locking it away.— [prop/vasco]

[Deleted]

PROP O'MALLEY - 621 WORDS

I

 tried to stay and watch the screen for as long as I could, but it just got to the point I couldn't handle it anymore. Normally, I would be fine right now. Yeah I might look away if something particularly gory were to happen, but it never felt real - almost like a movie. This year taught me just how fucking real it all is. Nothing is more real than watching your little brothers leg gets shattered on television. Nothing is more real than hearing him scream for help and not being able to do a damn thing. Nothing is more real than what I saw.

At first, I just couldn't help but think how it should have been me. Watching Six on the platform waiting for the countdown just reminded me that I didn't volunteer to take his place. He almost looked bigger, standing there. I can't be certain if he actually gained muscle or if it's just from getting enough food everyday. I mouthed along with the countdown silently. As the camera pans around I noticed a girl eyeing Six like a hungry shark who found a wounded sea lion. I think she's from district three from the interviews, either way, she needs to find another target.

As the Bloodbath started one word crossed my mind over and over again. Run. Run. Run! I wanted Six to run away, the other tributes were so much bigger than him in comparison. A lot of tributes were immediately running away from the Cornucopia, but I watched helplessly as he ran into it. Immediately, they began to swarm him like vultures. Even the girl from district one, the one who got a fucking nine, wanted to pick an easy target.

I felt my heart racing in my chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. And then, a glimmer of hope. Six actually attacked someone. He punched them right in the face and a loud crack was heard. Her nose began to bleed and we all knew what had happened. The kid actually broke her fucking nose. He was willing to fight, willing to live.

But then, that hope faded. Soon after he grabbed a fanny pack someone kicked his shin and kicked it hard. Not just one, but multiple loud cracks were heard. Crack. Crack. CRACK! They didn't just break his shin, they destroyed it. I felt like I was going to vomit. I heard him cry out for help and watched as he struggled to even stand. And I knew right then I couldn't watch it anymore. I know I should have, it's my fault he was even there. But what can I say? I'm a selfish asshole. Always have been.

I turned and began to walk away, leaving my family without a word. We were stuck watching this shit in public. Watching Six fucking die with everyone staring at us for our reactions. Of course, he wasn't dead yet. But look at his leg! I wasn't going to stick around to watch whatever was going to happen next. I couldn't. I walked around the corner and went about half a block down and sat on a bench.

Being in that swarm of people was suffocating, I just needed to be able to fucking breathe for a minute. I sat on the bench and held my head in my hands, covering my ears as my breathing became heavy. I couldn't listen to the distant sounds of carnage right now. As I began to get lost in my thoughts it became harder and harder to breathe. I can't do this. How the fuck am I supposed to be the strong older brother when I couldn't even protect Six!? How am I supposed to fucking live with myself at this point?

MADE BY KAGNEY

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

v a s c o

I’d spent the morning on the porch watching the sunrise. There’d been a hum of the world coming to life, of wrens and jays leading a call and response while I leaned back against the wicker of the swing. I sipped at the last dregs of coffee in my glass trying not to think of how I’d be facing another crowd today, one gathered to watch our children put to death. And I’d thought that with all the years drawing out beyond us I’d have become numb.

Except it’s a scar that keeps opening, again and again. Not hard when half the kids shared my family’s name, their stories tangled with my own and all those that’d come before. My heart would always ache for the stories that sat disappearing, robbed by how unfaithful my memory became. But even more for those that I hadn’t known, who’s children would wind up with their bodies tacked up in pine boxes, or ashes scattered along the fields.

Seemed people were more concerned with telling their stories than celebrating the moments that’d never come to define them. Would people know how Benat had played the fiddle so sweet, he’d made his own father misty eyed? Or that Salome knew enough jokes that she’d keep us all in stitches? We sent them off to die alone, to be remembered for the one thing they’d never asked to share with anyone. I stared out at the sunrise and watched the orange and yellow reflect across the river. I spilled out the last of my coffee over the railing and onto the grass in the front lawn.

I used to think about all the ways the house needed fixing when I watched the bloodbath. I’d think of all the cracks in our walls that needed smoothing, or that the tiles on the roof could use replaced. How I’d have to get out the spackle and make sure things got touched up, all so that I didn’t have to watch the kids bash in one another’s skull. Or – that I didn’t have the feel the terror all along edge of my spine making the hair on my neck stand on end. That the fear would turn over to anger, hot coals pressed together to smoke and choke out all the hatred until it’d grip the back of my throat and I’d want to scream.

