push back against the pain
until your back gives out
and your ankles sing with pain
and your arms are weak and sore
and your legs are jelly
and push further, against the world,
until you can't quite feel anything at all

Kubya Kaczka (16)

District Eight

"I'm going to kick the president's ass," Kubya said gleefully, leaning forward at the table he and Jackson were sitting at. The bakery on the morning of reaping day was absolutely dead, but it didn't really matter. Kubya's boss had tossed him the keys that morning and said to lock up when he went off to the square, and had let himself have most of the day off to spend time with his family—he had two reaping age children. He took a little drink out of the bottle of wine they'd found in the back, and then he launched himself to his feet, in the seat, and stood up on the table. He gestured grandly around at the empty bakery floor. "I am going to kick President Luna's ass, oh yes!"

Jackson reached out as if his hands could break Kubya's fall entirely if he should slip suddenly. "Babe, please get down from there," he pleaded, although Kubya could see a flicker of amusement hidden behind the concern in his boyfriend's eyes. He grinned at the sight of it, always happy to see that he was making Jackson happy. "You have had way too much wine."

"Me?" he said, laughing and shaking his head as he hopped back down onto the seat, and then slid down into a sitting position. "No, no, no. You have had more wine than me, Mr. Codovo."

Jackson let out a breath, leaning his head back against the booth's cushions and looking down his nose at Kubya. His eyes were so full of fondness, Kubya's head spun with it—or maybe that was just because he was tipsy. He rested his elbow on the table and leaned his chin into his hand, looking at Jackson like he'd look at a really pretty, gentle orange sunset. Like the kind that puts pink streaks in the blue sky when it first starts, that colors the clouds so they really look like candy or fluffy dresses like the Capitolites wear. The best kinds of sunsets were never as good as spending the morning with Jackson, alone in the bakery.

"What time do you want to get to the bus?" Kubya asked finally. The idea of showing up to the reaping just shy of drunk made him grin, but he wiped the face away quickly. Maybe the reaping wasn't something he should smile about necessarily.

Jackson shrugged and stood up, grabbing the wine bottle and going toward the back of the bakery, where Kubya baked the breaded when he was working. There were some loaves that were probably going to be tossed in the back, ones he'd made yesterday but that no one had eaten. Normally his boss tossed them out back in the extra trash can. He knew that a lot of the poor people of Eight checked trash out back of places like theirs, so he never tossed the bread with the rest of the trash.

Kubya's boss got sick and tired of him for a lot of reasons, but Mr. Enna never failed to miss an opportunity to teach lessons, and he always said they'd be ridiculous to call themselves a Jewish bakery and then toss their food away where those of lower circumstances couldn't partake. Sometimes they would give away their unused food, too, but their bread bin out back rarely was occupied for long, and Kubya had seen Mr. Enna's satisfied face when he saw someone had taken their leftovers. It was that face that made Kubya respect the man, even when he was being an absolute dickhead.

"Is Mr. Enna not going to notice the wine that's gone?" Jackson asked as he grabbed a loaf and tore a chunk off of it.

"He didn't notice the last one I took a couple weeks ago," Kubya said. Or he had, and he just hadn't cared. Obviously Kubya didn't do anything stupid when he took it, and he was pretty sure that one of Mr. Enna's rules in life was anything goes, as long as no trouble is caused. "So glug glug."

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Let's start heading to the bus," he said, tearing off another big chunk of bread for the walk over there. "And leave the wine, Kubya."

They walked out of the bakery together, splitting the bread that Jackson had grabbed as they went to the bus stop. The wind made it kind of chilly out there, so the two of them walked shoulder to shoulder, bumping into each other occasionally but sharing a little bit of warmth. The clouds were gray and heavy, looking ready to burst and drop all of the water in them at once. He kind of hoped that it would rain. It was always a kick in the ass to the escort and other Capitolites there when they got all dressed up for the reaping, and their poor wigs sagged as they got wet, or their gross makeup dripped down from their grotesque faces.

"Oh, shit," Kubya said, slamming his hand into his face. He could feel Jackson's eyes on him as he stopped walking, and he peaked out from between his fingers to see the concern in his eyes. He smiled at him sheepishly. "Forgot to lock up."

Jackson blinked at him, let out an amused sigh, and turned around. Kubya started jogging ahead to the bakery, and when he looked back, he could see his boyfriend had found a spot on the sidewalk to sit and wait for him. He went ahead and looked around, making sure they had put everything up the way it was when they walked in that morning before shutting the door again and locking it from the outside. He threw the lanyard back around his neck, the keys jangling as he jogged back to Jackson.

