So Close & So Very Far Away [OPEN]

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar	[Dreaming]
District 11	----

A Little piece in a big, big universe

I like the cornfields best in the fall, after the proper winter chill has set in. The earth chomps when I step my boots along the rows, with cracks of ice forming in the frozen puddles as I pass. Stalks sit, their bodies broken over their own weight. I like to twist the cracked yellow leaves between my hands. I give a good pull and then with all of my weight, I’ll heave them, root and all, up into the darkness of the night. You can sit, listen and wait for how long it takes for the thing to fall out of the sky. Then, you start all over again. Feet against the hard earth, hands on the dead and broken stalks and a good, swift heft of life up and into the air again. My brother Benat used to take me on these walks at night, half to help with clearing the fields, half to ramble on about his theories of the universe to someone that was eager to drink up his words. We’d sneak back into the house just before sunrise, and wake with heavy black bags tucked in with secrets underneath our eyes.

Tonight it’s just me and the white of my breath in the air. Deval’s gone traipsing off to ripred knows where; mother and father are sound asleep in their bed. People are swallowed up by the feverish dream of the games. Now and again in town I’ll catch word that our tributes are still alive—though the boys are wise enough to know that any mention of the games around me will set me off. I don’t need to know what sort of weapon killed so-and-so, or if we have any chance of bringing someone home. I’d rather slice my neck with a thresher than have to spend two minutes talking about the boys and girls in the games. And it’s not because of my brother, or my cousin. That’s too easy of a reason for me to hate the Hunger Games, though it’s good enough that it should have riddled me silent on the subject by now.

I come to the edge of the orchards, right where the creek runs up to the shore. The water has frozen over along the edges, and in another week will be frozen solid. Here I begin circling, setting down broken pieces of stalks of corn, thistles, and other pieces of bramble into a pile. They must have expected me to fade off into silence, to just fall into the shadows like the rest of the boys and girls did. Not that they was wrong—I ran off, into the woods and far and away from the District. I was half dead when I managed to get back through the wall. The lie that was told and stuck was that I was too close to death for anyone to much care whether I could work. They’d dug a grave and made a marker for me, and told everyone that little Sampson had gone and passed from a terrible fever. But it was grandmother that took the fall—the one that had hidden me away, nursed me back to health until I was well enough. Her lie was forgiven, for as much as a senile old woman could be. She was taken at night from her home four months ago. We ain’t seen her since.

With steady hands I start packing loose pieces of wood into a pile. On top I put the stalks of dried corn along with rotted out husks. Clumps of weed come next, and I press these into the bottom spaces between the wood. There has to be enough rubbish at the bottom of the pile because there has to be something for the fire to give life to. Even if you have enough to burn, you won’t get a proper fire without the right starting materials. I set down close against the cold earth and between cracking the flint and stone together. A shower of sparks flies. They nip at the exposed dried weeds, and after three tries, smoke begins to exhale out the base. I press my face in close, my mouth breathing in the crispness of the ashes before I give a slow whistle of air. The smoke builds and I give another whistle. Crackling through the loose timber, a flick of flame climbs out of the base.

It’s nice to watch the flames. The warm light dances out along my face and lights up the water along the brook. I listen to the quiet of the world. It’s easy to think about how loud your own world is, so much so that it blocks out all the silence that’s been begging to be taken in. When I was outside the walls, I could spend hours listening to the world. Being part of the trees underneath a sky full of stars has a certain way of making you small. Not the sort of small that I would spend hours turning over in my head, when—at thirteen—I found my hands too little, my muscles too feeble, for anyone to love. The sort of small where you wake up and realize that there’s no use wasting a breath on hating your body, or your eyes, because we’re useless playing on that. The real truth in the world is only found when we can look past what’s inside our little bodies for something more. Not saying I can just yet—but it’s a thought I can keep in my head, to keep both of my feet on the ground.

And so I sit, watching the little fire crackle and the stars dance above. Waiting and watching—and listening for the next crack of ice in the distance.

* * *

HAYANA OF CAUTION 2.0

[Double M]

There was a kind of silence in the air tonight, one that I'd not felt in some time. I couldn't hear someone coughing up blood to the right of me - or weeping for the death of a loved one on the left. I found some peace in this silence that had been lost to me for some time. Even if it was only briefly, in this very moment I'd allowed myself to let go of all the pain, misery - hunger that was plaguing my body. I could hear the sound of crickets crying out for their mates - and the whistling of the cold breeze through the crops. Perhaps there was beauty left in this world.. if one is willing to search for it.

Someone of my age in my district was generally forbidden from roaming the grounds at night - we had a strict curfew to abide by. Though during the winter months, the peacekeepers would keep in warm places and avoid the chilling air in the fields. Which gave us all a little more wiggle room - I could stretch my arms and breath without the fear of getting a lashing in the town square.

I have memories of when I was younger, my hand intertwined with my brothers. You could say we were one of the same kind, just like the flower in which we were named after - two heads sharing one body. I've never been the type to seek comfort and companionship in others. My twin was the one person in this world I'd felt comfortable with, I could share my deepest thoughts.. or trust him with my secrets. Although when I was younger, my secrets consisted of what I did that afternoon or what my favorite color was. Lavender. It was so soft and gentle - it could bring a smile to my face on my darkest days.

After he left this world, I'd shut myself off from connecting with anyone else the way I did with him. Not that I could find it - even if I did try. It was safe for me to keep a distance from others. I couldn't hurt anyone that way.. and they couldn't hurt me. It seemed like a win/win situation for everyone.  No matter how I would rationalize the way I was now - it didn't stop me from missing him. Longing for his shoulder to rest my cheek on, being able to hear his heartbeat slowly drum in his chest in sync with my own.

That's when I saw something in the distance through the dark night sky, smoke had started to fill the air and the smell of wood burning filled my nostrils. Something compelled me to approach it, whether that be the enticing smell - or the warmth from the brewing fire I could so desperately use right now. My thin jacket was hardly enough to protect me from the gusts blowing through me. Step by step I grow closer to the fire, the air getting denser with the fill of smoke and ash. It fills my lungs gently, and I let out a soft cough. Almost instantly, I hear a twig snap in front of me.. just beyond the pasture is where the fire lied. That's when I realized, there had to have been someone to start it.

