Cottyn Thimble II, D8F, age 15

Knife thrown by Dylan Aquarius, D4M.

Placed 84/112, 0 kills

(in LadyCordeliaSuart's Resurrection Resurrection)


Fray Thimble, age 23

Cottyn's Brother


Fray took his young daughter by the hand, a single daisy in the other. The child cried, as if sensing his impending sorrow. Fray picked her up, and the small girl squirmed, her lips curled downwards in a frown. Fray put his fingertip on his daughter's nose.

"It's okay, Kit," Fray whispered, and his wife, Satin, stepped out of their tiny home. She took Kit from Fray, and bounced the child on her hip.

"Are you giving Daddy trouble, little girl? Huh?" Satin cooed, and Kit laughed. A simple, pure sound of delight that made Fray's heart melt. Oh, how he wished Cottyn could have met this sweet girl...

When Cottyn died, Fray had been devastated. His family had already been through so much: his parents divorcing when he was a baby, his mother remarrying Vez Yarrn, a man who turned out to be a murderer. Cottyn being reaped, and ultimately dying in the arena. Today would have been her twenty sixth birthday. It had been eleven years since she died.

Eleven years.

Satin took Fray's hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. "It's going to be fine," she whispered. Fray nodded glumly.

They took off towards the District Eight cemetery, Satin having to tug Kit along every few yards. Fray clutched his daisy even tighter, the way he would sometimes see Cottyn clench her charcoal pencils when she was having her hallucinations as she was drawing them out. Sometimes he would ask her why she was so scared all the time.

Her answer had always been a simple, "I'm not."

Cottyn, what happened?

Nothing, Fray.

Are you sure?

Yes.

They reached the cemetery, and Fray led the way towards the section for fallen tributes. Past the gnarled tree and over its roots. Waves upon waves of gray stones marked with names of dead children, long forgotten by the district and the Capitol. Forgotten by everybody except for their families who would never forget.

Never forget.

Fray's feet easily navigating the terrain, Satin following, with little Kit stumbling at each step. Searching. Seeking. One name in this entire place had meaning to Fray; one out of thousands.

Then he saw it. The worn leather-bound book, cracked and faded from being out in the elements for so long, the dried up petals of dead daisies just like the one in his hand strewn around it. But Fray would know it anywhere. Cottyn's sketchbook.

Fray walked towards the gravestone, blocked out the sounds of Satin and Kit walking behind him, and when he reached the simple stone, he knelt next to it.

Cottyn Thimble, aged 15. Lost to the 38th Hunger Games.

Fray placed his daisy beside the gravestone, the remnants of the other ones swirling in the wind. He picked up the book, and glanced towards Satin and Kit. Satin had their daughter in her arms, giving Fray a sympathetic look. They kept their distance. And so Fray opened the book, his fingertips trailing along the gentle charcoal curves of the drawings, the terrifying creatures taking his breath away. All born with the stroke of a pencil and Cottyn's vivid imagination.

He laid the book back down, and patted the gravestone, tears pooling in his eyes and threatening to roll down his cheeks. "Happy birthday, big sister," Fray whispered. "I miss you."

He stood. And walked away from his sister's grave.


Obituary

There's so much to say about you Cottyn, I don't think I could get it all out. You were amazing. So much happened to you before the Games and it caused you to evolve into the character you were: an ADHD girl with hallucinations and a crazy imagination. You were probably one of my favorite tributes I've submitted. You were crazy and I loved it. Thanks to LadyCordeliaStuart for writing Cottyn. I loved everything you did with her.