Myra's POV

The sky is dark but brightening, the sun just beginning to rise. I feel a gentle and warm, salty breeze and close my eyes. Mom's driving the boat, with Dad on one side and Sampson on the other. I sit close to the bow, watching as we sail through the previously calm water.

The boat stops in the middle of the ocean, and Mom comes back out as she and Dad prepare to catch some fish. Sampson sits by himself, watching the water and giggling quietly to myself. I sit down next to him.

"Hi Sampson," I say quietly.

"Myra!" he giggles and hugs my arm.

I pat his head and he giggles quietly.

"Myra, dear, come here and we'll teach you to fish."

I look over, smiling. "What about Sampson?"

"We tried to teach him last week," groans Mom.

"Fucking useless," Dad grumbles. I was nine at the time and didn't know what that meant, but it wouldn't be long before I found out.

I stroke his hair, not wanting to leave him. "I'm comfortable here, though." It's warm, the breeze is sublime, and I like being with Sampson, even if Mom and Dad don't like it.

"We have a fucking alien kid," Dad snarls, turning away and throwing his line out.

"Come now, Myra," Mom says sternly, "Your brother will be fine."

I feel bad leaving him after having spent so much time apart from him out of fear or because of school, but eventually I coax him to sit up again and let go of my arm before going over to fish with my parents.

~.~.

My eyes flutter open and stare at the ceiling above me. It's been seven years since then, we're 16 now.

It's about 4:25 so I get out of bed, knowing it's pointless to close my eyes again considering my alarm was set for four-thirty. We have to get an early start to get out on the ocean before the sun's up.

I go to Sampson's room and shake him gently. His eyes open and go into focus after a couple blinks.

"Time to get up," I whisper, smiling at him.

Something lights up in his eyes, but his face stays set as hard as stone. I think anyone who's claimed that Sampson has no emotions and is hard to figure out is calling complete bullshit, because if you really try, you can read him like a book.

It used to be a lot easier of a task, but since we were 13 or so I've seen him smile less and less. There's a reason for that, of course, and that reason lies with my Dad. He's not a very nice man.

I go back to my room, shut off my ringing alarm, and stretch before realizing that the reaping for the 19th Hunger Games happens today. It's the only day of the year my parents rent a nice, large boat for us to fish in (it's one of the few days they're discounted).

I tuck my blonde hair into a hat and put some light make-up on my face because I usually feel insecure without it. When we get back to the house, I'll touch up on it for the reaping.

I hear screaming in the kitchen and pull on shoes quickly before running over to them.

"Fucking useless son! You have to protect your sister and your mother, stop being so fucking stupid!"

I hear sniffling and whimpering.

"Dad!" I run over to them, where he stands over Sampson threateningly. My brother already has a black eye forming.

"Dad, relax, please!"

"Myra, stay out of this. Stand over there, shut up, smile and be pretty just like your sex is supposed to!"

I slink away from the fight out of fear.

"And you," he says to Sampson, pulling him to his feet, "Stand up! Stop being a coward and be a man!"

Sampson stares with ice-cold eyes, but his expression doesn't change at all besides that.

"You stupid fucking alien of a boy! How are you going to take care of anyone!? How are you ever going to pass on the family name!? How are you ever going to do anything more than sitting around and staring at things?!"

"Not… Nice…" Sampson growls, clenching his fists.

"Dad!"

He whirls around and holds a fist up at me, "Nobody asked you!" Sampson jumps up and grabs his arm, "Not nice!" he says, not shouting but talking louder than I've ever heard him.

Dad turns around and his fist connects with Sampson's jaw, and I hear a crack.

"Stop it now, please!" I feel like a wimp for crying, but I can't stop the tears.

"Not nice!" says Sampson.

"Come on," Dad says, "We have to go meet your Mom."

He walks out of the house, and I follow, Sampson grabbing onto my arm and walking with me.

I walk and try to comfort him, but I know he's not paying attention to my words.

We get on the boat and our Dad stands on the opposite side, not saying a word. The boat starts moving and the breeze is slightly chilly this morning, but still comforting. It has an obvious effect on Sampson, especially. He looks alarmed, staring straight forward with big, round eyes, but a lot calmer than he was in the house.

Eventually, his mouth curls down in a scowl and he starts bouncing his legs, twiddling his fingers, and swaying side-to-side.

I drape a blanket I gave him when we were 13 over his shoulders, and he seems to be calmed by it, his face going back to a blank expression and his fidgeting slowed down and eventually stopped completely. He's had a couple of terrible episodes, mostly at home in his room. I remember once he had one at school, and they had to call me down to help him while classes tried to ignore his crying out.

