Goodbyes, Part Two.


Cassia Winters — 12 years
District Twelve Female


It's extremely nice in the room they put me in and it's very distracting. I'm trying to think of the larger problem at hand here, namely the whole getting reaped thing, but there's just too much in here to focus on. There's also my three brothers, who keep staring at me like ... well ... like I just got reaped. So there's that.

My dad's sitting on the couch next to me, a hand on my shoulder. I think he expected me to be more terrified. I think they all did. Jay's the only one almost crying and he looks borderline offended that I'm not. Ash is trying to remain his level-headed self but I can tell he's tempted to rip the door off it's hinges just to express something that means anything. Micah's staring at the curtains behind me with a vacant expression. He's probably trying to envision himself, all of us, anywhere but here.

It's more awkward than I expected. The other twelve year old, the one from Eleven, he didn't start crying or look sad. He looked angry. So why is everyone looking at me like I'm about to fall apart, or at least expected to? It's kind of annoying, to be honest.

Dad started off with encouraging words but setting your twelve year old daughter against seven, maybe eight Careers and the rest of the arena dawned on him pretty soon after that and he stopped trying. Ash got far enough to make the rest of them feel better. Micah's hugged me a few times, and Jay hasn't said anything. Awkward's a pretty solid word to sum up this whole experience.

It's not like I won't miss them. I will. Like crazy. The more I think about it the more I miss them and they're still here with me. But I'm not scared. Not like I should be.

I think I could kill someone. I'm no stranger to dead bodies nobody in Twelve is. I really do think I could stab someone, or shoot them, or just end them in general. That's not normal thinking for a twelve year old. It's not normal thinking for anyone, really, except maybe the Careers, but it's better than being sad.

Maybe I could have a chance at this.

When it's time for them to go, there are too many hugs to count. Each one of them lets go and then thinks better of it, grabbing me again. Eventually we just end up in some sort of huge sandwich with me in the middle. I'm not even hugging back at this point; my arms are pressed tight to my sides because of them. My dad grabs me one last time on his own after we manage to separate, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, eyes shut tight.

"We love you, kid."

"Love you too."

I let them leave, even though my dad looks like he has every right in the world to grab me and run in the opposite direction. He holds on until the last minute and only lets go of my hand at the risk of the door crushing his arm.

It's silent, now.

The other girl they reaped had a breakdown. They had to take her offstage before the President was done with the names and put her in the visiting room early, which left me standing up there alone like an idiot. I don't think she's all there. She started talking to herself not long after I got up there and didn't stop. Even then, though, she sounded terrified. More than me.

River and Lux will come see me, once they get away from their own families and manage to get through the security they've got set up. But I have time until then, and everything in the room's too tempting to not touch.

The thick, red curtains open, but they only show the drab gray outside of Twelve and so I leave them alone. As if I don't see that enough. Besides, it just gives me a nice view of the now-empty stage and the lone few people straggling around the edges of the Square. Some have kids. Probably grateful that it was me instead of them, and I can't blame them. Most of them wouldn't last a minute.

There's a trunk in the corner, all ornate and inlaid with polished wood, but it doesn't open. The little dresser-type thing in the corner proves fruitful as well. This is getting more boring the longer I'm stuck in here. I wish River and Lux would either hurry up or someone would let me out to wander around, except there's gotta be something valuable somewhere in this building, so I doubt they'd let me go anywhere by myself, if at all.

I carefully turn the door knob and open the huge, wooden thing the slightest crack, using one eye to peek out. More Peacekeepers than I thought. So there goes the idea of just running for it and seeing how far I get.

With a dejected sigh I close the door and plunk myself back on the couch, nearly sinking so far I lose myself. I pull the red ribbon from my hair, letting it loose, and run it through my fingers. Guess this is what I'm taking with me. My dad probably couldn't afford anything else and my brothers have enough to worry about without giving something up for me.

Maybe it's not right to think I have a chance in this. A better chance than the girl I'll be next to, in the very least. A better chance than the timid, tiny thirteen year old from Eight or the people who don't know what just happened and are no doubt still sitting in the arms of someone they love, reeling from the impact. But I'm okay. Better than okay, actually.

I know a few things. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Twelve doesn't raise stupid or naive kids.

And I'm pretty sure I could pick up a knife and kill someone, regardless of the consequences.


Finnea Mason — 17 years
District Seven Female


I think we've been expecting this for a while but continued to push it into the back of our minds in the hopes that if we ignored the problem, it'd go away.