"All done," he said, reaching out for his hand.

They had to book it to the bus now. It would leave soon, and if they missed it, their only shot of making it to the reaping on time would be the train that always picked up stragglers and took them to the square. But it was a lot more expensive for one of those last-minute rides on the trains than it was for a bus to get them to the edge of the city in time for them to walk to the square.

They made it just barely in time, the last couple of people herding onto the bus just as Jackson and Kubya came up. The bus driver looked tempted to shut the doors on them, two teenagers who were obviously a little tipsy from the way they were laughing at their near-misfortunate and jostling into each other, but no one was so cruel as to make anyone miss the reaping day, with the harsh consequences that came from that. They got on, Kubya dangling the money for the bus ride over the driver's hand for a second, before letting it drop and going to the back where there were still two spots left open. This bus driver was obviously an asshole, because he started to take off before they were even fully in their seats. Kubya nearly fell on the floor as he tried to sit down next to Jackson, and he glared at a couple of the people who snickered.

"You're going to get your ass kicked one day," Jackson said, smiling and leaning against him, his arm around Kubya's shoulders. Kubya leaned his weight into his boyfriend's as well, shrugging just enough that Jackson would be able to feel the motion against him. "I mean, I'll be getting my ass kicked right along with you."

"Aww, thanks, babe," he said, bumping his elbow into him.

He looked out into the aisle between seats in the bus, looking at all of the people headed to the same place. The reaping days were always kind of weird, seeing all these people in this district he didn't know. Like being reminded that there was a world outside of the bakery, Jackson's house, his grandma's house, and the school. That there were people whose routines weren't just get in fights with him, whose lives were so similar to him, being from the same district, and so connected at the same time. It was just perspective—even more perspective than going to the place where two people went off to die already was.

He ran his tongue over part of his lip, absentmindedly about to bite it as he remembered their names in the reaping bowls, and hissed when his teeth connected with the busted part. "Ouch," he exhaled, bringing a hand up to his face to gently touch the area where he'd been punched when he got in a fight with Suzie Kastonec the other day. She'd been saying Jackson was a dumb shit—who knew why, she found reasons to be annoyed with everybody—and Kubya hadn't put up with that shit at all. She was taller than him and worked at a factory, so she was more than capable of beating him up, but he had something on his side that she didn't: he really liked Jackson, and hearing him insulted really pissed him off.

"See, that's what I'm saying," Jackson told him when he looked over and saw him gently running a finger over the fat lip. "You got lucky there."

"No, she got lucky I'm not a total dickhead," he pointed out. Yeah, he wasn't likely to ever turn down a fight he got into, but he also wasn't an animal. The only person he would totally beat up was the president. Or really any of those high-up Capitolites. If Kubya ever went to the Capitol, he'd find a way to deck her.

Or maybe he wouldn't, since that was likely to land him in prison, but if she ever happened to start a fight with him, he'd deck the president. He'd kick her ass.

The bus ride into the city was always subdued and quiet, no one really in the mood to talk much when they were on the way to something like the reaping, so Kubya let his mind wander. It was fuzzy and hard to focus on many things when he felt a little bit like his thought process was spinning on a merry-go-round. At one point, for about five minutes, he was pretty sure he fell asleep with his head against Jackson, and when he woke up he started thinking about how he hoped his grandma made it to the reaping. There was no reason she wouldn't, but normally he didn't go off with Jackson beforehand. The two of them usually came in together, but this year he'd had breakfast with her and she said he could go off to see Jackson beforehand.

The bus eventually made it to its next stop. Kubya and Jackson hopped off, holding hands as they walked past the apartment buildings on this side of the city. They'd passed the factory where most of these people worked on the way there. A lot of them were pouring out of it, heading toward their houses to stop in and get changed before the reaping. Kubya was eternally glad that he didn't have to do anything like that. His version of working before the reaping was fucking around in the bakery, stealing a bit of Mr. Enna's wine stash.

They had the absolute pleasure of running into Suzie on the way up there, and for a moment Jackson considered ducking behind the buildings to just avoid the confrontation. But Kubya said, "Nah," and kept walking forward, holding his head up high. His boyfriend tugged on his arm, laughing and urging him to hide away from her so he didn't show up to the reaping with a black eye or a tooth knocked out this time, but Kubya shook his head and tugged back on Jackson's hand. "No, let it happen!" he said. "Let it happen."

