Chapter Seven.


Goodbyes, Part One.


Prosper Livingston, 18 years old;
District One Male.


Prosper was happy to be here, waiting to say goodbye.

Happy probably wasn't the right word to use. No. It didn't convey the emotion well enough. Ecstatic. Prosper was ecstatic to be here.

He'd volunteered. He'd put his hand in the air confidently, smiled out at the crowd and cameras, and up he had gone onto the stage. Prosper was the tribute from One – the male representative, the hero of his District, a young man they'd place all their faith in. He couldn't be happier. Really, truly, the pressure itself might be somewhere, existing within him, but it was as far back as it could be.

Too far back for him to see it. For it to make him see this room for what it was, this situation for what it was, and where his future might end up. The Hunger Games were what he interpreted them as, watching television. They were something he'd idolised, something he'd longed for since being a little kid.

Now, he was a part of the greatest game in the history of Panem.

Why should he be sad?

No. He was ecstatic. It was the only way to sum up how he felt.

Until he came in, that was.

"Father," Prosper stood up, eagerly running forwards, then stopping to control himself. He pat down the creases in his shirt and offered him a hand – confident but poised. He knew his father would like that. The man hadn't been there to offer his words of luck this morning, but Prosper didn't mind. I don't. I really don't. He was probably doing something important.

Maybe…

Probably.

No, definitely.

"Prosper. I- I, er- I see you went through with it then." He looked uncomfortable. Prosper saw the way his eyes seemed to focus in on everything in the room but his own son. He felt his own stomach make a noise at that, a weird feeling that momentarily, almost invisibly, gave Prosper a feeling he'd snuffed out of his life for as long as he could remember.

His father did care. He did in whichever way he wished to show it. Not everyone was like Prosper – he'd trained and seen some people, the nasty people, the people he'd volunteered over because they didn't deserve it like he did. He was the hero of this story, he was the one people should root for because he wasn't just a fighter, but he was a people person. Alliances were formed in this Game, alliances with others his age and that was something he was excited for just as much as the outcome after he was guaranteed his victory.

Some might not see it the way he did. Prosper shoved those differing opinions far away, with the feelings towards his father and the reality of himself, all to the back of his mind. Locked away. The key somewhere – somewhere he hoped he'd never find.

"You know I was always going to," Prosper shook his father's hand, noticing how he had to lock his own fingers round his father's, not the other way round. "District One likes a man of action, not just words. I promised them a tribute, I promised them a Victor, and I'm here. The Games are our pride and joy. My pride and joy. I can do this father. Don't you think?"

He instantly regretted asking that question. Instantly. The way his father's eyes finally fell on Prosper's – the way they seemed to intensify with something, only to fall on the silk carpet at their feet once more. He was dodging. Prosper knew it – Prosper had seen it before in the people he'd tried to be friendly with.

Nothing ever stopped him though. Not from being a friend. Everyone needed a friend. Even his father – it was just them, after all, upholding the Livingston family name. They had to stick together. When he was back, he'd accomplish that tenfold. He'd make everything so much better than it already was.

Not that's it bad. No. No of course not.

"I think you'll do District One proud, son." His fingers opened, moving towards Prosper's shoulder, then he paused to close them again. Prosper watched with as enthusiastic a smile as he'd worn at the reaping, despite the display before him. This was his own father. It didn't matter, though. Prosper wouldn't let this get him down.

He never let anything get him down. That was another advantage he had – people liked a winner who knew how to feel the happy emotions, knew how to make a crowd feel good, not someone lost and upset and marring their face with an ugly old frown.

"I hope I do you proud too, Father. Honestly, I do. We used to watch the Games together. Do you remember?"

"I remember," his father offered a small smile, something Prosper lapped up like a little puppy, latching onto any sentiment he could get out of the man. It was practically sustenance for the boy. "I just hope you're ready. Panem knows how tough the Games can get."

"Panem always knows how to get the right Victor out of this. Me and Luella will make it to the end. She seems like a nice girl. And then, sadly, she won't make it. But I'll remember her. It's the least I can do, right?"

His father stared at Prosper. For a moment, he thought sadly that he had nothing left to say. Luckily for Prosper, a boy of many words, he opened his mouth and nodded his head slowly. "Yeah. You… you just do the right thing and make it home to your father, alright? I don't want to see you die."

"Die?" Prosper laughed, waving his hand. "I won't die father. People like me don't die."

"Yeah. Well. Um. Sure. Just protect yourself. Don't let me down."