They reap a victor's ancestors from a random District every few years, it seems. Maybe to see if they have any fight like they did, or maybe just to shut down any inkling of rebellion they think exists. I spent so much time worrying that they would take one of my sisters when they finally entered reaping age that I forgot about myself. I think everyone did.

My mom and my sisters ran back to the house to get me a token, or so my dad says. That leaves me and him to sit next to each other in the near-silent room. He's strict, usually, or barely even there at all because he's working to feed the four of us. I can't blame him for that but that only means I have no idea what to say now besides I love you. I know he'll take care of the rest of the family, so there's no worry there.

A few years ago he joked about changing the family's last name so we could go undetected. I remember laughing. I don't know Johanna Mason. She died seventy-five years ago in the Quarter Quell. I don't even know how I'm related to her; so distantly that the Capitol didn't think to kill off the branch of them the first time around. But they found us, now, and there's really no option.

Rosalind toddles into the room ahead of mom and Ainsley, running over to me and allowing me to scoop her up into my arms. She's still small enough for me to hold her without too much trouble, although I guess that's the perk of a six year old. Mom's crying. Ainsley is going through a range of different emotions and I can't even pinpoint any exact one.

"We don't have much else that's valuable," my mom sniffles, holding out a ring. She's right, it's one of the only things we have that's of any worth and it's technically not even ours. It was my grandmother's wedding ring. Still, I take it with my free arm and slip it onto my ring finger of my other hand that I've still got wrapped around Rosalind's waist.

"It's perfect."

My mom nods frantically and my dad wraps an arm around her. We're already falling apart and I'm not even gone yet.

Rosalind doesn't seem to really understand what's going on except for that I'm leaving. She's too young to watch the Games; one of us is usually left to entertain her and speak loudly enough to drown out the noise of the television in the background.

"Are you going on an adventure, Finn?" she asks me. The smile on her face is too sweet to break.

"Yeah. It's gonna be a lot of fun," I lie, forcing a similar smile onto my own face. The look on my mom's face nearly sends me into tears; but I won't do that now. Not until they're gone or until I'm locked into some room of the train. Rosalind seems pleased with my answer and smiles even wider.

"Are you going to bring me back a present?"

It's harder to force my way through that one. I can't tell her I might be coming back in a box or in pieces that the Capitol has to sew back together before they ship my dead body off. Instead I just nod, letting her slip out of my arms when she laughs excitedly before toddling back to our mom's side. My dad scoops her up and places her on his shoulders, thoroughly entertaining her for the time being.

My mom's shaking violently when she hugs me. She's too protective over all of us. If I was allowed to stay I'd probably be living at home until I was thirty because she wouldn't let me leave. I don't think she ever got this far in her plans for her kids, maybe because it would only mean considering that this would've happened sooner. I can't help but wonder if it would have been better, had she realized that this could happen. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad now.

Hugging Ainsley is awkward at best. We've never gotten along. Half of my life has been spent chasing after her and yelling at her louder than I ever do to get out of that tree or to stop jumping in that mud puddle because mom's going to kill you. I almost wish that we could have a cliché moment where we realized how much we really did love each other and would miss each other, but I'm not one for brave or loud declarations and there's no way in hell she's going to admit it.

She presses her lips together and steps back from me, avoiding looking me straight in the eyes. She's not as tough as she likes to think. She's still my ten year old sister that's a hell of a lot tinier than she comes across when you talk to her or even stand in her presence.

"Listen to me, hey?" My dad says, still holding onto Rosalind's squirming legs. "It's probably a curse, but you've got the last name for a reason. A Mason's won before and I think it's due time for another one."

He won't tell me to win. He's encouraging me to try harder than he thinks I can. It's a declaration of faith in the only way he knows how to say it.

I think it is more a curse than a blessing, being born in this family. Maybe we're all doomed to die. But he made it through and maybe because I'm going, my sisters will be safe when it's finally their turn. Maybe this is for the best. Out of all of us, I have the best chance. Ainsley's a fighter, but she'd get herself killed, and I can't even think about Rosalind fighting when she's too young to even understand why I'm leaving. I think I deluded myself into thinking we'd all get out of this situation unscathed.

Fate's not good to Mason's. So maybe I should stop believing in it.

Maybe it never existed in the first place.


Arlo Brennan — 14 years
District Nine Male


I don't think they know what to do with me.

They went to bring me into one of the waiting rooms and I told them not to bother. Not viciously, or angry, not at all. But no one's going to come and I didn't think I should waste their time.