Jackson shook his head. It was a wonder he never got annoyed with Kubya's bullshit, but he'd learned in their more than a year of dating that secretly, he was just as confrontational as Kubya was. He just never wanted to show it, not wanting to come off that way to other people.

Suzie did come over, catching up to them since they'd stopped on the side of the street to pull at each other, and she sneered at them as they walked past. Her nose was turned up at them, which nearly brought Kubya to having another go with her. But then Jackson's voice inside his head reminded him that he was a little tipsy, probably wasn't making smart decisions about what fights he should get into, and losing all of his strength on punching Suzie again wouldn't do anything to help him knock the president out.

Jackson kissed his cheek and the two of them walked down the sidewalk, soon coming into the huge bricked square. There was a fountain in the middle, which he was sure made it prettier than the squares he'd seen in reaping recaps in other districts. Except, well, it was cracked and didn't have water anymore, except for rainwater that sat down at the bottom of the pool and collected trash and grime. He wrinkled up his nose as he passed it to get in line for registration. As he did, he saw his grandma on the other side of it, walking over to a spot to stand outside of the kids' area, and he waved at her. She nodded back to him grimly and he reminded himself to reign in his drunk thoughts a little bit. She'd be upset if she knew that was what he and Jackson had gone off to do that morning.

"This sucks," Jackson said quietly, as they waited in line, Jackson just barely behind him since they couldn't stand side-to-side. Kubya nodded in agreement, but there was no reason to talk about it. It was nothing but upsetting to discuss exactly how shitty reaping days were, especially when it came to this eye-opening moment with everyone around him. Kids who went to other schools than they did, kids who didn't go to school, those younger and older than him—all of them sitting in the same two bowls together, all of them under the same cloudy sky together, all of them terrified. It was enough to sober him a little bit.

When he reached the official registering them, Kubya put on a smile and said, "Morning, my friend."

The official looked up at him for a second, confused at the attempt at conversation. "Name," she said, looking down at the tablet.

"Kubya Kaczka," he told her. "Who are you?"

She paused again, her finger hovering over the O's. "This isn't funny, kid," she said, shaking her head and watching as the names shot down to the O's, looking for Kubya among the list. She tapped on his name and said, "Finger."

He put his finger on the little device, tensing up as he waited for the sting, and then shook his hand out when it was over. He pressed a cotton ball against it to soak up the blood, drawing it out of the jar like it was the name of someone being reaped. "Well, excuse me for being polite," he said to her, his voice still just as pleasant. He turned away, taking a few steps off to the side, and waited for Jackson to go through the same process.

Jackson came over to him and bumped their shoulders together. "Not everyone knows you're just trying to make the most of things, babe," he reminded Kubya, but he already knew that. Still, it didn't hurt to try to lighten someone's mood, even if only slightly. It was such a depressing day, between the beginning of the death match of the year and the way rain hung over them, a threat in the sky.

"I get it," he said as they walked down the aisle, turning into the boys' section and finding a spot with their age group.

Suzie Kastonec sent him a glare as she went over into the girls' section, but he was just satisfied that they'd gotten through the line before she did, even though she was there first.

Holland Yorke took the stage, tapping on the microphone even though not everyone was registered just yet. "We're running a little bit behind today!" she called out. "And I'm sure everyone would like to get this going before the rain starts. So we'll begin with the Treaty of Treason while everyone finishes getting in places, if we could have your attention."

Holland, with her bedazzled pantsuit looking just as formal and not quite over-the-top as always, stepped aside for the mayor to take her place, the smile dropping from her face as she looked around to make sure that people were picking up the pace in light of her announcement. She had never been one to wear anything too spectacular like some escorts, but her face was painted up just as much any of the others, and Kubya wondered if his image of the makeup streaming down her overdone face would end up coming true.

The mayor read the Treaty quickly, glancing up at the sky occasionally. Kubya felt a little raindrop land on his nose, and he scrunched it up, looking over at Jackson. "Did you feel that?" he asked.

Jackson shook his head, looking over at him. "Rain?" he whispered.

Kubya nodded, and they turned their attention forward again as Holland stood back at the microphone. "This year is quite spectacular," she said, her voice very official. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and she smiled regally out to the crowd. Kubya wondered if Holland expected all of them to bow down before her, to feel honored for being reaped at her hand. Well, bullshit. If Kubya got reaped, he'd flip her off.