Prosper took a giant step forwards. Not literally, but in the relationship the two shared, what he now did was practically unheard of. He wrapped his arms round the man's stomach, hugging his head into his blazer with a sweet smile on his face.

"I might be an adult but I'll always be your son, Father. I love you."

He felt his hand on his back, rise up, then pat down slowly. It was like he didn't know what to do with himself. Like he had no idea how these types of situations worked. If he didn't, that was alright. Prosper knew all too well how to be with people – any type of person. He let his father awkwardly return the hug because at least they were hugging.

Prosper continued to chatter away, over this and that as the clock ticked down their final few minutes. The one thing he never said, the one thing he hardly focused on himself, was how he knew he felt. How he really, truly, saw himself.

He was happy.

He loved being with people.

And the Games were truly a spectacle he was ecstatic to be a part of.

But in regards to the question of if he was good enough?

As he said goodbye to his father, no part of him came close to doubting it. But somewhere, deep in his mind, it tugged and pulled and twisted its way through the cracks to be released. He wasn't good enough. Maybe he didn't know it yet. Maybe he'd never know it.

But it was always there.

It would forever and always be a part of Prosper Livingston.


Eveny Audori, 18 years old;
District Seven Female.


Eveny unwrapped her arms from around her little brother's shoulders. Tears were in his eyes, tears were in her eyes. Both of them had been crying a few seconds ago.

The one thing she managed, though, that he didn't was a smile – something he'd appreciate, something she hoped he'd remember whenever he thought of her in the future. Whatever that future might be.

"I love you, Artie." Eveny kissed his forehead, turning his small frame around and gently nudging him towards their parents. "I love you too mum and dad. Maybe… maybe I'll see you soon."

"Do what you have to do," her father nodded, escorting Artie out. Her mother lingered by the door, her eyes bright with tears, her cheeks flushed with red.

"I love you too. So does your father. We all do."

With that, she left, leaving Eveny to fall back in the chair with a sigh. She held back a sob. She could feel the unquenchable despair in her stomach, maybe her late breakfast working its way up her system. She kept it all back. This wasn't a time to be that girl.

Before she did have time to contemplate who she was and who she wasn't, the door opened as quickly as it had closed on her family. Inside, her two best friends ran in, side by side, throwing themselves into Eveny's arms.

She fell backwards in the chair, almost toppling over if not for Tempera's quick thinking. She balanced her best friend out with a laugh, hooking one arm round her neck, the other gesturing their shyer friend Waseau forwards.

This was all she really needed. A day in the sunshine clouded by rain, only for her friends to bring back the light. It was something she appreciated. Something she was good at in return – being there for the people she loved. Eveny was rather basic in that regard, she took life for the simplest pleasures, never regretting, never looking back. Forwards was the only option – that way, every day meant the whole world to her. Every day was a brand new experience, good or bad, to be remembered.

Even on Reaping day, Eveny tried to look forward. The future was dark, but the future had hope. She just had to fight for it.

"You looked like a total ditz up on that stage," Tempera laughed, nudging Eveny in the ribs. She stood back up, curling her shoulders forwards, her eyes crossing and body twitching. A stupid sounding nose rattled out from her throat, before Eveny burst out laughing and kicked her shin gently.

"Stop that, I couldn't help it. You try being reaped."

"Maybe next year- Oh… yeah," Tempera sighed, smiling sadly. "We were so close."

"At least you guys made it," Eveny looked at Waseau, squeezing his hand with a wink. "That's what matters alright. I don't want you guys sacrificing your lives remembering stupid old me."

"If it wasn't for you Eveny I'd have only had this guy to hang out with," Tempera nodded at quiet little Waseau. "No offence of course. You just don't have the right nails for our special girl's night. Shame. Unless you like boys, then maybe we can work something out."

Waseau blushed, then smiled his first smile since entering. That was all Eveny needed to see. He'd been the person Eveny used to be before going back to school after a period of lingering in solitude, distant from her fellow peers. The boy that was pushed around by others, judged and ridiculed for quirks that should be nurtured and cherished.

People who were different were the best kinds of people. Weird wasn't to be rejected, Eveny was just one of those girls who through her past experiences knew that more than anyone. So she'd formed their little group of misfits and here they were. Life was a bitch but at least there were people like her who could try, as impossible a task it might be, to make something of it for as long as they could. Seconds, minutes, hours, days or weeks. Maybe even months and years.

Eveny would always be there.

Now she couldn't. It was tearing her up inside.