It was probably the lack of nourishment and my fuzzy head that led me to ignore the distinct fact that where there was a fire.. there was someone starting it. Another breathing living creature that I'd avoid any other day. I knew whomever lay on the other side of this field was alerted to my presence. "What if it's a peacekeeper?" I think.. if he finds me out here I'll surely get whipped. Though I quickly realize a peacekeeper wouldn't be out here building fires when they could stay warm in their headquarters. Then I see a small pair of eyes peak at me through the creases in the brush.

My heart almost stops from fear, it shoots through me like venom from a tracker jacker. But then I realize, he's just a kid.. he can't be too much older than I am. Our eyes meet and for a moment I try and find a way to escape before he fully sees me. He steps closer to me, and now we're standing a mere foot away. My breath was holding inside my lungs - it wasn't really my forte to interact with others. But he looked harmless, or seemingly so.

It was difficult to make out his appearance through the darkness that filled the air. My lips would part just long enough to mutter out a "Hello." in a soft whisper that even I could barely hear come out of me. Now I'm left to wonder if he'll talk back to me to.. or perhaps he's lost in his fear as much as I was.

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar	[Dreaming]
District 11	----

A Little piece in a big, big universe

Smoke continues to stain my clothes and my eyes water as the wind shifts. I’ve gotten good at listening to the stillness of the night. The open air out here has a way of reverberating all the little clicks and cracks. Even with the water running up along the shore, I’ve managed to spot the foxes that amble down by the ditch, or the owls that rustle through the limbs of the trees at night. When I was younger, I would make believe that these were the sounds of spirits visiting. First my grandfather—he passed when I was just seven. Benat would lie and tell me that we couldn’t see him, but that this too was one of his favorite places to walk. So the sound of a branch snapping or a whistle in the distance would be him, and he would be watching over all of us.

Now there’s the crunch of feet against the earth. I hear the slow trudging, and keep my chin pressed into my chest. Deval would warn me about the danger of going out alone at night, especially during the games. Higher alert was paid when our tributes died, and more so when one of them made it closer to the end. District Eleven was the sort of place where your head was likely to be bashed in—not because we spat in their faces, but because we were more insects than human. That same fear that had made me shiver as a boy was gone now. Death has come for me twice; I doubt I’ll survive the third time but—it certainly seems as though I have a knack for bobbing up to the surface where everyone else seems to drown. And so I keep fiddling with the strand of wheat between my fingers. I twist the thing into the shape of a cross, looping the ends over one another.

Hello.

A voice calls out over the water, and the hair rises on the back of my neck. I can’t say that I’ve ever been the friendliest person ever. Boys just didn’t understand me—being too swishy, or having a higher voice, it took a lot more fists than words to get a point across here. Girls were even more mysterious. They had their own way of speaking, a sort of world that I wasn’t allowed to enter, even as close as I pressed my face up against the glass. Maybe that’s why I kept so much alone. Was easier to stay in my own little world, with ma and pa and Deval than it was to break my way into another. There weren’t any translators left for me here anymore, anyway. Benat was long since reduced to dust; Deval had gone and made his own way without us.

I look to her now, my face bathed in the orange of the light. I can’t say that I know her but, I nod my head to the corner next to me and then stare back down at the ground. Are my cheeks burning red? It’s hard to know if people still notice me anymore. Three long years since Iago, Five from Benat—a shame that part of me just wanted it over and done with, if she had any idea who the Izars were. Better that than having to explain it one again, and having my blood roil. I seem agitated all the time, shouting and cussing at the littlest things. Not that it ever took much before, but I got no reason to have much patience.

“You can sit,” I say with my voice low. “Ain’t no one that’d bother you out here.” In a sense there were more ghosts on our land than living; peacekeepers seemed to have a joke that Izar land was becoming a graveyard. I look at her and let out a cough. In the cold my nose has started to drip, and the edges of my fingers go cold without me pressing my hand closer to the fire. I breathe in the fire and lick my lips. “I’m Sampson.” I wait another second to reach for a stick so that I can poke a log in the fire. A spray of sparks shoots up into the air.

“What you doin’ out here?” I ask then, because the answer is probably more interesting than who she is. “We don’t get a lot of folk that come up this way anymore.”

* * *

HAYANA OF CAUTION 2.0

[Double M]

The cold air of this winter night starts to fade away from me, the warmth of the dancing flames seeping into my skin. Reminds me that life can be filled with it's own warmth - that it's not just the cold, empty wasteland I've come accustomed to viewing it as. Something as simple as fire had such an affect on me, it could warm my own heart which even I admit - feels cold as the ice around me.

That fear that initially struck my body, had slipped away as this boy willingly welcomed me to join him. The light from the flames skipped across his face - giving me a small peak into his identity with each glimmer. I'd never really paid much attention to the faces that fill district eleven, especially the younger ones. It was like looking at animals headed for slaughter. 

When I was real young - sometimes I'd find rabbits that somehow burrowed their way into our district from the outside. They would have the same look in their eye that many of us did when we was around the crops. Seeing those bunnies, so innocent and cute - I'd wanted to name it and keep it as my own. It was rare to see anyone in district eleven keep a pet - if you wouldn't cook the animal for food someone else sure might. The first time I'd ever seen that bunny out in the fields, I'd started thinking of names I could call it by. But my momma warned me - she told me "-to never name food." Solid advice, I guess. Not but minutes after the bunny was dead and being ripped apart for scraps.

I would use that same rule for people, don't learn their names - don't call them friend. Because whenever the games would come around - they'd likely be no more than scraps themselves. Though oddly enough, I'd actually seen this boys face before. I'd even remembered his name - well his last name, anyway. He was an Izar, there'd been more than a couple of his bloodline thrown into the games. I'd felt an immediate pity for him, his pain had been publicly viewed and spread as entertainment for the capitol.

My eyes fixate on his face, but away from his eyes. The boys face was sunken, and he had a scar above his eyebrow that even in the darkness - could be seen visibly. The silence holds for only a short time, before he starts to question me. His words were like a blur to me, incoherent letters scrambled in random orders. I try to snap out of my haze - it won't do me much good keeping silent if I plan on enjoying the warmth of the flames he'd created. "What you doin' out here?" he questioned. "We don’t get a lot of folk that come up this way anymore" he wasn't wrong, most are to afraid or to weak to venture to far from their homes. "I jus' needed to get.. away." was all I could muster up, silence fills the air once more as he starts to poke at the fire keeping it from burning out. "Y-you're an Izar - right?" I fumble over my words not really sure how to approach him.  