I’d cried before, and I’m sure I would again. Hell, I’m sure some people thought it weakness the way I’d shed so many tears. And I let go of my pride that if it was in my heart, I’d let them fall.

Except watching them that morning, of Estelle and the way she moved about the bloodbath or Six and how he didn’t run, I could feel the anger rise.

It was exciting.

Not because I dared to give in to the rage or even wade into whatever grief had taken hold. But that for once in a good long time, I could feel the way that surely so many others must’ve felt, that a piece of us was being stripped away forever and no one was doing a damn thing about it. We were meant to watch the horrific abuse as some age-old retribution that none of us had been alive to see.

I’d have lived in that rage a bit longer, as I’m sure so many men do, had I not seen the face of one of the O’Malley’s just as soon as Six had taken a bash across his leg.

No matter what I could feel, or even believed the capitol deserved, they were more important than any of this. They deserved nothing but the world we’d failed to give them. And I wasn’t going to let this anger distract me from what needed doing, whatever little of that I could.

I pushed back through the crowd, con permiso, smiling as I nodded along the lines of mourners. I’d tucked my hands into my sweatshirt and weaved until I was behind him, the red hair hard to miss.

“Excuse me,” I started, walking close to his bench, “Do you mind if I sit down here for a minute?” I gave my best grin, hands still tucked into the pockets of my hoodie. “I thought you might want some company. And I didn’t want to watch any more of that.”

elegant

[Deleted]

PROP O'MALLEY - 588 WORDS

I

 was snapped out of my trance by someone talking to me. The voice was muffled by my racing thoughts and my hands covering my ears, but it snapped me out of my head. I had learned over my years that my own thoughts were my anchors. They were chained to my legs, dragging my further down into the abyss. As soon as I could finally get my head above the water to breathe, they would sink down even further. I didn't have the strength to be able to pull myself up out of the darkness with them attached. And the longer I had those anchors, the weaker I felt. As time went on it was becoming easier and easier to just give up. Let the thoughts win and give into them. I hadn't yet, but damn it was tempting.

But my stress might have an outlet. Vasco Izar, the DILF of District Eleven and a man like half my height, was talking to me. I had a bone to pick with this asshole even if we never had met before. He got to say goodbye to Six. He'd never met Six, but he still got to say fucking goodbye to him. They told me he had run out of time and the train would be leaving too soon. I couldn't say bye to my baby brother. I couldn't hold him one last time. But this fucking grandpa who was like two feet tall got to say goodbye to someone he had never met. Sure, I had respect for him and what he's done for the district. But that's had, past tense. He's the reason I never got to say goodbye Six. That's all I needed to know.

"Yeah sure, do whatever you fucking want. You'd probably just do it anyway if I said no. In fact, here, have the whole fucking bench. Take even more to me. It wasn't your bench to begin with and you have no connection to the fucking bench but take it."

Now I was standing up, glaring down at Mayor Short-ass with his stupid hair. My fists were balled up and I felt adrenaline in my body. My anxiety and worry was turning into anger. Anger at myself for not doing whatever I could to protect Six. Anger at this whole fucking system for existing. Anger at the Capitol for taking my baby brother away from me. And all of that anger was being redirected at Vasco Izar. Maybe this man didn't deserve all of this. Maybe he didn't know how many of us there were who wanted to say goodbye in such a short time period. But I didn't fucking care. I don't fucking care about Vasco fucking Izar.

"I mean you already decided to fucking make yourself look good by saying goodbye to someone you don't even fucking care about so his actual family wouldn't have time. When you run for reelection, you might even mention him in your campaign speech. What a fucking honour, Six dying so you can keep being a politician."

I knew he wasn't who I was angry at, but the words flooded through my lips without my brain being able to filter anything. Then I did something that I admit may have been a little too far. I fucking spit on him. He wasn't necessarily hard to spit on, after all he's like chihuahua-height. But I felt like a jackass afterwards. Though, I wasn't going to apologise. I regretted my actions but I sure as Hell didn't regret my words.

MADE BY KAGNEY

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

v a s c o

I don’t know what I was expecting, whether it was he’d listen to me and I’d be able to offer him some comfort, or if it’d been that I’d wanted to make both of us feel better. I couldn’t claim part of it wasn’t from the remnants of my own grief. I hadn’t talked to Elias yet. I should’ve at least tried to find him, sent some sort of note to have him over to the house. And looking at Prop, I could see all the same hurt that’d run through the Izars if Estelle died in the arena. I didn’t want any of that for him, or his family.

