. I step back, trying not to get hit by the damn thing, and that's when her face changes. Her whole face goes pale, except for her eyes that now sting red. She takes in a sharp breath. At first she saw a troublemaking youth lurking in her porch, but now she sees Pandora. I almost smile.
"Just like seeing a ghost, right?"

I walk out into the rain again. The cold water was initially good to wash away the sweat from hard labor, but then it just became impractical. My clothes are heavy and I am tired as it is. The mud is thick and deep. It crawls up my sodden denim jeans, almost reaching my knees. At one point an older man tells me to take another route home, unless I would rather swim. The roads in District Eight are yet another thing the Capitol has failed to invest in. I'm sure there are far more important things to fund, such as my brother's funeral.

I still get bad days. When they brought home Pan's body I lost it. It was over a year since his death. His body had been on display in the Capitol. People went to look at him like he was part of some sick exhibition. Did it rain on that day, too? I try to bottle it up, but that never ends well. There's no one I can relate to any more, not even Hope. Not even Senalia. Ripred.

[/i] I haven't seen Senalia in months.

It rained that day too. Not rain like this though - it rained like it was judgement day. We had floods in the lower quarter of District Eight, it was a miracle no one was killed. Thunder set two wooden houses on fire on that night. That was some rain. Senalia hated the thunder. A phobia, I think. I was there for her, made sure she was safe. We talked like I used to be able to talk, before the Games. Not anymore though. I can't see her because my life is so damn busy, and since Pan's body came back last month in that flimsy wooden coffin, I've gotten bad again.

I didn't even see her at the Reaping. I said I would. I was too scared and emotional to look for her. I actually found myself looking to the Wolfe family. Their sibling heroes of the 62nd Games were an example to us all, until the older one struck down her disabled brother. I see such a large family that I wonder if they went through what I did upon losing Pan. They lost two siblings, remember? I lost a part of myself.

Having taken the advised detour around the quagmire of the east sector, I find myself trekking up a hill to hook around back to my house. Do I know this hill? I see snowflakes and stars inside my head, which is enough to bring back memories of Senalia. She lives just over the hill. I have to get back to Hope, plus I said I'd meet Hitch today. He probably wants to see Hope again. He has that right, he is her Brother. Half-Brother, right? I glance to the lights seeping upwards into the late amber skies. The stars are waking up, straining against the deep shades of purple. All of it makes me think of Senalia, and how much I can't see her.

How would she react if I turned up on her doorstep after four months without even giving her so much as a sideways glance? She probably hates me. She has her own life to get on with, she doesn't even think about me. She goes to bed at night untroubled, where I am plagued with nightmares of Pandora's death and a twisted version of Destiny hunting me down with venom dripping from her mouth. I dream of Hitchcock and his fanged smile, his claws wrapping around Hope. I dream of my father coming for me, a bottle in one hand and a hammer in the other... But worst of all I dream of the Reaping, of the other children. They scream at me.
"You let him die."
And then I wake, only to find I was never asleep in the first place. Maybe it is best if I don't see Senalia. I don't want to let her inside my messed up head.

But here I am at her front door. Head to toe I am dripping wet. I knock rapidly on the door, half blinded by my own hair.
"It's Rubik. Can I come in?" I pause, letting the rain fill the silence, "I'm having a bad day!" I call out, hoping that it will be something for her to go on. It's only half a lie. All my days are bad days, after all.[/color][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

well i see the way you read your newspaper
and the way it's rested on your lap
and the pages that you hold your finger between
as you glance around the room
to check that no one sees how normal you are

lyrics "raise hell" by kids in glass houses
notes woot
words 1273

[/size][/right]

[Stare]