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar	[----]
District 11	----

A Little piece in a big, big universe

I can hear the crack of the wood, then the hiss when more sparks are released. She doesn’t answer at first, and I wonder if seeing a soul out after dark is too much for her. Makes sense. They’ve kept us so far under their boots here, I’m surprised anyone gets more than two feet from their homes. Some of them are still praying for a light in the dark—a victor—because they think that’s gonna solve all of our problems. Except I’ve already seen that won’t answer anything. The taste of coming so close, and closer still fills you with nothing that you can put in your hands, or in your stomach. It’s just another show of how desperate we are, to prove that we are human, that we’re not just the dirty hands that till the soil in District Eleven. Well I’ve got news: we were born human, so there ain’t nothing we have to prove to anyone already.

I have the privilege of having seen outside the walls, so I know the world isn’t just fences and muddied hands under a hot sun. It’s mountains with snow and ice, it’s streams that run along sprawling hills; it’s falling asleep next to a little fire and waking up under a blue sky in the morning. But they’ll never believe—or know—the truth. Because as soon as I speak the words, they’ll spread like wildfire, and I’ll disappear as my grandmother did. Deval is the only one that knows anything of my time beyond the wall, and getting him to talk would be like waiting for a wall to sing. Still, the thoughts keep coming back, sure as the fire lights up the little black piece of night, that I could wake them up, make them know the truth. Even a little fire can light a thousand lanterns. It’s just a matter of finding people to hold them.

I jus' needed to get.. away. She pauses. I keep pressing the stick into the bed of logs, and will out a few more sprays of sparks. Fair enough that she wanted to get away from whatever was troubling here. I’m sure there’s more than enough pain to go around in the district. Always a sob story, or two, or four from one family to another. Funny how we became one of them. When Benat was alive, our family couldn’t have been happier. A mom and dad that did their best, and three brothers who fought like cats and dogs but couldn’t be separated for the life of them.

"Y-you're an Izar - right?"

I pull the stick back and watch the flames. I take a deep breath, and give a nod. Is it wrong that a part of me is happy that our name is still known enough, I don’t have to do all the explaining? But that’s the selfishness I’ve always had, wanting people to know us, to see us as more than the massive family up on the hill. Prick a finger in District Eleven, and you’d likely find some sort of Izar blood in you. It’s why it shouldn’t have been so much of a surprise that we’d been plucked into the games. But now we’re like the Calloways—another name to scratch out and forget. Of course, you can only forget something when you’ve stopped telling the story. I angle my head and look back at the girl.

“Sure enough,” I even manage a little smile. Usually this would follow with some sort of apology, but I don’t let the air sit still. “Sampson.” I push back onto the palms of my hands and spread my legs. “You from one of the farms up the way? Ain’t a Muncie is you?” It had been as many years as I’d been gone that I’d tried to talk to any of the folks that had land beside our own. Working in the field had a way of stripping away the small talk. “No—you ain’t got the dopey eyes they do. A Newton?” I narrow my eyes and shake my head. I give a shrug. She looked the type to be scared off with too harsh a blow of wind.

“You chose quite a night to go wondering. Could’ve caught your death without warming up by a fire.”

* * *

HAYANA OF CAUTION 2.0

[Double M]

I think about all the times I'd watched the hunger games in the town square, how we'd all fall silent. Watching and waiting for our districts tributes to, inevitably - parish. The dread and fear woven into the expressions of their faces. Specifically members of the tributes family, who'd basically accepted their child's death before they'd even left the district. Then I think about this boy beside me, how he had to go through that pain not once but twice.

There wasn't much I could do or say, not that I had much of a way with words anyway. Even if there was something I could say to help him, doubtful I'd know what that one thing was. I move my body closer to the fire, reaching my hands out as close as I can without getting burned. I slowly peak my eyes back toward the boy, who nodded slowly - confirming he was who I'd thought he was. I may not pay much attention around here, but when you're forced to watch someone get the life forcibly taken out of them, it's hard to forget those faces. It's like a scar of the brain that never fades.

The boy who says his name is Sampson, then oddly flashed me a smile, you don't see much of those around these parts. It was especially surprising since the only reason I knew the name was because of the games. Then something deep inside of me, is able to flash a smile back, which surprised me even more. I feel my cheeks turn a soft shade of red - and I scurry my gaze else where.

He tries his hand at placing my face to another notable family in the district - but to no luck. After each failed attempt I simply shake my head, bringing my knees up close to my chest, locking my arms tightly around them - as if I was slinking into my own cocoon. Most days all I can do is exist in this world, becoming another face in the endless crowd was easy for me. Actually living? Becoming something more than a simple girl in the fields? Was foreign soil. After my brothers death, my whole family jus' kinda stopped living.

After failing to place my face with a name, thankfully, he gives up. I wasn't so sure I'd wanted to be on a first name basis with him - he seemed nice enough, but I'm not the type to misplace that kind of trust so easily.  “You chose quite a night to go wondering. Could’ve caught your death without warming up by a fire.” he says breaking another spell of silence. He wasn't wrong and maybe I knew that. These brutal, cold winds could have easily knocked me into my grave. But I was to bitter, foolish and stubborn to care. Not to mention the lack of food which, probably hindered my ability to make rational choices. "I 'spose it's good I ran into you then.. yea?" I say with a quick glance toward him. There was a sort of snarkiness in my voice that always seems to come out whenever I say anything to anyone. I bow my head towards the ground and blow my breath into my closed palms, trying to keep the warmth going while also avoiding his gaze.

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar	[----]
District 11	----

A Little piece in a big, big universe

She’s like a bird. That’s the first thing that comes to mind by the light of the fire. Her hands are kept close to her body. She keeps her eyes away from my own, and is ready to dart off at any moment. The trust she has is measured in the quick beats of her heart. She’s all feathers too—thin and bony underneath everything. She’s already taken to flying tonight, stopping only because she saw the warmth of the fire. Not even so much as her name is mine yet. Part of me respects that it ain’t easy finding out who she belongs to. Lot of people are ready and willing to give every inch, thinking that it’ll get them somewhere. They don’t realize that there are plenty of folk that’ll do what they want, and leave the rest of you to get picked over if you let them.

