where the pines sing true ; seven train

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

He'd waited some time in his quarters, even after Jacquelyn summoned him.

Lex and Angel.

Diane and Zion.

Hanaa and Alphabet.

Sapphire and Vargen.

The list of people he hadn't been able to save grew longer with time. Part of him was unwilling to add anything more to it. Let Jacinta take the reins: she'd clearly been good at it once, as by some miracle she'd gotten Mackenzie out with a pulse. Which was ironic in at least some respects, saving someone and then falling for them, only for them to hurt you. He guessed he couldn't blame her for not wanting to care anymore, either. She was just much better at it. Mackenzie lacked follow through.

He sipped the last of his beer and tossed the bottle into the trash, pulled the fur of his coat closer to his neck while dragging from one car to the next, until he came to a rest at the last car in the lineup. It was surrounded on all sides by windows, the forest around them rushing by in a green blur just outside. There was a long that wrapped itself all the way around, adorned with plush pillows and throw blankets, but instead of sitting on that, he took a seat on the footrest so that he could face both of his tributes at once.

The boy was small and furious, red and reluctant. Good, Mackenzie thought, the anger would be good fuel in the days to come. And the girl clearly did not fear death, for she'd signed her own ticket to meet the reaper face to face. Bravery and Anger, hand-in-hand in fundamental survival, though it wasn't quite so cut and dry and that.

"I won't lie," he said, picturing Lex mocking him every time he thought of giving them a big reassuring speech, "This is going to be hard. But you're both marketable, both have selling points I could work with." He hated treating them like objects, but it was necessary- to be successful, he had to see them in the same light the Capitol did.

"From now on, you do what's good for your brand, got it? A good brand means good sponsors, and sponsors matter more than any career status ever could." How many times had a lower district edged out the competition because they'd been gifted with a little extra armor? How many careers had suffered through poison and thirst because they couldn't get their hands on a canteen or some antivenom? Experience was not power in the arena. Power was power. And the way to get it was by doing exactly what the Capitol wanted them to do.

M. P.

[tick 12a / calla]

O P H I U C H U S

fire sparks off in the dark
tear up boys and call it art
so you can hollow out
your heart

There was a kid in my elementary class who used to collect little model trains. I remember taking them from him when I was nine, breaking them up into little pieces and burying them in the treeline behind the schoolhouse.

I just thought they were kinda stupid.

Still are.

Because there's only a steady thump thump thump from my heel hitting the bottom of the chaise, the scratching of my nails as I pick at the threads of one of the blankets. It's probably from Eight, a voice in the back of my head screeches, probably made by someone who would smack the shit out of me for destroying their livelihood like this.

And when I listen hard enough, the voice sounds a little like Aries.

I pull at the threads harder.

He didn't even see me off when I left, didn't even bother to come to the Justice Building. But it's not like I expected him to show up. He's just an asshole like that. At least if he had come, I would've been able to punch him in his stupid face and tell him to stay the fuck out of my room.

Our parents still tried to get in to see me though, maybe they were going to pretend to have a meltdown into my shirt collar or something, beg me to stay, I don't know. But I told the keepers I didn't know who they were, told them I've never even met them before, swear. I let slip that they were probably there to sneak me something, that the unrest in the districts had finally bled into Seven and I'd heard that the masses were determined not to lose another tribute.

They didn't even make it through the front doors.

And so the shit show is already going so swimmingly that when Pryce strides into the carriage, golden-boy, I don't even try to hide my disappointment. All I hear is the way his sister had pleaded for him at his reaping, the past twenty-four hours playing over again, and it makes something behind my eyes burn because of course it would be him.

A part of me hoped that Jacinta Salazar would've been the one that was sent out to us first. Because at least she would've been useful.

"Marketable." I huff at him, cross my arms and look out the window, picking out the features in my reflection and trying not to get motion sick. "Sponsors aren't going to save us from getting our heads lopped off, are they? They don't give a damn about us. I don't care about sponsors."

"Besides," I turn back to glare at Pryce and point at the girl beside me, Willow, my partner in all of this I guess, and it draws something acrid from my throat. I pull my hand back when it starts to shake, "She's the one that volunteered, she's the one who actually wants to die. You should be lecturing her."

barns courtney — hollow

[pup]

It felt like it was just yesterday when Iris had stood up for me, calling out that she volunteers to die for me. Now I'm in her spot and it feels like years have passed since I called out my name to protect the frail girl who had been walking up to the stage. What am I doing.

Mom didn't bother to come see me off at the justice building. She knew I wouldn't make it. My step-father probably told her it wasn't worth seeing her daughter, that she wasn't worth anything. That's what he told her when her crippled my leg.

Now, I sit alone on the train.

Well, not exactly alone. I sit surrounded by my enemy, a retiree, and an array of luxuries that puts kings to shame.

I don't think I can win at killing people, but the man sitting across from me is my chance at making it one more person longer than Iris did. Either way, it's an escape from my current reality.

He tells me I'm supposed to be sold to the viewers, the sponsors, the people who would want to make the end of my life as interesting as possible for television. My teeth clench as I lean back in my seat, is this what every tribute feels? Anger? A hint of desperation? It doesn't matter, this is what I volunteered for. I chose to be here. I can't even imagine what the boy next to me, my partner feels. He never had a choice, he was thrust into these games while I staggered up to the stage, taking my time stumbling towards death.

"I am being lectured," I say, rolling my eyes at his venomous tone and responding in like, not looking at him. He's got a point, but I can tell there's not use trying to become friends with the one person from home who'll be in whatever arena we're pushed into. Might as well just forget home at this point if my connection isn't even going to be helpful. "But you got a point."

I keep my idle gaze on Mackenzie in front of me, ignoring the accusatory finger being pointed at me, "How are we supposed to survive? Getting a sponsor to feel sorry enough for us to want us to live is one thing, but getting someone else who's trying to survive to do the same is something else."