Both of them moved back up to Eveny and perched on the ends of the chair. Eveny was a slim girl, her friends weren't exactly the most nourished either. They squeezed in and wrapped up tight. Maybe their last few minutes to do this – be teenagers, be in each other's presence. Like having friends that would always be there, no matter what, in body or spirit.

Eveny held their hands, Waseau and Tempera both looking at her, blinking back tears because they knew Eveny would rather they didn't cry. It wasn't weakness in her eyes, it was simply something that would distract from what they could achieve in these last moments. Simply being next to one another was enough. No false hope. Nothing like she'd gotten from her family.

She simply needed them near her. That was all.

"Whatever happens in the Arena," Eveny started to say, knowing it had to be said before they went. She always focused on the future. It was the future that made these last seconds so important, "whatever you see me do, or see someone do to me, I don't want you guys to ever forget the Eveny that's with you right now. This Eveny is the real Eveny. The Eveny in there will always be the friend that you made, the friend that's right here with you. It'll simply be me doing what I have to do. I need you to remember that."

"We won't judge you for what has to happen," Waseau said, his voice high, quiet and shaky, like a sob was waiting to break free, caged in by his determination to not be the one to break down. Tempera herself nodded too, smiling at Waseau.

"He's right. No matter what, you'll always be this Eveny." She gave the girl in the chair a little shake, kissing her on the top of her head. "Whatever we see you do, nothing will change that."

That was all Eveny needed to hear. She wasn't the perfect friend all the time – she was there as constantly as she could be, she said the things she knew as a shoulder to cry on, a rock in their lives, that they'd need. But that didn't mean she always looked forwards. Sometimes the past crept up and tapped her on the shoulder.

Sometimes she remembered what had happened and resentment bubbled up, a distant threat, but all too real.

Eveny made it her vow, saying a final goodbye to her two best friends, that even if she had to do what tributes had to do, she'd retain who she was. If she didn't stubbornly refuse to acknowledge what she'd have to do to survive, she could still cling to this Eveny.

That was all she needed.

She didn't want to be anyone else.

She didn't need to be anything but who she really was inside.

This was her present.

It would also, no matter what, be her future too.


Scyla Dericen, 16 years old;
District Ten Female.


Scyla wasn't sure if she wanted to see them.

As she sat impatiently, tapping her foot and whistling to herself, she kept her eyes nervously on the door. Who would enter first? She hoped it was her friends. She was scared it would be her parents. Some part deep inside of her wanted it to be them. Of course she wanted to say goodbye to the people that had brought her into this world.

No matter what, no matter how she acted like she felt, Scyla wouldn't deny herself the truth that she still… loved them. They were her parents.

Her mother and father.

She paused, falling silent at the sound of the door slowly creeping open. Scyla's heart started to beat, faster and faster, thumping against her ribcage, her breath held, throat tight with nerves. It was a strange feeling for Scyla – she wasn't exactly the type to sweat over any kind of situation. Be it normal or abnormal.

In fact, she welcomed the abnormal with open arms. Where was the fun in boring?

Scyla let out a sharp breath, almost a sigh mixed with a squeak. Her parents stood in the doorway and awkwardly moved on into the room, side by side without any vigour or emotion towards their daughter. Of course, Scyla hardly showed anything back at first. Nothing except widened eyes, pale face and lips trying to form words.

When she couldn't do that, she fell back into the cushion and did what she knew best. Crossing one leg over the other, she let her arms fall casually by the legs of the chair and cocked one eyebrow. It was if she was inviting them to make the first move. Scyla certainly wouldn't.

Every single part of her screamed that she cared, but all of that she stuffed deep down inside and locked away. If she could be the daughter that had left them, the daughter that he'd had the gall to disown, then she wouldn't feel so uneasy. So confused.

It was her mother who finally broke the silence, taking a step forwards, rethinking it and joining her husband's hip again. "Scyla. I…" She continued to stare, half-amused, at her parents. "I-I don't know what to say."

"Brilliant," Scyla rolled her eyes with a laugh and jumped up, with her arms crossed round her chest, taking a step forwards and shrugging her shoulders. "Hands down this is the best goodbye I'm sure Ten has ever seen."

"Don't start with us," her father snapped. Scyla looked at him, trying so hard to keep the expression she wore controlled and focused. It was hard, seeing his angry eyes locked on her own. He was testing the waters, slowly pushing himself forwards, forcing her back into herself. He wanted to see her say sorry.

