love is just a way to { d i e } // carey sisters

[Stare]

“i miss you” would be understated
memories have slowly faded
the love you sacrificed
was just another way to die

They return her to us in a simple wooden box.

As they unload it from the train I want nothing more than to launch myself at them and tear my nails through their skin, to scream so loudly that my voice will echo in their ears for days. Savannah left us full of life and light and a fighting spirit that actually fooled me into believing she might make it. How dare they return her to us like this, like a toy they abused and then tossed back once they became bored with her? Instead of lashing out, though, I shrink back as they set the box on the ground, hiding in the shadows so they won’t see me and try to return the corpse to me directly. I gave them directions to the graveyard. Someone - I’m not entirely sure who - has already dug a hole for the body. We couldn’t afford a real coffin, so the box will have to do.

One of them pulls back the lid, checking on the body inside. My breath catches in my throat and I turn my face away, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen her, her skin far too pale and blue lips parted slightly, her right shoulder covered with a simple black sleeve to hide the damage done and all that she lost in the hell they forced her into. I forced myself to avoid the bottle today and I am now sorely regretting it. My stomach lurches sharply and I brace one hand against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut. A few tears leak out anyway.

Damn them. They didn’t even return her whole.

By the time I finally regain my senses and manage to make my way to the cemetery the box is already there, as well as all of my living sisters. Lucy clutches the teddy bear Soap returned. At the thought of the Victor with his wide eyes full of both pity and pain my chest clenches painfully and I turn my gaze away. The formal funeral isn’t for a half hour but people have already started to gather, drawn to the unjust death like moths to a flame. Some of them I recognize as Savannah’s old friends, but many are strangers to me. Most probably come simply because she was a tribute. Again I feel a flash of violence, the urge to scream that despite what they think they didn’t know her, not really, and they have no right to be here. But then I see the dying flowers they carry, their slumped shoulders and dark expressions, and I realize that perhaps one did not need to know Savannah to mourn her. She was, after all, just a child. Anyone can cry for the death of a child.

When the funeral begins they pull back the lid and the knowledge that this is the last time she will ever see daylight hits me like a punch to the stomach. This was never how it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to stay with us and protect us until Dad was no longer a threat. She was supposed to meet someone who would love her and all her scars, a fantastic romance that would forgive all her mischief and wrongdoing. She was supposed to walk down the aisle dressed in a simple white gown because really, she never did like anything overly formal. She would have glanced at me and made a teasing face.I was supposed to be an aunt, someday. She was supposed to grow old and crooked, with grandchildren who adored her and an undying rebellious spirit that accompanied her to her last breath. She was supposed to die on her own terms, at her own time.

Instead, she’s been slaughtered at the fragile age of eighteen.

“Oh, Sav,” I whisper, staring at her expressionless face. My tone is soft, only slightly chiding, just like it was when she would come home staggering with clouded eyes and a crooked smile on her face, triumphantly holding up cash that she got from Ripred knows where. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

I am sixteen years old, wiping blood from a gash he left on her left cheekbone. She cringes away from the damp scrap of cloth but I hold her chin steady, biting my bottom lip. He was coming for me this time and I cowered in the corner, sobbing and terrified and calling for her. She’d come, just like she always does, and gotten in his way. I touch the cloth to the gash again and she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth, jerking away. “Stop. Liv, just… just give me a second.”

I have to swallow hard to force back the tears. I won’t cry. Not in front of her. I bring the cloth back and dip it in the bucket of water at my side, not meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause, and I can hear the confusion in her voice. “For what?”

“For not being strong enough to face him on my own.”

She doesn’t answer for a long time, and I’m forced to raise my eyes to meet hers. Her expression is soft, almost curious, as she regards me. “Protecting you is my job, Liv. I’m not going to let him mess up that pretty face of yours.”