[th][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style, background-color: 000000; border-right:10px solid 41243D; border-left:10px solid 41243D; border-top:0px solid 41243D; border-bottom:0px solid 41243D;] the world is too heavy, too big for my shoulders come take the weight off me now thousands of answers to one simple question come take the weight off me now I T ' S . B E E N .months since I've seen Rubik. (He never promised to stay.) (I know. I just thought that maybe he... I miss him.) I've asked about him, of course. I was terrified that something had happened to him when I didn't see him at the Reaping. People usually look at me in a funny way when I mention his name and say that they've seen him around. He's like a ghost, always lingering somewhere I'm not looking, and it's become unnerving though not surprising. I swore I saw Will a few times in the square even after he'd left to participate in the Games and then live in the Capitol. It's been years since he left, but I can still picture his face clearly in my mind. He hasn't written. I thought that he might but he hasn't, and all the letters I send to him in the Capitol with my carefully thought out messages and painfully elegant handwriting are always sent back with a big red stamp on them. I spend hours writing those letters. It makes me wonder if maybe he doesn't want me anymore. He wouldn't be the first. But strangely enough, I no longer feel lonely or long for his return. He's happy there, in the place of bright buildings and lights and colors. Instead of wondering when he'll finally write I've waited for years but I'd understand if he has a good reason for forgetting for so long I find myself glancing out the window hoping I'll see Rubik making his way down the road. I'm curled up on my couch reading by candlelight (the electricity went out ages ago and I can't find anyone willing to fix it) and drinking some cheap tea to drive away the chill the rain brings to the air when he finally comes. For the briefest of moments I wonder if maybe it's my imagination playing tricks on me, and I don't really see him climbing up my front porch in the rain. But no, the lights suddenly become brighter from where they hang suspended around me, as they always did in his presence, and I quickly close the book and make my way toward the front door. I'm about to open it wide when I hear him calling out. "It's Rubik. Can I come in?" There's something strange about his voice My hand lingers uncertainly on the knob as the sudden irrational fear that he's come to tell me he can't see me anymore takes hold of me. I don't want to stop seeing Rubik. He's my friend. After a beat of silence, though, he adds, "I'm having a bad day!" At that I can't stop myself from swinging open the door, no matter what his true intentions are. Even just the sight of him, soaking wet and looking slightly uncertain (of himself? of me?) is enough to make me smile widely, leaping forward and throwing my arms around his neck despite the fact that doing so causes rainwater to dampen my skirt and blouse. "Rubik." His name whooshes from my lungs like a sigh of relief. "Ripred, I've been so worried about you." I draw away after a few moments, inspecting him critically. He's positively drenched and dark circles hang under his eyes, evidence of either long nights spent awake or nightmares or both. My smile is sympathetic the second time. "You're a wreck. I've got some hot tea and blankets inside." I invite him in with a wave of my hand, leading the way back into the study where the candles flicker quietly and a fire crackles in the fireplace, much like the one he lit that stormy night so long ago. I toss one of my many blankets over the sofa for him before hurrying into the kitchen for the tea. "Hot" might have been a bit of an exaggeration - really, it's more lukewarm - so I spend a minute reheating it before returning and pressing the warm mug into his hands with a smile. The lights have been practically glued to him since he stepped inside, lingering on his shoulders and in his hair, and that makes my smile grow wide. “They've missed you.” I've missed you, I think, glancing at the rain outside. Papa used to say that dancing in the rain was more cleansing than any shower. He said it went past the skin to wash out the darkness that sometimes lingered beneath. That always made me wonder why more people didn't do it, but I never asked. (I've been having nightmares again. I see trees and hear footsteps. I'm running, and I'm scared. Maybe the rain can make them stop. I don't like the nightmares.) Draping a blanket over my own shoulders, I drop down next to him on the sofa and watch the flames dance in the hearth for a little while, drinking in the peace that has suddenly fallen in the house now that he's here. After waiting for so long, it feels nice to finally have had him arrive. His proximity causes me to flash back to a different moment, when snow soaked through our jackets as we spread out in the valley beneath the stars and pretended the world wasn't quite as heavy as usual. The memory makes me feel warm despite the fact that we were both half frozen by the end of the night, and I draw my legs up toward me thoughtfully before turning toward him, my own tea forgotten on the table next to my book and hands resting clasped together in my lap. Just by looking at his face I can tell he's been thinking about Pandora. It causes my good mood to fade slightly. No matter how often I try to persuade him otherwise he still believes his brother died in those Games. It must be horrible for him to believe he's lost someone so close to him. I can't imagine how I would have reacted if Will had actually died in the Games, and he wasn't even related to me by blood. A part of me wants to hug him again, a desperate attempt to comfort him, but another part holds me back, reminding me that he hasn't come in months and maybe that means something. I don't want it to, but maybe it does. I try to dodge this thought for a moment, scrambling to think of something to say. "You're having a bad day," I repeat the words he called to me through the door. A pause, and the silence is leaden. "Do you want to maybe talk about... I mean, is there anything I can..." It's been months. I release a small sound of frustration, causing the lights to start. It's pointless to try and avoid the true problem with small talk. "I'm sorry, Rubik. It's just-" I don't want to be alone again. You're the only one who isn't too busy for me like everyone else and I don't want you to leave. But I can't force him to stay. It would be unfair to him and perhaps to myself, too. I lower my gaze to my hands, twisting my fingers restlessly. "It's alright if you don't want to see me anymore. I won't be mad. You can leave, and I promise I'll be okay." I'll be alone and tired and sad and confused, but I'll be okay. lost in the playground, late night nostalgia open the sky for me now friends 'round the fire, outside in December open the sky for me now
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[th][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i44.tinypic.com/2pota4l.png); background-repeat: no;] . .

