You must lay some flowers on my grave [ VT: flynn & callan ]

[k!ah]

I stood on a platform, my back sweating, a banner with Nanette's smiling face behind me. When I had first arrived peacekeepers had ushered me towards the platform, asking about my mother and if she would be attending. I had brushed them off, fingers aching to reach for the flash in my upper coat pocket. I had been taken by my sisters face, her name and district printed in bold neat next.

Fresh tears had threatened to form at the corner of my eyes as I took in the smile which she worse, the blue in her eyes and the softness in her cheeks. In this image she did not have a hole in her head where the butter had exploded her brain. In this image she looked like the girl I had seen a couple days before the reaping, coffee in hand and begging me to come see mum. I had waved her off with a rough pat on the head before punching her shoulder as I said goodbye.

That was the last time I saw her, dissapointment hidden behind a wide grin and she waved me off before turning towards home. Swallowing hard I had turned away, fighting the burning desire to take the flash from my pocket and down it right here and now. The sweat on my back runs down my skin, and I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for the briefest moment, I could do this.

Soon the district hall doors open and people spill out onto the stage. It doesn't take more than a heartbeat for me to spot the boy that Nanette had held, holding him tight as she wiped away tears and blood. Flynn Garner. The boy that had been by her side right until the morning she had brushed a kiss across his forehead, holding back tears as she rushed off into the night. I knew Nan, knew her better than anyone, and knew that she left because she would not have been able to face the boy had the time come when she might have to turn her weapon against him. She would not have been able to watch him die, either.

Just like she couldn't bare watching mum fade away into deaths waiting grasp.

I don't hear much as the ceremony continues, all I can do is stare at the boy who had been with her in her last days. All I could do was see the gun pressed against her brow. All I could hear was the bang as it went off. The thud of her body. The echoing of the canon.

All I could think, selfishly, was that I wished it was her standing on the stage, and not him.

Instantly I banish the thought from my mind, because I knew that she would be glad that Flynn had survived, that she died in order for him to live.

The ceremony ends and the victor disappears into the hall, the doors closing loudly behind them. The square begins to empty but I am left standing, staring at the closed doors, my sister smiling brightly behind me. Traditionally the families would join the victor for dinner, but I can't bring myself to step into the hall, instead I take a seat, fingers digging into my pocket I pull out the flask. Flicking open the lid I take a long deep drink.

And I wait.

The sun begins its long decent, kissing the horizon before the doors open again and the victor steps out into the square. Pocketing my flash I slip from the stage, dusting my pants as I make my way over to him. "Flynn Garner." I say, my voice slightly slurred from my slight intoxication. "My sister died for you." Not exactly how I had impinge the conversation starting, but a consequence of drinking was the loss of a filter. It is not until I stand a couple paces from him I really see how young he is. Nothing more than a child, barely into his teens.

I think I see now, why Nan had chosen to align herself with him. She wouldn't have been able bring herself to kill a kid.

"Callan Carter," I reach between us, offering my hand.

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

♕

District Four, it was always coming. I just wish I could have gotten here sooner. There is nothing penned in the schedule to visit Nan’s mother. I am just going to have to find the time myself. Get all the necessary festivities over and done with and keep that one promise.

This is my ninth speech and feels just as fake as the other ones. To the dislike of the escort I do not take the cue cards with me ”I can remember it, don’t worry.” Ninth speech in and they still don’t believe me. I have been their little angel in front of the cameras during the whole tour, but they are quaking in their boots while we stand in the Justice Building of Four. Maybe because of the sentimental feelings the District has. Damn, the Capitolites are big worriers but I guess the other eighty-six were not as well behaved.

I stand on the stage in Four, face to the microphone, spilling out the words that a memorised in my head. My eyes flutter across the different faces, wondering if one of them is Isobel and anyone else related to Nan. The last time they would have all been stood here will have been during the reaping. Seeing two of their own taken away and now they are blessed with a battered thirteen-year-old kid who is far from home. Then it is over. Finally. I have really had to become an expert at public speaking in the space of a week. It may come to its uses one day.