“But - “

“Stop.” She cuts me off firmly, frowning. The action causes more blood to ooze down her face. “I do a whole lot of things I’m not proud of, okay? But looking after you guys is a good thing, and I’m not going to quit for anything.” She smiles crookedly then. “Besides, I’m a fighter by nature. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have something to punch every now and then.” She leans forward and nudges me playfully. “I’m always going to be there for you, whether you like it or not.”

I sniffle a little, dropping my gaze back down to the bucket of water. “Always?”

“Always,” she repeatss firmly. “Forever and ever, until you’re sick and tired of me.”

“I have something to say,” I blurt out, surprising myself. Dozens of heads lift and turn toward me, and I get the feeling I interrupted something. Somehow, staring at my older sister’s dead body, I can’t bring myself to care.

I approach her slowly. She looks peaceful but that's wrong because she was never a peaceful person. She was violent and raw and brash in the very best way. Forever and ever. “She was beautiful,” I say after a moment. “And strong. And spunky. And funny, and loud, and brave, and instinctive, and smart, and protective.” Dead silence meets me, but I don’t turn around, too afraid of what I’ll see if I do. “She’s broken now, but that’s okay. I still love her.” I choke on the words, swiping at my face. “It was too soon,” I manage after a moment. “Just… it was too soon.”

And then I spin on my heels, shove my way through the crowd, and flee.

It doesn’t take me too long to find a nice, abandoned alley where I can curl up and cry. They’re loud, messy, body shaking sobs that leave me gasping for air and leaning heavily against the brick wall. Forever and ever. She promised. She promised. On instinct I lean back and lash out, my fist making contact with the wall. The pain in my fist is blinding and I feel blood pushing out through cuts on my knuckles, but the sense of release is blissful. A memory of Sav flashes through my mind. She used to shadow box, dancing lightly on her feet and striking at the wall. I suck in a deep breath, blinking away my tears, and draw back so I can strike the wall three more times. My hands begin to swell. Two more punches and I’m actually smiling. Five more and I’m laughing.

Savannah is dead, probably buried in the ground by now, but I’m laughing anyway.

I fall back against the wall and drag my hand through my hair, feeling freedom for the first time since Willis Keeni struck down my sister. I’ve finally found a way to be in control. I’ve found a way to step up and take charge, just like Sav always did. And, for the first time in ages, I know.

We’re going to be okay.

if heaven is a place you'll go
i don't know if i will ever see you
and if you leave before you know
i'll let go of all we've ever been through

[Kire]

Does, Says, Thinks

I lived in a darkness, consumed utterly by the shadows that now claimed each piece of art I drew. The walking skeletons that had started to appear in my work when Savannah was reaped now stalk in every corner of my projects. As competition there rises an angel, white-winged and shining brilliantly. Savannah. My dead sister was always with me, and no matter what I drew, or where, or when, she would show up. Along with the walking bones that dragged despair with them everywhere. I couldn't kid anyone, I was deeply effected by everything that had happened, and the constant interviews that had happened ever since my sister was stolen from me, first bodily then wholly, were nothing more than painful reminders that I could never get away from.

In my hands I clutched the fragmented pieces of the first drawing I had made of my sister, the one that had come from my hand without effort when she had first been reaped. The angel shone almost brighter for all the tears in her, and the tape that held it all together almost laminated it. There were more than a few tears mixed into the paper and I couldn't place how that made me feel. If anything I felt closer to Savannah because of it. But the figure in the box made tears fill my eyes again and I couldn't even say how many times it's been because I just want to forget. I want to forget my pain and hurt and everything. I just want to be done. I want her back, my angel. Savannah.

Even when Olivia moves forward to speak about our sister I can't bare to look at anyone but Savannah - or the parts of her that they had shipped back to us. Her arm was missing, and her fire. She wasn't the same person that left, and I refused to believe the really Savannah was the one in the box in front of us. She must be somewhere nice, waiting for us to join her. I know she'd want us to wait for a long long time before coming to her but I couldn't help wanting to be with her now. Savannah. Refusing to cry, at least for the moment, I took my own moment to come forward and stand before my dead sister - no the body of the girl I had known. My sister is not dead, not truly. She could never die.