I 'spose it's good I ran into you then.. yea? Her words cut through the smoke and have me grinning again. It’s not the light hearted, mousy sort of voice I was expecting to find. No, there’s more fire there. I dig into the pockets of my coat and unearth a baby of an apple, just big enough or the palm of my hand. I take a small bite out of the flesh and let the juice dribble down my cheek. There’s one thing I learned out in the wild, with my brother, is that sharing what you got is just about the only way to show who you really are. What you’re willing to give, without asking for something in return (and sometimes, what you expect in return) says a lot about who you is. I look back to the fire, and watch the white of the logs crumbling into ash. I clear my throat and wipe the skin of the apple on my sleeve.

“I ‘spose so, yeh.” Truth is that I don’t know whether or not anyone ever got far by being part of my life. Seems like all the ones that ever get tangled up with me turn up lost, or worse. Coming together like the stars above, and then spiraling outward, into the rest of the sky. Can’t say what fault of mine that’s been, but I know that I ain’t blameless. Still—this playing at being on my own, of shoving folk away for lonely campfires at night—has a way of making you look back on your own shadow. I reach out a hand, and push the apple in my palm towards the nameless girl. Call it a peace offering, or just that my stomach don’t feel much like the crud I managed to snatch out of the Calloway orchard. I cough and take a breath. The air settles as a chill in my chest that runs right back through my spine.

“I like nights like this.” I start, words soft but ready to crack the ice that sits on the surface of the brook. “Lets you get away from everyone else, and just look at everything.” It was a luxury to even have the energy to stare at the stars at night. I wasn’t willing to give in to the District way of life just yet. Not when I’d tasted what open air really was. “You see those stars up there?” I point upward at the great expanse of black and white. “My brother Benat used to say, we’re all made of stardust. Same as what made them up there, made everything down here.” I take a breath, and watch the white of the steam as I exhale. “Guess it’s what got me staring at them so much.”

Now my face, once cool, flushes hot. The only ones that ever listened to me talk about stars were my family, or Rum Tum. Districters didn’t seem so keen on the wonders of the universe. I bring my knees up to my chest and let out another cough. “I guess…” I repeat, quieter now.

* * *

HAYANA OF CAUTION 2.0

[Double M]

It was such a strange feeling, I'd never really had anyone show much interest in me - not that I showed any towards others, but still. This frail boy had a sense about him unlike the others in District Eleven. I couldn't quite figure out what it was, but it drew me in. Normally this is when a conversation would end - and I'd have walked away - far, far away. It could just be the warmth of the fire keeping me planted here - but maybe, just maybe it was something else.

My eyes looks up just briefly, and I can see Sampson's reach extending through the thick smoke that's coated the air. At first I flinch, but then my eyes quickly fixate on what's in his hand. It was an apple, small in size, but to me - it looked like a feast fit for the capitol. My stomach instantaneously rumbles like thunder  and I go to grab it, but then I hesitate. Where did he get such an apple? Has he been saving it from his rations or did he steal it out the fields? If someone caught us eating the crops then I'd be just as guilty as this boy, whom I now realize has a look of guilt all over him. "No... thanks." I manage to whisper, trying to contain the saliva filling my mouth.  

I wasn't usually one to turn down food, and normally my stomach would speak louder than the voice of reason in  my head - whom is normally hushed. But tonight was different, being in the presence of this boy brought me both a sense of curiosity and fear. “I like nights like this.” he says through the smoke. What could he possibly mean? Does he enjoy freezing to death? I move myself further away, clinging tighter to my body. I couldn't tell what was genuine - and what was just a desperate attempt at making a conversation, when there clearly wasn't one to be had. “My brother Benat used to say, we’re all made of stardust. Same as what made them up there, made everything down here.” he says with s sparkle of hope in the tone he speaks. Something so silly I think, but it causes me to look up to try and see what he does. 

I never spent much time looking at the sky, day was light and night was dark - that was just about the extent of my interest in it. Through the smoke I can see the small glimmers of the stars that filled the night sky. Staring at those small rays of light tonight, actually made me think. If all those little specks can live out there, what's to say we specks can't? Maybe Sampson wasn't crazy after all, rather just a boy clinging on to the idea of life. My mind stumbles backward, at the way his voice perked up at the mention of his brother. The way he talked about him, it was as if he didn't die in the games. It could be his defense mechanism, if he kept his thoughts of his brother on what use to be - then maybe the pain wasn't as severe.

He closes himself off from me, his voice starting to sound further away. "Guess it’s what got me staring at them so much.” he says "I guess." followed by a mumble. Memories of my own brother fill my head, but no matter how hard I'd try to keep the good ones alive - I couldn't help but to see his small, dead face. I guess it was a sort of punishment for me. "I get it." I say, even though I really didn't. He looks up at me with an expressionless face. "Yeah, you're brother is.. was - a smart one." I try to say something comforting, but end up failing. "Ya' know.. my brother was the same way. He focused on what could be, instead of what was. I'll never forget that innocence." I say as I turn my head, my eyes start to flood with oncoming tears. I wipe my forearm over my face and suck it up, trying to conceal my emotion from him.  

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar	[----]
District 11	----

A Little piece in a big, big universe

I take another chomp of the apple and swallow. She was unsteady, unsure of the gift that I’d presented. Wasn’t her fault—fearing the repercussions of stolen food, as you do—there were plenty of good men and women that were lost over less. I gnaw the fruit down to its core, and then pop that into my mouth, too. There had been a time when I would’ve pulled away, and thought it was downright stupid to so much as breath the wrong way. Funny how a few short years could put into perspective all the wrong, and what it took to make it right. The world was, and would be, a place where the few had the power, and the rest of us were fighting for scraps. This much I know is true. But my world, the one that I live in right now? That could only be as dark as I let it. If my brother had taught me anything, it’s that no matter how bad things had gotten, wasn’t no reason to fall apart. These rules we have are in place for a reason: to keep us scared, broken, and cold.

Well, I was tired of being cold, and I sure as hell ain’t broken.

