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