I carefully place the once-destroyed picture gently into her box, on top of her heart. Savannah. She had to know that I thought about her all the time, that she was so important to me. In all my years she was the one to keep me the dreamer, but now I feel like all I see are nightmares. Savannah. I couldn't do this any longer. I couldn't stare at this hollow shell because it caused too much anguish.

Savannah. I fled.

My footfalls are heavy and I run like I'm being hunted. On my tail are the walking bones, bare skeletons leering at me and I keep running. Savannah. Through the darkness I run, shadows persisting even in the midday light, going no where except away. I have to get away from the lie, the death, it's suffocating me. She'd not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead. Savannah.

I'm supposed to be the dreamer, but all I see are nightmares. Savannah. I collected bottle shards because they remind me of my father. Now they remind me of my heart. Shattered, broken, glinting in the sun. It's pretty to look at but useless. At least the the bottle shards offer some protection from the bone skeletons. I had to get home, to dive under my covers and peek out at the dancing light on my walls while I pray my father and the demons stay away long enough to let me cry.

I slam into the house, door flung wide and shoes left on in my haste to hide. My father growls at me, some snapping remark that I didn't hear because I cared about nothing but driving away the beasts that followed me. The glass hanging from the ceiling clinked in the breeze from the door as I threw it open. Home. On the wall the bits of light all clustered together on the wall, strangely in an almost human shape. When a puff of air pushed through my little widow part of the light scattered and the angel on the wall spread her wings. Savannah.

I lifted a hand to touch her, casting a dark shadow over her figure. The walking bones formed from my hands glared at me and I retreated. Savannah. I cast the darkness that threatened my sister's light. Turning away from the figure I tossed myself down on my bed and buried my head in the pillow. The stomping of my father coming to my door should have made me afraid but I didn't care right now. He didn't knock, he never does, and I rounded on him. The fury at myself, at the Capitol, at him, all came together and I felt like I could spit venom. "Go away." I glared at him, something I usually didn't dare to do, something that would normally get me hit. Incredibly, he paused at my door. I don't think I'd ever seen him hesitate before.

I stood up, hands clenching into fists. "Leave. Me. Alone." The fight in me normally left at this point but I had been pushed too far. If my father hit me I would give as good as I got, or better. He sneered, as though telling me I would pay for this later, and stomped out of my room. The slam of the door sent the glass shards spinning again and the angel on my wall flapped her wings and exploded into a million pieces of light. Savannah.

I'm sorry I'm a horrible sister.

[[nyte]]

                    H E L E N  C A R E Y

Hopelessness was given a new meaning when her sister's body was returned in a little wooden box. Heart throbbing with words left unsaid, eyes pooling with regrets, Helen simply stared at the final resting place of one Savannah Carey. She didn't want to see it, the thing hidden behind thick wooden paneling. Surely, it was no longer her sister; her sister breathed and laughed and cried just like the rest of them. Whatever remained of the girl was a pawn, a toy discarded once the Capitol had grown bored of it.

It was as if they'd taken a knife to Helen's body, digging deep into her forearms yet no mark was made. Sav hadn't been that lucky, had she? The knives that dug into her skin were real, the wounds she received permanent, fatal. Helen still remembered watching her sister's arm fall to the ground. The careers surrounding her like moths to a flame. Yet she survived. She tried so hard to get back to them and in the end it just wasn't enough. Never enough.

Helen had witnessed Savannah's beatings many a time. The blunt fists of their drunken father leaving purple kisses upon her flesh. She couldn't help but wonder what that had felt like. Did it make her angry or hurt or just scared? Why wouldn't she just let father hurt them... hurt her? It wasn't like she didn't deserve it for all the times she sat, transfixed by the violence unfolding before her.