I get it, she says without the same backbone I’d heard before. I turn my face again to look at her. Yeah, you're brother is.. was - a smart one. I close my eyes for a second and take a breath. A chill runs up my spine and I shiver. She wasn’t wrong. Benat had been the wisest out of all of us—that’s probably why he wasn’t allowed to live so long. The world had tried and tried to tie him down, but Benat had the amazing quality of floating up and above everything. Where I keep getting dragged down and bobbing up again, he never even seemed to touch the ground. I wipe a hand across my eyes and steady the lump in my own throat. There haven’t been tears worth shedding for some time, and after a minute, the whole thing passes. It’s easier to bury now than when I was a tangled mess of limbs at thirteen. I stare back at the orange and red of the fire.

Ya' know.. my brother was the same way. He focused on what could be, instead of what was. I'll never forget that innocence. I keep staring ahead at the fire. The smoke rises up into the night sky, with the wind slowly carrying the smoke out over the water. A loon calls off in the distance, and I swallow again. My fingers are slow to bend toward my fist, and I press them closer to the heat. Her words continue to play over and over in my head, and I close my eyes again. I can see Benat’s face, the goofy grin that should’ve faded by now. I try to imagine it every night, so that it won’t fade. Just like I pray up to the stars that he, Iago, and Rum Tum are all well in the beyond—wherever we go after this, because (and I have to think) they’re far and away. Forgetting would be worse than ever having lost him at all.

It’s then I notice the tears. I take another breath and press my chin into my chest. We all had hurt here because District Eleven was the place where people fell apart. Whether it was brothers dying, girls running off, or just not talking to the ones you loved—we seemed to get it worst. I open and close my fingers again, and turn to look at the still nameless girl. I cough out the phlegm in my throat, and move to put my bony fingers on her shoulder. The feeling is all wrong but, in a moment where something’s got to be done, it has to be better than nothing.

“It’s been five years since we buried Benat,” I whisper out. “I think about him every day.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I didn’t know your brother but I bet he was good.” I lean closer, joining her in the darkness. “They said time would heal it but that ain’t done shit.” I fumble with my words and swallow again. “Just made me cry all the time, then… angry. ‘Cause he was good—didn’t even kill nobody in the games after five days. And I thought…” I take in a short breath. “Why’s he gone, and I’m still here?” It was the crux of everything, and I almost pull back, because what did she care what I had to say? Having a dead brother don’t give me the authority over it. But sometimes, when it hurts, you have to speak.

“Except I fell apart, and put myself back together, and fell apart. ‘Cause it hurts, thinking how I’m almost as old as he was—” I close my eyes and chew my lip. “But I’m gonna do something about it because—I ain’t gonna keep falling apart. Not when he wanted me to live.”

* * *

HAYANA OF CAUTION 2.0

[Double M]

     I watched in the corner of my eye, peaking through the smoke to see Sampson devour what was left of the apple he had. Regretting now, that I didn't take the offering. I think for a moment how it could have filled that empty spot in my stomach, but realize it'll take more than half and apple core to do that. But even then, sometimes half an apple can be the difference between life and death when you live in District Eleven.

     Hunger, dehydration and exhaustion always lingered inside my body.  It's what life was around here. If you weren't dead, sometimes you'd wish you were. But here this boy was, probably feeling the same way I am - offering to share what little he had with me, a young girl who hasn't even given him so much as her name.  I didn't know whether to consider his kindness foolish or noble. Probably a lil' bit of both. It's a wonder he's still alive if he shows this kind of generosity to strangers. People like my brother, didn't take from nobody, and he died because of it. Most the good that was in me - came from him. Now that he's gone.. I dunno if I have any of it left, at least not like this boy.

     My words seemed to have rendered Sampson silent, I wasn't sure if I'd said the wrong thing or not. I know I can't handle talking much bout' my brother, which was evident in my tear-filled eyes, so it's safe to say he could feel the same. That's when I felt something touch my shoulder, instinct had me swipe at it - but then I look down to see a frail hand gently resting on my shoulder. It was Sampson, was he trying to comfort me? I fight my urge to push him away, although it angered me, it was oddly comforting. A human touch was so lost to me I'd started to forget what it felt like. Even something as simple as the touch of his hand was reassuring to me. 

     “It’s been five years since we buried Benat,” He whispered towards me “I think about him every day.”

     We had this in common, I never stop thinking about Lenny. I see him in my dreams (or rather nightmares.) in my parents faces - and in the flowers of which we were named after. The memory of him always brought me both good and bad feelings. Though like a plague the bad always seemed to out way the good. Sampson talked about all the good of his brother, my own was just as pure of a spirit, but I couldn't escape the idea that I'd tainted it forever. Sampson tries to comfort me and although it isn't working - I appreciated the effort. It was more than anyone - even my own ma and pa - have shown me in a long time.

     “Just made me cry all the time, then… angry. ‘Cause he was good—didn’t even kill nobody in the games after five days. And I thought…” He says, with a pause “Why’s he gone, and I’m still here?” he questioned.

     Why would he ask such a thing? I wonder. His brother did what he was suppose to do and protected him from being sent to slaughter at the games. Only I have a right to ask that question, it was me that caused my brothers fate. "You didn't do anything wrong!" I blurt out, my voice sounding more hostile then I meant it to.  I felt justified in the way I self-punished. But this boy? Had no right in blaming himself and I didn't wanna hear about it. "The games killed yo' brother, not you." I say, with a little more compassion this time. 

     Sampson tells me about how he's fallen apart, and re-built himself again. What a fragile thing that musta' been - in District Eleven things never seem to get fixed, only more broken. The sheds we lived in were never repaired, the pluming was always clogged, the faucet never ran clean water. So how can you even start to repair something as complex as a broken heart? But he was right, he shouldn't dishonor his brother by being bitter and hateful. Unlike me.. my brother deserves justice - and I shouldn't get to live while he lay dead. Not that this was much of a life, anyway. I glance over at him, who I can now see up close without smoke clouding his appearance.  Now I can really see the sincerity in his eyes, which causes me to look in the opposite direction of his gaze.

     "That kindness in you.. don't let the world take that. You got what others don't. You can help people.. I can tell." I keep my face far from his, maybe my words can give him the reassurance he needs to keep going.