I hung my head forward as he started to tear into me. I imagined the words cutting across my body as though he were trying to rip me to shreds. He’d bloody me as much as he could with all the pain that spilled out his lips. And I’d take all of it, eyes closed, until my veins ran dry. That’s the way of it, when someone else felt grief take up so much space he was fitting to burst. I didn’t take it personally, not even when he suggested I’d be using his family’s story for some sort of political gain.

He stood from his spot on the bench and I shifted my glance from his face to his hands, then balled together in fists. My son Emmanuel had been begging for a fight after Raquel had died. He hid that sadness by taking a swing at anything he could, flesh or shadows, so that he could catch something. I’d been to blame there, too. A young boy shouldn’t have had to bury his sister, much less work through the pain of it on his own. And not that I’d been absent, just – depression’s undertow had me then. Where I should’ve sat at the edge of his bed and wished away all that sadness, I’d carried let every bit of her memory collect like bricks on my back to carry.

“Joder,” I snapped back against the bench when he’d spat across my face. I let out a cough as I wiped away the dribble dripping down my temple with my sleeve.

“You think that’s a way to settle things, spitting in someone’s face?” I stood, slowly rising with creek from the bench, my right knee stiff and achy. I was getting too old for this. I could’ve walked away, and maybe it was foolish not to. “I would’ve respected you more if you’d actually taken a swing at me.”

Though truth be told, I was thankful he’d resorted to disrespect instead.

“I get it. It’s hard to trust anyone in this world. Especially when the most important thing in your life has been taken from you. How are you ever going to trust anyone again? How are you going to trust anyone who says they’re doing their best when bad things happen all the time?” I still held onto the anger but turned it in against itself. Because fire could only destroy what it touched, I’d smother it instead. “If I had it my way, it would have all ended long ago. And my spirit willing, it’ll end before someone puts me the ground.”

But this wasn’t about me, or what I wanted, was it?

“I care about you and Six and every eleven not because I’m mayor. I care because it’s the right thing to do. Because I know it’s too lonely a world for us not to care about one another. That’s how we turn into them and lose what makes us ourselves.” I brought my hands to my sides and shrugged. It’s not too far removed for me to remember what it was like to be a boy, where nothing was visible no matter how in front of my nose it might’ve been. “You don’t have to believe it if you don’t want. But Six asked me to look after you all, and I intend to make good on that promise.”

elegant

[Deleted]

PROP O'MALLEY - 553 WORDS

M

 aybe he was right. But, I didn't care either way. I was still feeling overwhelmed with emotions and didn't know what to do. I have to admit, I can't handle my own emotions. I've never really been able to. Whenever I feel my emotions, I feel them intensely. That's why it gets so overwhelming.

When I feel happy, I feel so passionately happy. On the other hand, when I feel sad, it's like I'm drowning. I've been drowning for a while now. That's what Vasco didn't understand. He seemed to think he could fix everything - not understanding that some people are beyond fixing. He's just far too altruistic.

It reminded me of Six in a way. The complete lack of understanding in how the world works. Too much blind faith in other people. He hoped that Six wasn't going to put blind faith in people during the Hunger Games. He was too naive, too much like Vasco. They saw the world as full of opportunity for change and they saw this innate goodness inside of people.

Too bad that wasn't how any of this shit works. The world is cold, plain and simple. People are cold. Sure, some people have good inside of them. But everyone? Not by a fucking long shot. Some people are just born cruel human beings with no room for kindness in their hearts. Six was likely going to learn that in the arena and Vasco would have to learn that some day as well. Too bad I don't feel like teaching.

I couldn't help but let out a chuckle when Vasco asked if I was ever going to trust anyone again. Was this guy serious? He really thought he was doing something by going off on his little monologue. Maybe something like that would work on Lock or Six, but not me. I see it for what it is, emptiness. Most words are just that, empty. Words have the meaning that we give them and when your actions don't back up the words, they become devoid of all meaning.

"You're funny, you really are. You asking me that implies I trusted anyone before now. Trusting people is how you get hurt, it's how you die. My family all has people that they trust. But they're also sheltered. They don't see the actual world for what it is, they see what my parents allow them to. They haven't experienced the world like I have, and frankly I don't want them to. And I'm guessing you haven't experienced the world either. You're too much like Six, too much blind faith in humanity. Tell me Vasco, have you ever had someone try to kill you with a broken beer bottle?"

I wasn't going to bring up the exception to the rule of sheltered, my little sister Four. She's only a year younger than me, except she's braver. She had the courage to leave. There's still a difference between her and I though. When she left the family, she had somewhere to go. Maybe I'd be happier if I left. I wouldn't feel like such an outcast. But, where would I go? I don't have anyone. Without my family I'm completely alone in this world. And I know one day I'll die alone. I'm content with that. I'm not content with living my life that way, however.