I rub his back softly, the fuzzy blanket soft against my hand. "It'll all be okay, Sampson. I promise you. It'll all be just fine." He nods a teeny bit (I'm surprised I even got a response from him, really) and I smile, rubbing his back gently. "I'm going to move out soon and you can move out with me." I look around cautiously, to make sure no one heard. Luckily, the only one that could've heard besides Sampson is the wind.

I hum quietly to him and he listens, staring out at the water as the sky brightens and the sun comes out. I take a rod and cast it, refusing to look at either of my parents. Sampson and I sit in comfortable silence as I wait for a fish to come. I reel in a couple before he takes my arm. It hinders me a bit, but I don't push him off. I reel in as much as I can with Sampson on my arm, smiling and humming ever song I know.

After a lively sea shanty or two, I hum the calmest song I know as he listens and hugs my arm, laying his head on my shoulder. I reel in some fish, though not very big ones, and then take the time to enjoy staring out into the sea.

We see more boats on the sea and soon a small boat crosses our path. A skinny girl stands on the edge closest to us, her long brown ponytail fluttering in the breeze and her bright blue-green eyes smiling.

"Hey Kiefers!" Caliban Cortez calls up to us, waving.

"Hey Cal!" I say, smiling.

Sampson waves a little bit, looking down at her. His eyes smile a bit. I adjust the hat that my hair's tied up in and smile.

"How's the fishing going?" she asks.

"I'm sure Mom and Dad are having better luck than us," I confess.

She nods understandingly and smiles softly at my brother. "And how are you, Sampson?"

"Hm."

"He's alright," I lie. I don't need her worrying about this, I can handle it and it'll be done and over before anyone knows it happened.

"Good." Caliban tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

Sampson smiles slightly at her and holds onto the safety railings, looking a lot calmer.

I really like to see my brother smile, and he very rarely does it anymore. He's afraid of it. Afraid of happiness. I hate to see him like this. I want him to smile a lot and laugh and talk about anything and everything, even if it's nothing but nonsense, like he did when we were kids. I would listen to anything he said if he were happy talking about it.

"Well, I have to get fishing. Guess I should stop scaring them away with my loud voice!" she smiles and goes to the other side of the boat until she's just a figure standing with her parents and fishing.

After a while more of singing to Sampson while fishing, Mom drives the boat back to the dock and we get ready for the reaping. On my way, I stop at the market and sell the fish I caught for a lousy couple of dollars. Then I take Sampson's hand and go home, putting the money in my Moving Away as Soon as Financially Possible savings.

Then I get ready for the reaping. I put on a satiny pink dress and a pink headband, redo and apply more make-up, and slip into a pair of shiny silver flats that are way way way too small before going out to help Sampson.

He sits in his room, on his bed, right on top of the nice clothes Mom laid out for him. He's messed up his hair successfully and sits with his arms crossed.

"Hey buddy." I sit down by him and smile.

"Hihi," he says quietly, staring into space.

I lay my head on his shoulder. "I love you," I say quietly, smiling. It's the best way I know to show it, considering he's spooked by hugs he doesn't initiate and I'm not a kissy-kissy kind of person. He seems to like nuzzling and resting heads on shoulders, because he does it to me all the time and pets my head when I do it to him.

After a while of sitting in silence, I sit up and poke his nose, "You need to get ready for the reaping!" I try to sound happy about it. He goes cross-eyed at my finger and smiles a little bit before drawing back and putting his straight face on again.

After that I have to coax him out of bed and into his nice suit and tie, trying to hide the sadness that this is what our parents have done to him. After finally getting his shirt buttoned and his tie tied and straight, start smoothing down his hair.

"Okay, Samp, there's just one more thing to do for you…" I smooth down his crazy blonde hair and he lets me do it. It still sticks up everywhere, and he doesn't help when he just messes it up again.

I try again and he sits still, smoothing until I get most of it to behave, but as soon as my hands leave it he just messes it up again, shaking his head and running his hands around. I give up, letting it be and hoping we can sneak out before our parents can see.

No one is good enough to volunteer this year, so whoever gets reaped is reaped and that's it. It's one of those scary years when it could very well be me, or Caliban, or even Sampson. I don't like to think about it.

~.~.

None of us were reaped that year, but little did I know that the 19th reapings would become the least of my worries. The 20th Games came next, and they took Caliban with them.