[rook]

RUBIK WOODARDS

so don't you worry, they tell me hell is
an okay place to be this time of year
so don't worry, they tell me hell is
the hippest place to be
and i'm dying gradually to get there

People have been doing nice things for me ever since the Games. As soon as Pandora was caught by that latch crab, and the explosion turned him inside out I have had nothing but condolences and charity. People who have bared a grudge against me for my entire life instantly turned into compassionate neighbors, whilst those who sought to tax us for every penny we had turned a blind eye when a payment was overdue. I have been an asshole. I've been so selfish with sorting my occupation out and trying to improve my own life that I have ignored Senalia. Senalia who was there for me when I needed someone most.

The way she hugged me, gave me a hot drink, a blanket and a place by the fire is more than I deserve. She is quick to forgive, or slow to catch on that I've been such an idiot. The fire calms me down and dries out my clothes a little. Surprisingly, I feel so much better after a few sips of the tea. I'm sure that I have never had tea before, but still it is strangely familiar. Did Pandora drink tea? No, he drank whiskey and vodka. Maybe mother drank tea before she died. That smell. I'm sure of it.

I'm not sure how to tell Senalia about what's going on. Her concept of the world is dumbfounding, but I've come to respect her views, no matter how ridiculous. She sees lights. Little fairies that cling to everything good and shy away from the disturbed. According to her they like me, but that's only because she likes me. I used to think she was insane, but I have hallucinations of my own. I have night terrors and sudden memories. Am I so different to her?

I need to talk to her about Hitch. Everything's gotten more hectic since he arrived unannounced, prancing around like he's Pandora mark two. He's definitely Pan's brother, that's for sure, but he's no family to me. There's so much on my mind, but how can I talk to her about it all? Some of it she doesn't understand. Pan's body, for example. She thinks he's alive, living in the Capitol. If only. But his body came back the other month. How can I talk about that to her?

Then there are the rumors about Pandora. Apparently he left more than just bad memories behind. A girl called Dracena claims that her newborn baby boy is Pan's. Hitch has been to see her a few times - apparently he went to school with her - and he swears the baby is the image of me. How can he be sure? It's just a baby, and they all look the same. Right? Hitch wants to take this Dracena girl in. He wants her and the baby to live with Hope and I, and he plans to join us, I think. The house isn't big enough. Just when I start sorting things out a curve ball is thrown in the mix.

There's this pressure on my shoulders, a pressure that Hitch can't understand. Pandora knew. He knew the responsibility because we shared it, but Hitch just wants to sponge off on me like I'm to be taken advantage of, and he's using this girl as leverage. It's just all so much so suddenly, and then Pan's body comes back to top it all off. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't-

"You're having a bad day." She looks at me with such wide eyes. My mouth is half open. All the things buzzing in my head and I haven't said a word. Where do I start? Do I tell her that my life is terrible, or do I lie and say how things have gotten better? It wouldn't be a complete lie. For the first time in months I have someone I can talk to, and I have no idea what to say.

"Do you maybe want to talk about..." Everything? Yes, I do.
"I mean, is there anything I can..." Yeah, I just want someone to talk to. I just want to vent my frustrations. Why can't I just say how I feel? She makes an annoyed squeak. At me? I can understand. I'm a social nightmare.
"I'm sorry, Rubik. It's just- It's alright if you don't want to see me anymore. I won't be mad. You can leave, and I promise I'll be okay." Her voice is refrained, almost sad. In that moment I want to kiss her, because she understands completely. She knows me better than anyone else on this planet. She knows me better than Pan knew me. She'd be willing to give me up in a heartbeat if she knew it would make me happy.

I don't kiss her. I sit there like an idiot, still saying nothing, my face a picture of inward frustration. After what seems like hours, I finally I manage to speak.
"I'm not leaving you, Senalia," I breathe, staring into to warm glow of the fire, "Truth is, I've been meaning to see you for weeks. So much has happened so quickly."

I tell her about Hitchcock turning up all those months ago with a wry smile on his face. I tell her about his strange jaw line, his short chin and wide grin. I explain that his eyes are the same as mine, his hair the same as Pan's and the unmistakable nose of my father. I explain about Dracena and the baby, and about Hitch's stupid scheme. And then, I talk about Pan.
"They brought home his body... I know what you think, but I need you to try and understand for me..."