MADE BY KAGNEY

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

v a s c o

How old was he? Seventeen? He must be too young to remember. Of course, it’s hard to believe that it’s been six years since everything got turned inside out. Or that what still felt like a fresh scar across my temple had faded across time to nothing.

“I’m sorry if anyone here did that to you.” I say and wonder who could’ve done such a thing. But then I’m not sure if I want to know. Not because I wouldn’t do anything about it, but that I’d find whoever was responsible and make them own up to hurting a child. It’s weakness that lets another strike a child, and weaker still if they’ve never seen justice. Though I’m not sure what justice means anymore. It’s certainly not under the boots of peacekeepers that line the dusty roads of the district.

“I’ll admit it’s hard to trust anyone when there’s a lot of bad in the world. But I’ve tried to live with charitable assumptions about most. I found that  people want to be heard just as well as anyone else. And to know that whatever they might be going through, they don’t have to be afraid. Or ashamed. Because there’s someone else that might be trying to understand.” I wipe a hand across my face again, this time pushing away the summer’s heat. I get another glance at him and wonder if he’s ever known the sort of love I have.

“To answer your question, I’ve stared down death a few times. A few years back, my nephew tried to get his point across by blowing up the stage I was standing on,” I let the words out slow. I wonder where Sampson must be now. If he’s happier out in the wild. If his choice is better than any of the one’s he’d been able to make between the confines of these walls.

If I ever saw him again, I’d tell him how sorry I was we hadn’t done something sooner. That all the pain and anger he’d ever had we’d have sorted through. And that what he’d said about the capitol wasn’t wrong. Just that no one else deserved to die for the sins of the people who’d oppressed us. We were stronger fighting together than tearing one another apart.

“Back during the eighty-second. They told me if I’d been standing a few feet closer it would’ve been the shortest mayoral tenure eleven would’ve had since the forties.” I manage to crack a smile. “But it takes a bit more than that to keep me down.”

elegant

[Deleted]

PROP O'MALLEY -623 WORDS

W

 hat Vasco was saying actually made a lot of sense to me. I didn't say much, yet I felt understood. I felt heard. Growing up in a family like mine can be hard. There are two obvious options. You either fit in with the family and become an outcast to society, like most of my siblings. Or you fit in with society yet become outcasted in the family like Four. But there's a secret third option. Where you feel like an outcast in both the family and society as a whole. This is where I am.

I never really felt like I fit in with anyone. I think it's because when I was younger I tried to be like the rest of my siblings - an O'Malley. But the isolation started to get to me at school. That's when I started rebelling against the family norms. Yet at this point it was too late. I was already one of the kids from the weird family. No one was willing to give me a chance. And after I started going against my family I could no longer make things how they used to be. It made me realize how little I believe in God. I couldn't be like the rest of them with how seriously they take all of that stuff.

Sure, I made a few friends. And they introduced me to the only people in this world I can trust. Their names are weed, cigarettes, and booze. They make me forget everything or relax for a bit. They make it so right now, I can hold my siblings and let them cry for Six without breaking down myself. Yet, I'm ashamed of that part of myself. I hate needing these things to be happy. And I wonder if life is really worth living if I need some sort of drug to sustain it.

Of course, I keep living for my family too. But that doesn't mean they understand me. When I'm around them I'm a better listener than a speaker for a reason. We just have different life experiences, and if I tried to vent to them about the direction my life has turned they wouldn't understand. One and Hook are adults at this point and I still doubt either of them would really understand me.

And now I'm finding out Vasco Izar understands me. As soon as he mentioned the bomb it all came coming back to me. At this point I was still trying to be like the rest of my family and was still sheltered so what I knew was very limited. Just that someone tried to hurt our Mayor and believed bad things about the Capitol. After all, according to my parents the Capitol can do no wrong - even though they're killing Six as we speak.

I've always been shit with emotions. But right now, they weren't being expressed as violent outbursts. Instead, they were expressed in the tears sliding down my cheeks. Almost every night since he left I've snuck into Six's room once the house was asleep. There I cried. I couldn't cry in front of my siblings, I was their rock. I couldn't cry in front of the district, they would pity me. And if I cried in front of the cameras the Capitol would win. So instead it was just me and the dark of Six's old room. And now I was crying in front of Vasco.

"Sometimes I wonder if life is even worth it. At least life here. District Eleven may have wide open fields, but those fields are our cages. Is a life trapped worth it? Is a life where innocent people like Six get tortured really worth it? And do you have a smoke on you?"

MADE BY KAGNEY