That was something she'd never do. Not because she was too stubborn, but because she didn't see why she should be sorry for leaving. They wanted to keep her wrapped in a little golden shell of emptiness, depriving her of a life. That was their doing. She'd always needed more.

In turn, she'd become this Scyla. There was no going back.

"We'll miss you Scyla." Her mother looked nervously at her husband. Scyla felt bad for the woman – her husband wasn't an abusive man by any means, he loved her, but he was proud. Was it alright to say that to a daughter he felt betrayed by? Scyla hoped it was. She took another step forwards and smiled, opening her arms.

"Hugs aren't poisonous." Another step towards her mother. "Luckily I didn't inherit father's chest so I won't suffocate you."

"Excuse me-"

"Calm down. Lighten up. I'm dead anyway. Might as well enjoy what we have left, right?" She felt a prickle of guilt overwhelm the happy, humorous exterior she was wearing. No, it's not a mask. She always had to remind herself of that when she thought about her parents. The Scyla they'd wanted was the mask – this Scyla was the girl underneath.

It wouldn't do her any good thinking about death just yet. Scyla closed the gap and wrapped her arms round her mother's thin shoulders. She was a small woman, but so was Scyla. For the first time in what felt an eternity, she was being comforted by the woman that had created her. For a second it was overwhelming, too much for Scyla to smile through the tears that threatened to spill.

But she wasn't going to crack, or break, or fall apart. Not here in front of them. Not in front of her friends when they came. Not for the Peacekeeper outside the door, smugly standing there like the asshole he was.

They could see whatever they wanted, pretend to see whatever they desired. But no tears. That was one thing she'd promised herself the moment she'd stepped onto the stage.

"Why did you have to go, Scyla?" She heard her mother whisper into her ear. Scyla closed her eyes and shook her head, shaking in her arms. "We had a good life. We gave you everything."

"Sometimes nothing is better than everything. I built something of myself."

She could feel her father's glare hot on her head, staring straight into her soul. If he judged her for the choices she'd made, well at least she'd given herself a choice. He wouldn't understand. Daughters were meant to obey fathers.

They didn't do what Scyla did.

"You became… this. Scyla, this isn't a good thing. This is bad. You could get in a trouble."

"We have fun," Scyla pulled away from her mother, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. "It's something the Dericen family doesn't know."

"There's fun and there's breaking the law. You should be grateful we haven't reported you to the-"

"Alright alright, you're the boss. I didn't say goodbye last time I left, now I'm leaving again. Can't you say it… for me? For you? For us as a family?"

Scyla hoped he would say the word. More than anything, she needed it.

She didn't see herself coming back. Scyla didn't hurt people unless they hurt her. She didn't outright strive to be a bad person – she simply did things with the people that her mother and father would never accept into her lives.

It didn't mean she abided by their way of living completely.

He had to understand that. She wouldn't be coming back. Their precious Dericen daughter would be dead. Surely that meant something.

Surely…

"Goodbye, Scyla." He said, looking at the ground. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye dad."

It was enough.

It had to be.

A goodbye meant the whole world to Scyla. A goodbye meant he loved her.

It was all she'd really wanted.

One, simple, easy goodbye.


Lucas Roux, 16 years old;
District Twelve Male.


He didn't have any friends.

Of course, Lucas wouldn't say that he was particularly bothered by the lack of one in his life. If he was, he was hardly the sort to admit that to himself. Some people needed constant support in their lives, some people just didn't have the backbone to stand on their own two feet. Lucas wasn't one of those people.

He didn't need a friend.

He really didn't.

The doors opened finally. It had been a long wait of Lucas going over and over how he was thinking, trying to string together one coherent thought amongst the mess. He hadn't been angry enough to throw a chair, or sad enough to curl into a hopeless ball and sob his anguish away. No. He'd had a lot of questions, though.

Why him? What was the plan now? Did he have a future, or did he see no hope? He tried to see a fighter in himself, but looking in the glass mirror to the right of him, all he saw was the Lucas other people saw. It was the Lucas no one really liked. He didn't see it in the sense he disliked himself, on the contrary, he was confident in who he was.

He saw someone that wasn't necessarily Victor material though. He'd have to work on that. He was determined to go in the Arena with something on his side – he wouldn't lie down and accept death. Lucas was a fighter in his own way.

"Father," he said, with a small smile on his face. Amongst people his age, people younger, or a little bit older, Lucas would speak to them the way he saw fit. If they were respectable people, had something going for them, he could control himself. If they were like the majority of dimwits he had to suffer through, he wasn't afraid of saying whatever came to his mind.