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar	[----]
District 11	----

A Little piece in a big, big universe

My heart beats slow, pulsing through the tips of my fingers as I sit, eyes closed. She’s inches away but distant as the hills on the horizon. I can’t place the cold. It’s one that comes from the same well of hurt and pain that I’ve had. Seems like no one’s dropped a bucket to pull it to the surface, or if they have, she’s got more sitting down below that hasn’t been drudged up. I open my eyes to look at her, to really look at the girl that’s not shied away from my words. She’s got the same skin as night—the dark skin that most the rest of the districters have—with eyes that are still red from crying. Her limbs are like the branches of a willow, thin from all the hunger she’s had. But she’s strong enough, or prideful enough, or maybe just smart enough to know not to get too tangled up in anything an Izar is doing.

You didn’t do anything wrong! She says. At first I had imagined that the world was not about what was fair, and that Benat had been too good for all of us. That was what made the pain fall away. I could imagine that my brother would’ve been worse off plucking off ears of corn, or spending his days smoking a pipe on the edge of broken down porch. The world kept moving, and slowly, the lot of us mended our fences, licked our wounds, and sewed up the open spaces on our skin. It was the first time I met my brother’s brother—Rum Tum—that I realized it wasn’t, that this wasn’t about right or wrong. It was about the fact that we were still here, that we would still be here, living in a world that could have an ounce of happiness, and Benat would never get to see that. Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? I could walk all the way to the capitol and back, but he’s nothing more than a memory.

That kindness in you... don't let the world take that. You got what others don't. You can help people... I can tell. It prickles my skin and I shiver. An open heart caused a lot of pain. Good people like my grandmother, and Benat, they wore their pain on their sleeves and spread their happiness like a ring spreads out across the waves of the water. People like that could smile; they could rise above troubles as though they were lighter than air. Rum Tum had worshipped the sun in that each morning he blessed being alive, and with me. But kindness had not changed the minds of anyone else. They were only alive as much as I spoke their names. And soon, too—they’d disappear when I’d said them for the last time. I look to her now, and my cheeks pull tight into small smile.

I could have shrunk back into anger, or despaired at how foolish the whole world was. Why be alive when it meant day after day I’d have a boot on my neck, or watch someone get cut down? How could I be happy when I’d live through hell twice over? Worse still, I was such a small piece of everything. Such an insignificant speck that I’d never be more than two numbers between a small dash. I look at her, and bring my folded hands up to my lips. I blow between them, and rock forward. I could help them. If I wanted, I could help them understand that this—this wasn’t life.

“I seent the world outside the wall.” I say. I stare down at the fire. If she wanted, she could have been taken away so that no one ever saw me again. I’d offered her the fruit, and now I was telling her what only a few people in the whole world ever knew. I take a breath and I wonder if I want to be caught, if this pain in the bottom of my stomach is from keeping it locked away from anyone or if it’s just the foolishness of a cold night and the blood pumping quick through my veins. Things were bad, worse than bad but that meant they could get better. She’d stayed this long—she’d listen now, she had to. I turn to face her and point a muddy finger at the scar above my brow.

“There’s a whole world out there,” I whisper. “With trees,” I sniff, “And mountains,” I take a breath for strength, “And lakes.” I blink. “I—I saw it with my own eyes. They’re—they,” I don’t dare say who, “Just want us locked here forever. But we don’t need to be.” And I’d rather die than stay.

* * *

HAYANA OF CAUTION 2.0

[Double M]

     Not a day goes by that I don't feel guilt and regret, oh how selfish I'd been. No matter how many tears fell from my face, or how badly I wanted to take it all back. None of that mattered. Nothing did anymore. Music use to be so inspiring to me, it would push me through the roughest and longest work days. But now? It just feels like noise. The flowers that once held such beauty, only show death and hopelessness. 

     It sounds kind of crazy, but when I looked into this boys eyes who sat beside me? It was deep and powerful, it was as if it told me more about him then he could ever say.  He wasn't like all the others in district eleven, he had somethin' not nobody else had in this wasteland. Hope. Why? I wondered, how could he find hope in the death of his family and friends? The way his brother was slaughtered for entertainment? What hope could be seen on our empty stomachs? Everything in our lives was pushing us down into our grave, but Sampson was set on crawling back out time and time again.

     “I seent the world outside the wall.” he says in a low tone, so low I could barely pick up his words.

     Did I even hear him correctly? He been outside District Eleven? Does he take me for a fool? Perhaps I'd mistaken hope with delusion. Nobody ever leaves their designated district, unless you were reaped for the games, or given a high security task by the capitol. Anyone else who tried to escape was as good as dead before they even hit the ground runnin' - or worse, they cut your tongue out and turn you into even more of a slave then you were before. "Don't lie to me." I say as I turn back to look at him, wiping the last tear from my cheek. This was why I didn't much like people in the first place. They disappoint me, or worse.. I'll disappoint them. 

     I stare daggers into him, I wasn't in the mood for cruel jokes or fantasies that would never come true. This wasn't an old storybook, there would be no happy ending, not for any of us. He tells me stories of trees and lakes surrounded by nothing but mother nature, as far as your eyes could see. No walls or electric fences to stop you. It's a dream that all of us have dreamt at one point or another. When I was younger, picking fruits from the tallest tree in the field, I could see such a place. Orchards and trees stretched all the way to the sunset. Though it would never be more than that - a dream. 

     “They're.. they.. just want us locked here forever. But we don’t need to be.” he says, stumbling over his words.

     Now I really know he's lost in his own fictional reality. In District Eleven you could be executed for eating an apple, even just talkin' about leaving was considered a crime. He's just gone and did both, one right after the other. This boy must have a death wish. Where was his sense of consequence? If he even managed to get outside these walls like he claims, the capitol would do unspeakable things to whomever he left behind. "It'll never happen Sampson, don't kid yo'self." I say as my head slowly shakes side to side, like a mother disappointed in her child.  "All you're wishin' and hoping is gonna do, is get you and everyone you know killed." I say sternly. "You should know how these things pan out, one mans actions reflect on everybody else." My voice rose for a moment, but I quickly dile it back. Whenever someone steps out of line, the peacekeepers don't just punish them - they punish all of us. All of Sampson's talk was dangerous, and we suffer enough here in District Eleven, I can't handle anymore. 