I stop talking and it feels like I am empty. I have uncorked all the stress that was bottled up inside me, and I feel surprisingly better for it. When I eventually turn to Senalia there is relief in my eyes. Relief because I have gotten it all off my chest. Where we go from here is a different matter.

well i see the way you read your newspaper
and the way it's rested on your lap
and the pages that you hold your finger between
as you glance around the room
to check that no one sees how normal you are

lyrics "raise hell" by kids in glass houses
notes sorry for the delay
words 1000

[/size][/right]

[Stare]

[th][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style, background-color: 000000; border-right:10px solid 41243D; border-left:10px solid 41243D; border-top:0px solid 41243D; border-bottom:0px solid 41243D;] everything will change nothing stays the same nobody here’s perfect oh, but everyone’s to blame I T ' S . A .heavy burden that he carries, but one I’m willing to share nonetheless. I should have realized right away that he would need help lifting it. I should have been the one to go to him instead of the other way around. The pain and confusion in his eyes makes my heart ache, the lights swimming through the air around him comfortingly even though he can’t see them. Being around Rubik makes me feel sad, but that’s okay because I’m sad for him, not for myself. It’s good to be sad for other people. It’s normal. (But I’m not normal, am I? I’m different. I don’t think people notice but I am.) I offer him a smile, but it’s somewhat sad. “I’m not very good at understanding,” I say quietly, regret clear in my tone. Frowning, I lightly touch his forearm for a moment, as if physical contact will somehow build a stronger bridge between us. Not that we need one, of course, but I can’t help but dislike the heavy silence settling between us. It’s new and strange and I’d be much happier without it. Drawing my hand away again, I reach for my cup of tea, now cold, and sip it thoughtfully before speaking. “I know it’s hard to live without people. They go away and we don’t like it because they always made us so happy, and we think we can’t be happy without them. We can, though. We find new people, and they make us happy, too.” You make me happy, I add silently in my head as I take another sip of my tea. Just like Will did. I smile again, a genuine smile not weighed down by sadness or confusion. When my mama and papa died, I didn’t have anyone to make me happy. I had to learn to do it all by myself. It was hard, at first - I had only the lights for company because everyone else was always so terribly busy, but I managed to find joy in the small things in life. Mama taught me to love weaving and textiles, to admire the elegance of a simple dress or the beauty of a perfectly hued dye. Papa taught me to embrace nature and all that it could give me, from starry nights in the snow to the wishes dandelions offer. I don’t think Pan had anyone to teach him. I think that’s my job now - to try and show him the bright, beautiful world people have a tendency to overlook. I don’t know why he believes his brother to be truly dead. Maybe he’s just a little bit crazy, so torn by his twin’s absence that he’s convinced himself that Pan has gone to the place of no return. It doesn’t really matter, though, that it’s not true. Rubik believes it, and he’s hurting because of it. If I can’t fix him by showing him the truth, I’ll have to find some other way. Talking is an excellent start. “Hitch isn’t Pan,” I say quietly, carefully watching his expression. “People can’t always be what we want them to be. We can mold them or push them away as much as we want, but they’ll always be them and they’ll always be there. It sounds like Hitch needs you. Now you just have to find reasons why you need him, too.” Needing someone isn’t friendship or family, but it’s a good foundation for something better, even if it never develops. I’ve learned how not to need people, but now that I’ve met Rubik I find myself falling back into the practice. I’m not sure whether I should be happy or afraid - people I need always seem to say goodbye to me at one point or another - but for now I’ve decided to be grateful and hope that maybe he needs me a little bit too and won’t go away like everyone else did. Finally looking away, I gently set my mug back down on the table and rotate so I’m up on my knees, arms resting on the back of the couch, gazing out at the rain. It’s started to get just a bit darker out, but the storm refuses to leave. My eyes follow the glistening drops in quiet delight, face lighting up. “I love rain,” I tell him, smiling widely. “Just not - “ A memory flashes before my eyes, of lightning splitting in the sky and tears and a dark corner, the house shaking as a loud booming rolls over the district. It’s gone in an instant, but my hands automatically fly to my ears anyway, pressing hard against them. It takes me a moment to remember where I am and who I’m with, and I smooth my hair back, trying to make it look like that was my intention all along as the lights hover over my skin, circling around my forearms soothingly. “ - thunder.” Rubik knows I’m afraid of the bright light and loud noises that a horrible storm brings. He helped protect me from them, after all. Still, I don’t want to dredge up the one time I let him down so terribly, and I stumble forward with my sentence clumsily. “My, um… my papa. He loved the rain, too. He used to sit out on the porch for hours, listening to it. Or sometimes, we’d go out together and dance in it. He said it cleansed the soul.” A pause, and I can almost see us out there together, two silver phantoms out on the lawn. He’s stooped over in order to hold my small hands as we waltz to a nonexistent tune, swinging and spinning and stepping until I’m so dizzy I can barely stay standing. I press one hand up against the window, sheltered and still clean due to the protruding roof above it, and laugh a little at the memory. Suddenly my eyes light up again, and I turn my head to face him. I don’t dare to hope - after all, he’s just gotten dry, and I doubt he wants to go back into the rain just because of a silly superstition that it will help him - but I ask anyway. “Do you maybe want to dance with me, Rubik? I know it always makes me feel better. Maybe it can help you, too.” oh, all that you rely on and all that you can save will leave you in the morning and find you in the day
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