Now I'm sitting in a dead-end hallway on this ridiculously comfy little lounge chair that they dragged down here for me. I can see people at the end of the hallway, coming and going, disappearing into the two other rooms. Both of them seem like alright people and they've clearly got family and friends that care about them leaving. It's good to see that stuff like that still exists.

I'm not bitter about it. My mom was sick when she was pregnant with me and refused to give me up. She died three days after having me and two years later my father drank himself to death. I don't remember either of them and I don't think I can blame them for leaving. Not my mom, certainly, for that wasn't her choice, but I guess my dad just didn't see fit reason to live anymore. I was a baby. It's not my fault. No use moping about it.

Sometimes the people from the Home will come see kids off before they go, but they've got enough on their plates wrangling that many kids to and from the Square, so I don't expect it. They raised me and they didn't do a terrible job of it.

A Peacekeeper turns the corner and comes striding towards me. He pulls off his helmet and plops down in the chair opposite me. He's young to be on the force, maybe early twenties, and he certainly doesn't look mean enough.

"Uh, hi?" I say to him. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips.

"You're surprisingly calm and alright with the no-one's-coming-to-see-me thing for a fourteen year old."

"Used to it," I tell him, shrugging my shoulders. I haven't really had anyone for a long time.

"Why are you down here? Don't you have like a job, or something?"

The guy actually does laugh, this time. "I was supposed to be stationed outside the room you were in, and then you fucked that idea over. So don't blame me."

This is a new level of weird. I'm having a legitimate sort-of alright conversation with a Peacekeeper who could probably get canned for sitting with me, and just before I'm going to get into a super-speed tin can to ship me off to the Capitol. What a day.

He asks me my story, eventually, and I tell him. No one else knows, really, because no one in the Home cares. We're all parentless and it's just kind of accepted that we don't like or always want to talk about it. I would, if more people asked. There's nothing for me to hide. By the time I'm finished he's staring at me pensively, eyebrows furrowed.

"You got a guidebook about how to stay happy and positive and all that neat stuff despite your shitty life?"

I try not to smile. I get asked that a lot, in different words and ways, but it's always the same question at the root of it all. People don't understand how I am the way I am. It's be happy or be sad and being sad sucks. Even now I'm more level-headed than I thought I'd be. I never really expected to live that great of a life, or a long one, for that matter, so I thought I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. It's no different now. I'm not coming back. Even if I somehow made it to the end I wouldn't feel right taking away someone else's life when they've most certainly got more to go back to than me. That's just how life is.

"No guidebook, sorry. Just try really hard?" I suggest. The guy rolls his eyes. He looks back towards the other end of the hallway. The boy is coming out of the room. Quill, I think. I can't remember the girl's name. There have been a decent amount of people going in and out of her room, spending more time with her than I think they're supposed to be alotted.

"You ready to go?" The guy asks me.

"Not at all."

I leap to my feet regardless. It's not like I have much of a choice in the matter. The guy's taller than me by at least a half a foot and tucks his helmet under his arm, putting a hand on my shoulder like he has to steer me out.

"Hey, what's your name?" I ask him. He looks down at me, pressing his lips together like he's wondering if it's worth answering. I think despite all the laughs and the eye-rolling I just made him sad. To him I'm just another Nine that's going to die some horrible death and I made it worse by making him the last person I'm going to talk to before leaving.

"Elian. Good luck, kid."

Apparently his job's done, then. I give him a smile and a friendly nod and he returns it as best he can. Definitely made him sad, which wasn't my goal at all. I already feel bad, but there isn't much I can do about it now. The Escort in all his tattooed glory is already attempting to heard us together and there's another wave of Peacekeepers pushing the camera crews back from the door. Quill looks more irritated than upset and the girl looks like she's just gone somewhere else mentally.

I turn back to Elian and give him one last wave, putting on my best show of positivity to hopefully communicate that I'll be alright.

He doesn't return it. I didn't expect him to.


Hariwin Saylor — 17 years
District Four Male


My brother refuses to take off his helmet when he escorts me to the goodbyes and it's more than a little satisfying.

He didn't know and neither did Tyge. My parents didn't know. My friends knew. The Academy knew; hell, the Academy chose me to volunteer today. My family didn't want me training and I don't know what they expected. I didn't listen then and I sure as hell don't now. I saw my mother when I walked onto the stage; ashen-faced and horrified. My father looked entirely blank and my brother in the 15's equally so. What a surprise for them.

I personally think it's very exciting. I doubt they'll think so, but I'm finally getting what I want. I'm finally going to be able to tear people apart and not face the consequences of some higher-up or other punishing me for it. What a time to be alive.