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar	[----]
District 11	----

A Little piece in a big, big universe

It’s all that I’ve seen that’s dulled the anger in my veins. Where as a child, I would’ve burnt hot to be called a liar, the words knock into my gut, but skitter past my shoulder. There was something about walking all those miles in the cold of the snow that had stretched the years. The fussing and fighting that I had in my heart at twelve was different now—not a spark of flames that burned thick and faded, but a slow and steady burn that would carry on. I’d never quite shake that feeling of pain. It’s like falling down into a well, and looking back up at the sky. You can see just a little piece of what everyone else can, but there’s still that darkness that surrounds you. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I can climb up the walls just as good as most.

I should’ve guessed that no one would believe me. Why would they? Everyone that had ever tried to get out of the walls had never come back. Rum Tum and Freya were the only ones that we’d ever rightly met from beyond the wall, and the circumstances so unbelievable, there was no imagining the truth. My brother was too old to believe in fairy tales, much less from a boy whose face looked like our dead brother’s. We had turned our backs on Rum Tum, who offered to take us away, because we couldn’t imagine a world outside the walls was any bit as good. Wouldn’t we be killed? Wouldn’t they destroy everyone we ever knew, or loved? Worse yet—what was beyond the fence? The unknown crept through our veins like ice water, it weighed us down like chains on our feet. Rum Tum was gone by the time I’d been reaped, only adding salt into our wounds.

Disappearing into the dead of night was by far the bravest thing I’d ever done. It had been just an hour after Iago had fallen. I knew that there wasn’t long before they’d trot all of us out to mourn him, and I—too young to know any better, too selfish to care—had run as fast as my boots could take me. I’d found the same drainage hole Rum Tum had shoved himself through, and didn’t stop for a second to see if anyone were following. I had decided that death was, and would be the only option for someone like me. Having fooled it once already, I was either going to restore the natural order, or create my own. The only fault in it all was that Rum Tum wouldn’t let me die with him outside the wall. He said it was better to die with the ones that had always loved me than the one who was meant to die on his own.

It'll never happen Sampson, don't kid yo'self. And there is doubt, potent as poison, dripping from the girl’s lips. Like she knows what I feel, how my life has been. Like she’s seen an eagle in the air, or the faces of long dead men carved into stone on a mountain. All you're wishin' and hoping is gonna do, is get you and everyone you know killed. I chew my lip and feel the lump fill my throat. I stare at the top half of her lips, and then at the circles that collect underneath her eyes. She’s just the same as anyone else in this district: wiry thin, and back broken by the weight of everything. You should know how these things pan out, one mans actions reflect on everybody else.

I press my hands against my knees. The ground cracks as I stand, face turned back to the fire. I listen to the slow whistle of the wind. “Except I never did nothing,” I clench and unclench my hands, now numbed in the cold of the night. “You know how things turn out, when you keep your head down? When you just go on livin’ ‘cause you don’t want nothing else?” I stare at her. “All I wanted to do was grow old with my brothers. Then they gone and took what really mattered, broke us all apart.” I press my chin back into my chest. I scuff my boot on the earth and send a shower of dirt on the fire, “Playing small didn't do me no good. And it won't for you, neither. So you go ahead and make your world small. Tell me to leave it alone. Don’t bother with nobody. Go ahead—” I take a breath. The light of the fire reflects off my face. I point another finger at her. “Well I’m not gonna leave it alone. I’m gonna tell you and everyone else you’ve got to get mad.”

My face flushes. I’m shaking now, not from the cold but the anger that pumps through my skinny frame. I look at her, and I think—I hope—she won’t see me as much of a fool as Deval does. And then, real quiet, I speak. “You can just pretend we never met, if that’s how you want to live. But I know I’m worth something. I ain’t just theirs.” I want to walk away. Except I’m still standing there, standing over her. I take another breath.

“You might not believe me. But I can prove it.” I shouldn’t even trust her but she has to know. I may be a lot of things, but I ain’t ever going to lie about this. I’m too hot to let this die. “I can prove there’s a way outside.”

* * *

HAYANA OF CAUTION 2.0

[Double M]

     It was never my intention to upset him, I mean, I barely knew the boy, but still - the last thing I needed was enemies. I didn't even know if I'd wanted allies for that matter. Though there was a part of me that wanted to trust him, to believe in what he preached. Despite everything that's happened to me, all the sorrow and emptiness I've endured, one small part of me still longed for something more. Life in District Eleven is hard on us all, and there isn't a single one who wouldn't leave, given the chance. But it's not that simple, it never has been and never will be. I've learned that everything comes at a price, and when you're already tapped out, it's hard to imagine sacrificing more.

   When I think about life outside these four walls of imprisonment, it's like trying to see in the dark. It's as if it isn't even there at all. It might as well not be, looking out over the wall surrounding our district only serves as a reminder of what will never be. That's why I took such a harsh tone with Sampson, what he thinks is encouragement, feels more like taunting. Like dangling a feast in front of me that I'd never be able to eat. That's how I felt right now. If there was anything worse than no hope at all - it was false hope. I've been let down by everyone in my life, I couldn't even rely on my own parents anymore.

     My eyes start to feel heavy, the weight of exhaustion and this conversation proving to much for me. It was the last thing I'd expected to stumble upon when I'd escaped from our shack of a house. My parents didn't talk much, but when they did it was usually short. Tonight they both sat at our unbalanced wooden table, silent as the dead. Still mourning my brothers death. Being around them, felt so poisonous and draining. Not a word could be said, but they're eyes.. the way they looked at me? Said enough. I could read their eyes, and the message was loud and clear. Despite the curfew in place, my parents probably wanted me out of the house as much as I wanted to be gone.

      Sampson suddenly shoots up like a daisy in spring and despite his small frame, towers over me like a big willow tree. I can see him out of the corner of my eyes, looking into the flames rising as if it's giving him some kind of answer that he's looking for. I'd obviously upset him by calling him out on his tall tales, but his reaction to my disbelief almost made me change my mind. As little as I trusted anyone here in District Eleven, there was something about Sampson that urged me to believe in him. But my better judgement held me back.  He goes off on a rant, about his brothers being taken by the capitol and his world crumbling around him. "Playing small didn't do me no good. And it won't for you, neither. So you go ahead and make your world small. Tell me to leave it alone. Don’t bother with nobody. Go ahead—” he urges as he stares down to me. I shake my head, resting my chin to my knee and trying to come up with a reply. I had none, because I knew he was right. I wanted to be out of this slavery as much as he, but fear had condemned me and our district.

