she's left him

of course she has

[three months after to be exact]

just his luck

alone on the first year

who can handle it all

alone?

she'd show him

she'd teach him

she'd grieve with him

but she's gone

and now he's left

sitting on the stage

two pieces of paper

whisked out of the

twin glassy spheres

the boy's older than him

[but he acts like he's twelve]

the girl

seventeen like him

pretty

quiet

kind

innocent

curious

[her name is kysa]

they lose themselves in one another

as the metropolis approaches


hands tangled in hair

lips brushing against lips

unintelligible voices

blurred

into an enthralling

concoction

she has never felt so alive

never so real

never so full

she is kysa luhrman

but one night makes her his

she is kysa luhrman

he holds her fledgling heart

on a silvery chain


drums beat

through his chest

fuzzing his mind

blurring his morals

percussion rings

on either side of her

as hooves clop

and hands applaud

he is hidden

wrapped in tight gray robes

as he shills for sponsors

she is stark

drizzled in coal

dust

open for all to see

[and to touch]

she flees

scurrying up

to her room

he waits in the doorway

you looked beautiful tonight

i'm scared

you looked wonderful tonight

i'm worried

you looked exquisite-

she ends

the useless rambling

the groping for

affection

lips against lips

bodies against bodies

heat and breathing

two stark bodies

hidden under covers


what is that!?

i showed them everything

they'll kill you, you know

isn't that for the best?

a 7 is not for the best

really?

you're going to to die kysa

i'm prepared, mitch

don't call me that

you know you love it

screw you

you like doing that, don't you?

he storms off

she's rather pleased with a 7

lucky number, right?


they're supposed to be

deciding her angle

instead they're

draped across one another

entangled on the

chaise lounge

two emptied

flutes of champagne

tossed

carelessly

onto the carpeted floor

he breathes in

her Capitol-made scent

lemon zest

and pine

but underneath

is a fragrance

that can only be described as

theirs

hearts

tossed casually to the wayside

where a fire burns

irreparable damage

thrown up like smoke

into the air

always out of reach

but always there


not even a week and he'd sell his soul

for her

[not that there's anything of worth left in there]

he knows if he loses her

it'll be the last crumbless day

that kills the starving child

that is his feeble

quivering heart

she looks like

a girl

pure

innocent

free

sated

her curiosity has been sapped away

replaced by hunger

drive

want

need

he can't fill that hunger

he's selfish

he won't give himself up for her

he knows that's a lie


you make me want to live, mitch.

not survive.

not exist.

live.

he finds the crumpled note

after their last night together

tossed underneath the bed

he opens his mouth to ask about

this scrap of paper

but she's already sound asleep

he presses his lips softly against her forehead

and leaves

kysa's eyes fly open

roving fingers check that the note is gone

all is good

goodbye haymitch abernathy


she will live

he is sure of it

there have never been repeat victories

no district

ever has had two wins in a row

not even 1 or 2

and surely not 12

who only managed to scrape up

a second representative

a year ago

in haymitch abernathy

he is that single surviving victor

that single ember

of hope for the emaciated

children that waste away

in the seam

haymitch will make a repeat victory

his only friend,

chaff abwenza of the 45th

prepares a bottle of whiskey

for the boy

haymitch knocks the glass away

kysa will survive. she must.

and then haymitch realizes

the meaning of her note

live

it's already too late


sharp, bitter

wind, snowflakes flying

her raven black hair billows

like a dark omen

a harbinger of doom

she smiles serenely

while the girl from 7 to her left

almost lurches off her pedestal from nerves

and while the boy from 10 to her right

starts screaming for his mother

before the countdown's even past 50

when the countdown reaches 40

kysa starts a verbal barrage of her own

capitol murderers

you kill us

with grins and glee

you slaughter us

with "good intentions"

you prepare us

to be killed or controlled

you relish us

when we're coated in red

you enjoy us

dead and in coffins

shipped back home

i will not stand for this

this is not cowardice

this is defiance

this is me living my own life

and not dying by your will

live

i will live on in the hearts of those

who will rebel

because the capitol will fall

and my soul will laugh

as your pretty painted faces burn

5 left

she steps forward with a rebellious cheer

blown sky high

you make me want to truly live, mitch


how could she know?

she doesn't know her mother's maiden name

she doesn't know her mother's cousins

people don't keep things like that around

in places like 12

how could this girl

this fiery, star-crossed lover girl

[just like they were]

know

that her mother's maiden name

was luhrman?


A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. This was written for Caesar's Palace Monthly Oneshot Contest. Prompt: "You make me want to live, [Rowan]. Not survive; not exist. Live." Later on I will add other freeverses to this, but for now it's a stand alone. :) Please review with your thoughts!

P.S. Thanks to the wonderful Bellicose Blue for beta-ing/DocXing! Go check out her works, they're amazing! :D

Until next time,

Tracee