A jackass he might be, but that didn't stop him from sharing his thoughts. They were good thoughts after all. Smart enough for this ashen District he had to suffer through.

"Lucas. You seem settled."

He smiled again, nodding his head. "Guess so. Where's mum?" For a minute, Lucas felt his heart drop. It hadn't been particularly high to begin with – regardless of who he was or how he thought, being reaped for his probable death didn't excite him much. He wasn't arrogantly going to assume he'd win. But the lack of someone he truly, actually loved… for a moment Lucas' mouth opened and closed, until his father smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

"She's a mess. She wants to calm down before coming in. A goodbye needs an actual goodbye, she said, not some sobbing wreck embarrassing her son."

Lucas and his father both laughed at that. These were the times Lucas could relax more, the times when he didn't have to think in a judgemental way because there was no one around him he had any right to consider in that light.

He continued to stare at his father, a sadder smile on his face than the one he'd had a few moments ago. The older man crouched down, levelling his eyes with his son's. "Do you think you can do this?"

He had an answer on the tip of his tongue. He had the second he'd been reaped – regardless of what questions went through his mind, reality was far too pressurizing, far too heavy, to ever ignore. No one could escape the truth. It was something Lucas admired about himself: he didn't let false hope get him down. Instead, he fought for other reasons. He fought because trying was better than outright believing good things would happen indefinitely.

"Do you want the real answer, or the one I should probably tell my father during what could be our last goodbye?" Lucas raised an eyebrow, sinking backwards into the chair. His father was better at dealing with Lucas' true self – he understood better than anyone, maybe because they were similar in that regard. This goodbye could very well be permanent. No point covering it up with empty words.

"The truth."

Lucas nodded. "The truth is I don't know. Nobody knows. My chances are lower than some, probably higher than others. I'm not trying to see things in a negative way, but yeah, I probably won't be coming back…" Lucas paused, frowning. The prospect of death suddenly sent a chill down his spine. Of course it did. Death wasn't exactly something to accept with open arms.

"But that's not to say I can't. Any one of us twenty-four can. It's better to focus on the negative side of things, the fact I won't be coming home, so I'm more prepared. Right?"

"Right."

Before either could say another thing, the door opened and in came Lucas' mother. Immediately, she dove straight for him, her husband getting out of the way for Lucas to be smothered by her large embrace, pulling her into her dress. He could tell she was still crying, though by the way his father had explained it, she'd probably been a lot worse a few minutes ago.

He was happy to be with her. Not happy because of the circumstances, but happy because he truly did love her. He truly did care that this was a goodbye that he needed to say. She mattered a lot to him. Not many ever really did – Lucas wasn't the most welcoming sort. But these two had raised him. They'd given him a good life.

He appreciated it. He showed his gratitude in those that were entitled to it.

Not everything about him was distasteful.

"You're not going anywhere." Her voice was growing stronger as she stood up. Lucas nodded, looking over her shoulder and into his father's eyes. He frowned. She wasn't like the two of them. The odds didn't matter because this was her son, her precious baby boy going into a place she couldn't protect him from all the monsters. That wasn't something a woman like her could accept so lightly.

The idea of death… no. No that was absurd. He'd win. He'd win no matter what.

Lucas wasn't the sort to wish if only to that thought process. He was glad he wasn't like his mother. Glad he didn't let himself be brought down by believing so he didn't have to try so hard.

The fact he was almost so sure of his death gave him, potentially, that extra push to make sure it didn't happen to him. It was a rebellious act in its own right, fighting against probability. Fighting knowing how slim the chances are.

"I love you, Lucas. I love you so much." She kissed him on the cheek, gripping onto his hand so hard he could feel the bones grinding.

Lucas said the same words back. Over and over, a hundred goodbyes until they were taken from him. Once they were gone, he fell back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other, slumping his chin into his hands.

His mother might believe one thing, his father another, Lucas leaning more towards the truth of his situation, but nothing was ever for certain.

They all had a chance.

Everyone had a shot.

He looked at the door and sighed, slipping further down the chair. Not just for himself, but for those he loved, he'd fight at least. He'd never give up. Win or lose, at least he'd have fought.

At least he'd have gone out, knowing he'd given it his all.

What more could he ask for?


One more of these pre-Capitols left and no more! I'm excited for that. These are dragging on, I'll admit, so it'll be fun to get to the more interesting stuff.

Thanks for all the reviews so far, genuinely means a lot. If you have the time to comment on this chapter, I appreciate it :)