My parents burst into the room quicker than I expected them to. Kudos to them. Tyge, who slides in behind them, has the perfect picture of dread on his face. Oh, this is too great.

"You could have told us," is what my dad finally settles on.

"And get what in return? You didn't want me training so I found a way to do it myself. I'm going and it's a little too late to stop me."

My mom looks like she's about to cry, a hand placed delicately over her mouth. Serves her right for spending all of her time trying to incite some sort of rebellion or other behind our father's back. She spent too much time looking elsewhere to notice that I'd disappear at night to train or the fact that I'd slip in just before the sun rose and pretend I'd never left. None of them did. This is their fault.

"We've done nothing but love you and this is what we get in return? Your dead body?"

"I'm not going to die," I all but snarl at her. "I'm ready for this. I'm going to win and I'll come back and you'll understand why."

Clearly everyone's already at a loss for words. A few tears do slip down my mother's face at that and my dad, usually level-headed and calm, looks as if he's about to explode. Tyge is still standing silently behind them, arms wrapped around himself.

"You haven't said much," I direct to my brother. He presses his lips together so hard they turn white.

"You're insane," he says quietly. This time I can't hold the scoff in.

"I'm insane because I'm the only one in this family who will actually stand up and do something. Not like you."

Tyge goes pale at that. Him and my mother have been feeding underground rebel groups with information for years but they still sit in living room as if nothing had ever transpired when people get shot in dark alleyways in the middle of the night. Wonder what my father would do if he knew that little bit of information.

"That's enough," my father says sternly. It's hardest to intimidate him. If only he knew what I've done. If only he knew of the things that have happened at the Academy; accidentally getting a little too close to someone during sparring, sending people to the hospital with broken limbs and bruised faces, getting word that you hit one a little too hard and punctured one of their lungs and they fucking died. Things like that change you, electrify you when you realize how easy it is to crush someone between your bare hands when no one's looking. He'd be afraid of me. Run in the opposite direction, probably. They all would.

"You don't get to make the decisions anymore. In fact, you haven't for a while now," I point out, almost trying not to smile at the fact. He looks positively furious, but that's not his image. He won't lose it now and risk making the situation worse.

No one says anything. You could hear a pin drop in here. It was a tad less dramatic than I was expecting, but there are still plenty of tears on my mother's part and Tyge still looks like he's contemplating throwing himself out the window if I open my mouth again. It leaves me and my father in an equal-heighted, hard-eyed staredown across the room. I've dealt with worse than him, though.

I am worse than him.

"Well," I say suddenly, clapping my hands together. "That was fun. I'll be going now."

My mother opens her mouth and closes it only when my father grabs her arm, shaking his head. I shoulder past Tyge before we can get in a word otherwise and step into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind me and leaving them in there. I don't think I'm supposed to be out here and I don't care.

Leuth is standing next to the door. He's got his helmet tucked under his arm now and his eyes are completely blank, but still lock onto me when I end up next to him. All of the other Peacekeepers seem to realize the relationship and let me be. Good riddance.

"You didn't have to do that," he says evenly. His eyes don't leave the wall across from us, blank as ever.

"Eavesdropping on family conversations is ugly, bro."

"I am your family. And you didn't have to do that."

He never comes around anymore, ever since he joined the Force and my mother won't look him in the eye because of it. I used to look up to him and now I don't want to at all. He chose his life and I just chose mine. It'll be ugly when I come back— my mother will still be crying and my father will still be furious and Leuth might just try to repair all of the relationships he managed to fuck up over the past few years and I won't let him. My victory isn't his second chance.

"Well come on then, don't waste any more of my time than you already have. Let me outside."

For a second something like sadness flickers it's way into Leuth's eyes, quickly replaced by the blank nothingness he's managed to put on ever since he left our house. He slips his helmet back on and points me down the hallway.

They'll all understand once I come back. But not for a damn second will I let them forget about any of this.

I'll make certain that they pay for it for the rest of their lives.


Well, goodbyes certainly bring out some interesting characters. What can I say, thanks for giving me such a diverse cast to work with and bounce off of each other. Anyway, this marks the end of the goodbyes section and allows us to move forward on the ever lovely train rides! Again, please, please let me know what you thought about these four; likes, dislikes, questions along the lines of "what is this dude's problem" and anything else! I do appreciate each and every review I get and thank you very much if you're still actively here. It seems as if my attempts at review whoring are failing miserably.

And I forgot to mention it last chapter, for whatever reason, but I put a Victor blog up for everything post-4th Quarter Quell! It's on my profile, if you're interested.

Until next time.