day twenty-four. suffocating.
jacinto salazar, district ten. eighteen. xvii.
x
Seven.
There were only seven slips of paper with the name Jacinto Salazar floating around the glass bowl.
He was supposed to make it out. It was his last reaping. Tears flow freely and sobs wrack the halls of the Justice Building.
Jacinto's mama worked hard to keep the odds in his favor, refusing to let him take any tesserae. Every night, she'd come home dead-tired from working doubles at the packing plant. Each night he offered to help and each night she'd kiss him on the forehead and say, "It'll be worth it."
Was it worth it? In the end, her son is still being sent to die.
They have ten minutes left. Ten minutes to cry and grieve and stay wrapped in each other's arms. It's their last chance.
It's also his last chance to tell her the truth. The fear eats him alive, but he has to do it. It's now or never, and he can't keep it a secret anymore.
So, he turns to his mama, cheeks wet, and takes the plunge. "Momma, I have to tell you something. Been wantin' to for a while."
"What, my love? You can tell me anything."
Jacinto tries to breathe, but it feels like he's underwater. He either breaks to the surface, or drowns. "I — Well. I like boys and girls."
He ducks his face, guilt heavy in his lungs, throat constricting.
"Oh, honey," she takes his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Thank you for telling me that. I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't before. You'll always be my son, nothing will change that."
It's like taking a deep breath after suffocating for what feels like an eternity.
This is for everyone who can't come out. To anyone that didn't get the love they deserved. Know that I see you and accept you.