It was the very reason Helen Carey was never a child to begin with. She held no innocence, not in one inch of her tiny body. And to this day, she was convinced she'd seen in all. Not a single tear had fallen, no matter how angry or scared the girl became. The entire world was greeted by a face of stone, jaw locked in determination not to show anything. She wanted to be strong like Savannah. Free like Eva. Smart like Olivia. Anyone but the twelve year old girl with the dead eyes and the heart of stone.

Don't cry. The single phrase was repeated over and over, pushing out every other possible thought. The funeral was said to begin any second, and she'd yet to lay eyes upon whatever remained of her sister. The wooden box sat there, not only the embodiment of her sister's death but of the four sister's she'd left behind. It was so simple and innocent, looking nothing like the final resting place of a woman forced through hell and who never made it back.

And when they peeled back the lid, Helen failed to do what she'd been telling herself for hours on end.

For the first time in a long while, Helen Carey cried.

In the midst of strangers and friends alike, her knees were no longer able to hold her. Left uncovered by the dress she wore, they hit the floor hard and with little warning. It stung and burned but was nothing compared to the deep throbbing within her throat. Alone, in the back of a crowd she barely knew, Helen sobbed. Palms pressed against her eyes but doing nothing to stem the flow of the salty liquid. It rolled into her hair and onto her tongue. Her shoulders heaved violently but it was as if she could no longer make a sound. She was caught in an inferno, feeling suddenly rushing back to limbs which had long since been numbed.

She felt the ground beneath her knees, the cheap cloth that clung to her body. She could feel a breeze and the white hot tears falling upon her skin. All at once the weight of the world forced itself upon her shoulders. The world that had been shattered by a one in a million chance.

"Savannah Carey."

No.

"Savannah Carey."

Please come back.

"Savannah Carey."

The escort's voice echoed in her empty head. The way she accented the vowels and sang the name like it were some happy tune. As though it were a celebration and not a death sentence.

Helen still hadn't seen the body within the box, even as it stood open only a few feet away. She wondered if they'd returned her whole, with the arm that had been taken from her. With the smile that used to light up a room, despite the hell she'd faced the night before. Was she still covered in the blood of others as well as her own?

It was a split second decision, a moment she would never get back. Olivia's voice echoed across the crowd, but Helen heard nothing of the speech. The tears had stopped, and the pain would too, some day. She'd already said her goodbyes, wrapped her arms around Sav and told her that she loved her more than anything in the world. That Savannah was warm, she was the perfect guardian and an even better sister. No person had to tell her such, not even Olivia. More than anything, Helen wanted to remember that Savannah, not the one laying still in a box. Wanted the last time she'd ever touched her to be a time when her heart still beat. She didn't want an answer to questions that had plagued since that box arrived. She sure as hell didn't want to see her sister put in the ground.

So she stood, brushing dirt off of her irritated skin and wrinkled dress. She wasn't running, didn't fear what was in that box. If anything, she pitied what her sister had become. Reduced to a plaything by the volition of another. Countless nights had already been spent apologizing to her, begging for her forgiveness because Helen should have taken her place. So that the death was meaningless, and the others wouldn't have to suffer like they were without Savannah. Sometime during a sleepless night, she'd realized there was no changing the past. As much as she cursed the gods and the Capitol alike, her sister was never coming back.

Running from that would be cowardly.

This, however, was nothing of the sort. Helen chose to remember the Savannah she'd seen in the Justice Building. To take the control her sister was never given, and leave behind the pain she'd been ignoring since the reaping. Accepting the fact she'd never be at peace with her death. Embracing the rage and anger she'd thought she had no right to feel.

Helen hated the Capitol. She hated the games and every single person who'd ever set foot in the arena. Most of all, she hated the man who'd failed to save Savannah. Who was supposed to protect her and then left her to die. Yet he still got a life after ruining twenty-three others. She hated Colgate O'leary more than anything.

She was angry and sad and confused.

And it was okay. 

"Thank you." those were her last words to a sister who would never hear them. Her back turned on the funeral, eyes dried and head held high, Helen Carey didn't run away. She walked.