Sampson knew she was gone. He isn't stupid, like they all say he is. His mind works differently than mine or anyone's around here, but he knew. I could see it in his eyes, the second that Dutch Krietzer betrayed her.

He knew. I could see clear as day that he knew.

When he was whimpering in his room that night, I was there. I was there when he asked me where Calllie was. I was there, I had to tell him she was gone, even though I'm positive he knew.

"Why?"

I had to stroke his hair. I had to hold tears back. I had to listen to him cry but keep myself from breaking down. "Dutch Krietzer took her away."

"Not nice," he said, a tear escaping his eye.

"I know it's not nice." He laid his head on my lap and stared up at me with sad green eyes.

I realized just then that I shouldn't be blaming Dutch. I mean, yeah, it was and is his fault, but not just his. "Don't blame him," I said quietly, not sure how much I mean it. "I'm sure that a Victor's life is fucked up. And I'm sure that, after living through and experiencing so many mutilations and terrible, terrible death… I'm sure that so much stuff like that makes it a lot more fucked up than it was before." I was never terribly good friends with any of the Victors, but I somewhat knew Salvador.

My parents and the Castillions were good friends when Sampson and I were young, and though the families drifted apart, I could always recognize him. Sometimes we had short, polite conversations. Sometimes I'd see him with a big group of his friends, cracking jokes, and he'd recognize me and wave a bit.

But I did and still do know that, after having lived through the Games, he's a lot different. More quiet. He doesn't hang around large groups anymore, just two or three central people. He doesn't tell jokes, he doesn't laugh as much as he used to, and everything about him has an air of fakeness.

"These people, these volunteers, they were raised in ignorance… They don't even know what a Victor's life is. They don't know how bad it is. They don't know that it's hell until they're living it… And yet, they volunteer because they think it's a good thing to do."

Sampson looked up at me, his eyes drinking in every word I said. Oh, how I wish now that I'd never said them!

I didn't know what would happen, though, so I stroked his hair and sang until he fell asleep, not knowing what a horrid, horrid thing I'd done to him.

Now, I sit in front of my television, in the dark, his favorite blanket pulled up tight against my nose to take in any ghost of his scent left, as he starts to run his mouth, everything I'd said to him that night, all on live TV until it cut off to the boy from District 5 singing in the night.

We didn't get to see much of Sampson's talking about Victor's life, but I had seen enough to know that he'd lost control of what he was saying. And that the Capitol is going to be after him.

I don't sleep that night, I watch the TV, watch the boy from 5 sing, the girl from 5 and her ally talking quietly, the two girls in Sampson's alliance talking and then sitting in awkward silence.

I'm about to fall asleep when I hear a gasp on the TV from the 1 boy and my eyes open, as much as my exhausted body resists. I see the mutts coming and the frenzied alliance trying to wake up and prepare to fight. I hold my breath, horrified and wanting badly to turn away.

The mutts attack and the Careers fight. The film goes from Pomp to Osmium to the girls and to Sampson last. After a couple of seemingly victorious slayings, the mutts pile onto him. I try to scream but nothing comes out when I try.

"Sampson!" I say to the TV weakly, "No!" Before I can say anything else, the mutts are gone and Sampson is dying. My face contorted in horror, I try to make myself look away, but I can't do it. I have to watch.

His body's chewed up and bleeding, raw flesh lies around him, and one of his eyes has been taken from its socket completely. I watch his expression, my body quivering, my eyes pooling with tears.

For someone that's dying, my brother looks peaceful. For the life he lived, he looks calm.

He doesn't panic. He doesn't stare. He doesn't quiver, and he breathes steadily. He looks up, one eye wide and round like it was when we were on the ocean so long ago… He watches the snow flutter down from the sky and the flurries being carried by the wind. Either he doesn't know what happened, or he doesn't care.

Either way, he has a tiny smile on as his eye loses the rest of its focus and he exhales on last visible breath into the air.

Tears roll down my cheeks and I don't know what to do. He was the only thing I really had left to take care of, and just like that, he's gone. Gone because of words I put into his mouth. I'm not even fully sure he knew what they meant. Maybe he did.

And I realize that I've been left on my own, with no one to be there for me… Without my best friend, without my brother, left in this abusive household. I go into my leaving fund and find that there still isn't enough in there and realize I'm going to have to find some other way to make money.

I stay curled up, crying but not making a sound above a whimper.

In the kitchen, I hear my Dad laugh.

"To the disgrace being gone!" he says.

I hear him and my Mom clank their glasses together.

"Cheers!"