I am quickly huddled back into the building when the speech is over. It is like I am a trophy now, wheeled out on display and quickly swiped away again when my use is over. It will not last long, the next one will have to do the same and the one after that and the one after that. Maybe I will be alive to see the very last one…

Escaping from the chattering seems impossible, the day will nearly be over, and they still have me stuck in this damned Justice Building. ”Can I step outside for a moment, I need some fresh air?” There is a grunt and a rumble but I do not here a no. I do not wait for a yes either and just simply swing open the big doors to the detest of the peacekeepers that have been in my shadow.

The sun is also escaping the day, argh how am I going to find the time?

"My sister died for you."

It has already found me. An older guy quickly steps out and I do not flinch. It is who I want. It is who I need and the greeting, otherwise scary as hell is expected. Nan did die for me. She took away the heartbreak of being in the moment of either of us dying but I have seen the replay now. I have lived through Castor’s lie. It looked painless. Far less painless than the agony I put her murderer through the next day.

Callan Carter, a brother I barley heard a word about, but I have not made a promise for him. ”Where is your mom? Is she ok?”

[k!ah]

”Where is your mom?"

My hand brushed off with a question that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Dropping to my side I give him a hard look. There was something in his eyes that I recognised in my own when I stared at my reflection for too long. I could barely imagine exactly what he had been through. I had only seen glimpse of what he had been put through, what my sister had to endure before dying surrounded by fucking sewage. I would never understand what he had been forced to go through.

"Is she ok?”

No.

She's dead.

I almost say the words, a burn in the back of my throat that had become familiar over the past few weeks. A sign that I was allowing my emotions to consume me once again, the sob building like a tidal wave in the back of my throat. I push it away, swallowing hard I give my head a small shake.

I knew if I spoke now, my words would come out harsh, and heated so I bite my tongue, taking a moment to gather myself. I remember seeing the conversation between Nan and this boy. How she had told him how mum was dying, and that the reason why she was fighting so hard was for our mother and her chance at survival. I remember how Flynn had vowed that if he made it home, he would do everything within his power to save her.

But he was too late, my mother buried in a grave next to my sisters.

"M-mum," my voice breaks, my fingers twitching to reach for the numbing substance safety tucked into my coat. "No. She's not okay." I take a deep breath, sighing as I stare out into the horizon. The boy had been through so much, how was I supposed to pile on another death onto the a list that was quickly growing to be very long?

Sighing I run a hand through my hair. Time to rip off the band aid.

"Look," my teeth snag my lower lip. "I'm sorry, but she passed away a few weeks ago." My fingers twitch again, but I don't fight back at the urge to grab the flask, my fingers diving in and fishing out the silver flask. Flicking off the cap I take a swig. It doesn't burn the way it did a few hours ago. Though it does add to the haze in my mind, blocking the image of my mothers frail body, and my sisters blown in skull.

My gaze drops back to his, "She didn't make it."

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

♕

The silence after my question is long. Eerie and haunting like my first night alone in the arena. The real first night that I knew I was alone. Both of us vowed a promise to each other if we were so lucky to survive. Nanette was to make sure my sisters were safe, to make sure George had a permanent bruise on his eye. Oh, how I wish I could see her give that big beast a good throttling, but it is not to be. I am here and she is not. I am here with her mourning brother. I am her instead of all those others.

Callan’s face takes me on a journey while I wait for the answer. The silence is crippling, maybe I already know the answer. Maybe I was too late. I should have just come here first. Fuck the schedule. Fuck the Capitol. I should have come here straight away. I should have made that promise a priority. Callan’s response is staggered, building up to the few words I do not want to hear.

"She didn't make it."

A fist builds up in my right hand it pounds against my thigh. I am too damn late. Too damn useless just to keep one dead girl’s promise. I try and contain the urge of releasing the emotions, my reaction in front of someone who deserves to mourn more than me. He has probably already been through everyone else’s emotions twice over. I can’t imagine having to bury two. Two close burials. I can’t imagine burying my own mother and a sister next to each other. No, it is not fair. Callan does not need my emotions.

”I am so sorry. I am sorry for being too late!” No he does not need this. I need to go back inside. I need to prep for the next speech. Except the tears start rolling, my cheeks start burning and my eyes trace the metal flask in Callan’s hand. I have been offered it so many times as a treat but maybe it can be the medicine to my emotions. Just one little sip will not do much. We used to sip my dad’s secret cabinet stash back home. I cannot embarrass myself in front of Nan’s brother…though she did get drunk in front of me that one night!

”Are you okay to share that?” I say, pointing at the forbidden drink.