     "Well I’m not gonna leave it alone. I’m gonna tell you and everyone else you’ve got to get mad.” he says, as if he's giving a speech in the town square, to all that inhabit this prison.

     I was mad, but I ain't stupid. Mad at the capitol for banishing us and working us like animals, mad at my family, angry with the world for dealing me the cards I got. Nothing in my life came without a burning fury inside my heart. Losing my brother, always feeling hungry, my hands always raw and bleeding from our endless work days. All of it. But what is a young poor girl from District Eleven expected to do? Stand up to the Capitol? Try and escape? Then what? It's basically the choice of dying in here or out there. 

     “You might not believe me. But I can prove it.” He says with a stern voice, and suddenly I look up to him, locking eyes for perhaps the first time since we met. “I can prove there’s a way outside.” he barks. 

     Could he really prove his story to be true? Did I even want proof? Even if he has escaped before, why was he back standing before me now? So many questions filled my head, and I didn't even no where to start. "Proof? What proof? Do you have a ticket showing you left?" I question with sarcasm in my voice, instantly feeling a form of regret, I try to rephrase. "Listen.. I'm sorry. It's not everyday someone tells me a tale about leaving this place." I say trying to ease the situation, using all my strength to stand up myself, now on a more equal level as he. "I wanna believe you, really, but if you got yo'self out then why is it you came back?" I question, instantly wondering what it is I've gotten myself into with this boy. If he's actually telling truths, then maybe there is hope left to be had.

[Deleted]

Sampson Izar	[----]
District 11	----

A Little piece in a big, big universe

I wonder, watching the smoke spiral out from the fire, if Benat would’ve let me carry on like this. He had been the untouchable, the one that never wavered in his happiness despite all the terrible the hunger and pain. Even in death he had told us to be good to one another, rather than taking the moment to curse what had happened to him. Benat was District Eleven to the bone, a boy that was happy to be a part of the fields just as long as his family stayed together. Maybe time has dulled the memory, or I’ve just been too angry to see that the same ones that I want to join me and curse the capitol; they’re the ones that just want to be able to live. There isn’t anything wrong with that—at least, there shouldn’t be. But then, there’s no room for any of us to stay happy, not when it’s so easy for that happiness to be ripped away. I rub my hands together and blow into my fists for warmth.

Proof? What proof? Do you have a ticket showing you left? I hear her voice and blink. There wasn’t a shred of evidence for me to give to this girl, or anyone else, to show just how far Rum Tum and I had gone. We had stayed away from the Districts on purpose—no need drudging up the danger of coming across a peacekeeper, or having either of our faces recognized. The few arrowheads I’d found on the trails, or the bits of colored glass were treasures enough to line my pockets, but nothing that could show anyone that I’d seen the faces of men carved into a mountain, or the crumbling lighthouse on the shoreline. Maybe he’d protected me in that way, too. Not having anything to hold onto and being back in District Eleven, no one could accuse me of disappearing beyond the wall neither. As far as anyone knew, I had been sick with a strange fever for a year, and kept hidden in the dark of my grandmother’s house.

Listen.. I'm sorry. It's not everyday someone tells me a tale about leaving this place. And that’s the truth there, breaking through it all. She cuts through the smoke with her apology, and I’m left wondering if, despite all my bluster, that maybe I have planted a seed. Even with all that she’s been told—all that anyone’s ever seen—there could be something beyond. When I was twelve, the last thing I’d ever thought of was the world beyond the brick and mortar fence. The razor wire was as high as any of us ever thought we would see. It had taken coming face to face with my brother’s ghost to even scratch the surface. How could I ever expect her to think what I had to say was true? Or better yet, that I wasn’t some crazy that had spent too much time in the sun?

I wanna believe you, really, but if you got yo'self out then why is it you came back? If I ever thought she wasn’t smart, I’d be reminded of just how she’d been, right here and now. They were all the questions that I should’ve been ready to answer. And yet I’m still standing, rubbing a hand across my arm and against my elbow, eyes drawn down to the ground. Why would I have come back to my home, after getting a taste of the endless sky and rolling hills? I had gotten a second chance with a brother I hadn’t ever known. And here I was, shivering in front of a dying light. I clear my throat and give a shrug. She’d never believe me, not if I told her the whole truth. If she’s not brave enough to give me her name, how could she ever be brave enough to keep the tale that I have? I take another deep breath and cross my arms across my chest.

I had been the coward to come back. Rum Tum knew that I was sick, and that my cough was getting worse. The soles on the bottom of my boots had been worn through, and the fever kept coming back. He wouldn’t have taken no for an answer but, it was me that said I would go. After all the fussing and crying, my throat was so hoarse I couldn’t speak for days. It’d been in front of a fire like this when he’d said okay, and the two of us had made our way back. I want to say that at thirteen, how brave could I have really been? But I look at Iago, and Benat, and Rum Tum. I wasn’t ready to die for something because I knew. I knew I could be safe and warm here. I sold myself back to District Eleven just so I could live, even when the rest of them had died.

For me.

“He—Rum Tum… my brother… wanted me to come back here,” I say at last. “It was winter and we were lost, didn’t have no food and—he didn’t want me to die out there. Said,” I swallow down the lump and breath. “I needed to be back with people who could take care of me.” I give another shrug. “He was blind and… we weren’t doing so good. Even though he lived outside the wall his whole life, he… we couldn’t make it on our own. Not like that.” It was all I could manage and if it sounded half as silly as I thought, she’d be up and away from the fire in a flash. I clear my throat again and look back out past the fire. “There’s an old rainwater tunnel out past the Hale farm. ‘Sbeen there since Rum Tum was a kid. ‘S how his momma could come in and out the district,” I say matter-of-factly. “To see my pa.”

I wipe my hand across my nose and clear my throat. “Look. I don’t tell lies. I can show you the same tunnel where I came out of, and back into. I swear it.”

* * *

HAYANA OF CAUTION 2.0