Holland ended up drawing some poor Nora Windsor, and Jackson reached out, taking his hand and squeezing it tight as they watched her walk up to the stage. Kubya turned away and looked down at Jackson's shirt, at the fabric covering his arms, trying to avoid listening to the escort babbling on while someone stood up on that stage with her, someone monumentally fucked now. Someone whose entire life just went down the drain.

"I love you," he whispered, leaning toward him and keeping his voice so no one else could hear it but Jackson.

Jackson turned his head to look at him and let out a breath. "Love you too."

"Jackson Codovo," Holland said behind Kubya, and he watched every excruciating second of Jackson's face falling.

"No," he whispered, wrapping Jackson's hand up in both of his own.

"No," Jackson whispered back, shaking his head. His eyes were glued up on the stage, where he was expected to go. He inhaled sharply and jerked his hand out of Kubya's grasp, moving quickly between all of the other kids. Out of Kubya's grasp. He tried to shove past them, but nearly stumbled, and by the time he was righted, Jackson was already out in the aisle.

Kubya watched him approach the stage, climbing up the steps. He choked out something like a sob, his shoulders hunching inward, and the words tumbled out his mouth. "No!" he shouted, pushing through the other guys. He moved one out of the way, hands in front of him to keep anyone from getting in his way. "No, fuck you! Bring him back!"

Peacekeepers were starting to come toward him now, and he shook his head, over and over again as they got near him. He pointed at one, his eyes wild and everything seeming to shake around him, like they were in the middle of an earthquake. "I volunteer," he told them, blurting it out. He wanted them away, and he wanted Jackson down off the stage. They paused for a moment, before one of them grabbed his arm and turned toward the stage. He frowned and tugged it away, stumbling toward the stage and shouting, "I volunteer!" as he crashed to the ground.

His grandma and his cousin May were the first two into the goodbye room. Grandma came over to him and put her hands on his face, looking up at him with tears on her cheeks. "My sweet boy," she said softly, "why do you insist on being a fighter?"

He took a shaky breath and shrugged a little bit, smiling down at her. "I don't know," he told her. He wrapped her up in a hug and looked up at May as he did so. She was standing there on wobbly legs, watching the two of them like the floor was about to fall out from underneath her any minute now. He stepped away from Grandma and opened his arms up, letting May run into them and hug him tightly. He shut his eyes, and he wanted to wish to be anywhere else, but there was no use in that. He wouldn't save his own life for Jackson ever. He wouldn't if he had to go through a million Games for him. "Is Jackson out there?"

Grandma nodded. "He sent his brother to get your star from home," she told him.

His star. The wooden Star of David that Jackson had given him on their first anniversary. It was little and he could easily keep it as a token. Of course. The bus ride back home was a little more than twenty minutes, so if he booked it as soon as the reaping let out, he'd probably make it back before Kubya had to leave. It was fitting. He wanted to die with it, if he had to.

His grandma spent most of her time holding back the tears, sitting down on the couch with him and looking down at his hand in hers. May was on the other side of her, crying her eyes out, and Kubya just numbly waited for all of this to be over. He wanted his goodbyes, of course he did, but… He was so tired. It would be so much easier when this was over. The Games would be easy in comparison to saying goodbye.

When Jackson arrived, they collided into each other, a pair leaning against each other, intertwined. And Jackson did his fair share of reprimanding and snapping at Kubya for what he did, but they only had forty minutes after his grandma left the room. Only forty minutes to fit a lifetime into.

In the last five minutes, Jackson's brother rushed in with the Star of David clutched in his hands.

"I'm so sorry, Kubya," he said, and guiltily he left the room, hanging his head low. Probably feeling bad that Kubya had volunteered for his brother when he wouldn't, but it was pointless. He hadn't even realized what was happening as he moved forward at the time.

They spent the last three minutes at the end of the world grasping the Star of David together, foreheads resting against each other, and when the Peacekeepers came for him, he was too exhausted to put up a fight.

keeping up this bad habit of not proofreading or editing the chapter but inevitably i'll end up reading it later and fixing any big mistakes so it's Fine it's fine ok

kubya is another legend meme man but he's sad here :( but the meme man will come out in him do not worry he will not always be sad times. he's from my buddy knave

this feels rushed? feels a little rushed. but pls my friends it's m s. i made Mistakes when i decided to give all of these tributes their own intro chapter. i am so tired let me sprint toward capitol chapters.

chapter question: based on the first half of the chapter in which part of kubya's true Mini Meme Man comes out. which of the previous tributes do you think he and/or carlo (Big Meme Man) could annoy the shit out of the most?