For The Loss of a Girl {Standalone, for Larae

for what it's worth, I always aim to please
but I nearly died

I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie here forever

The day had come. Mace had studiously avoided the television in the community home. He didn’t want to see the pomp and circumstance, the twisting and play acting. Whatever Larae did to win the audience over, he didn’t want to witness it. He wanted to remember the girl he chased off his property, fought with, and had hugged in the justice building. That was his friend, and no matter what the Capitol did, she always would be.

Of course, it was summarily impossible to avoid the Games. His siblings babbled about them over dinner, begged to be released from the table to return to the crackling screen. It wouldn’t be so hard to actually end the television’s misery, Mace realized. It seemed, though, that someone was always parked in front of it, no matter how much he chided his siblings about their chores. More often than not Ma was with them, and he couldn’t stand the pity-weighted gaze she turned on him whenever he was inside the house.

So he spent more time than usual, even, with the cows. Followed the herd from dawn to dusk. He ate with them, whatever came from the earth, and slept just beyond the herd in the line of the trees. In some ways, this suited Mace more so than civilization, and it brought him comfort. At other times though, he startled from dreams of Larae hunting in the woods. But always the cows were there, mooing and restless, to draw away his attention.

If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure they would not sever

And what were the tributes but cattle to the slaughter? He thought about this as he led two of the oldest sows to the barn. Cygnus stood outside, his dark hair swept into his sharp eyes. He was the only person Mace could stand to be around lately. Cygnus didn’t pity him; in fact they’d been in a few scuffles the last few days over things entire mundane. So he approached with weariness and relief, but he shouldn’t have. It was only his guard, his strong exterior, that was keeping Larae alive, right?

“You’d better go inside.”

Mace looked up, tossing the lead rope to Cygnus. “I’ll sleep with the herd again.”

The other boy shook his head. “Won’t do. Time to face things, brother.” And when Cygnus gripped Mace’s bicep he knew it was a show of support, of understanding. Mace gave one quick nod, and walked alongside Cygnus to the house. He felt as numb as his eyes, dead except for the flutter of his heart.

The main living room, decorated in cast off sofas and rickety chairs, was filled to the edges, and yet Mace found a very clear path opened for him. The oldest, softest leather armchair had been reserved. He fell into its clutches, elbows on his knees, palms together as the coverage of the Games droned on and on. At first he wasn’t sure why Cygnus had called himself, why his siblings kept stealing glances at him, because they appeared to be watching a blonde girl be consumed by a mutt. But no, it sunk its teeth into her head, and that was it. A cannon resonated through the television and into his heart.

It cut away to another scene of a trio of tributes. Two were so young they took his breath away. He looked over at his siblings, knowing there would be another two in the Reaping next year. They stared back at him, and then at the flickering screen. He knew before he looked back that she would be there.

But he was totally unprepared for the brokenness of her. If he really thought about it, Mace had assumed Larae would last until the end, would do well. Wasn’t she skilled with knives? Didn’t she know how to survive in the wilderness? But this was nothing like the woods out back. This was desert and death. The cut on her neck looked bad, festering. He would have sent her right to Essence if she had been home.

That was the whole point, wasn’t it? That there would never again be a home for Larae. He watched, incapacitated, as the blind girl with the whip hit her squarely. He almost felt the weight of it in his palm, the snap at the end, the breaking contact. If there was any weapon he knew so well, it was that, and it felt cruel that it was the one to bring her up short, to prepare her for the killing blow. As the whip whistled across the screen, something strange happened. Mace could no longer see the screen, the room, the world. It shifted, blurred. He knew, but could not know, that there was nothing more to do for Larae. Whatever meager money he had managed to scrape together for her sponsorship would be going into the Capitol’s coffers.

The room, despite being filled with nearly two dozen people, was silent, holding its breath.

My apple tree, my brightness,
It's time we were together

The sunlight kissed him hard, the sort of desperate measure a lover makes after admitting infidelity. He became slowly aware of walking, one foot in front of the other. Just moving, feeling his body begin to prickle with sweat. It wasn’t because of the heat of the day, though. It was something else. A trembling spread from his spine, down his arms as he made his way past the pig pens, to his fingertips by the time he reached the cows. They stared at them, more dead eyes to witness.

He walked and walked, the sun his only companion. What was it that made it go round, every day? Would it always chase the moon? He walked, and there was nothing else. Even though the shadows shifted, Mace knew they would disappear on the morrow. Round and round.

And then wham, he recognized his surroundings. The tree, the tall grass, perhaps even saw Kismet's footprint or the last hop of the rabbit. The shaking threatened new parts, not just extremities, but his core, organs that were vital. He felt his heart shudder, his stomach convulse. The earth came up to meet him, gently, gently, so much softer than the sun had been. He hid from her now and her endless chase, let his trembling fingers sink into the dirt. He didn't even know what the girl, the thief, his friend had smelled like. But maybe she had smelled like this. Clean, earthy, full of life.

For I smell of the earth
And I'm warmed the weather.

There was something about dying that made a person important. He knew, in a pocket of rationality, that there were others who needed to grieve her death more. Larae's mother. He couldn't even find the desire to go and see her. No, to see anyone like her would be the undoing of him. Did he deserve this, this trembling ache, this promise of nothing? Because that's exactly what it was. He would never know Larae better, never be able to atone for his trespasses, never catch her on his property or show up on hers. All those possibilities snatched away.

The day passed into twilight as the trembling finally ceased. Mace rolled over onto his back, kept vigil as night fell. The sun would chase the moon, on and on, until everyone he knew passed from the world. But how little they mattered, how little he mattered, on this lonely, sweltering summer night. He stared at the stars, felt his arms around her in the justice building. He didn't even know what would happen to her now, because he had never cared to know before, never met a tribute in all his long years. Would she come back to Ten?

Mace brushed the dirt at his side, imaging a proper burial, the sort he had given to several of the home's children over the years. Something dignified, where the person could lie at peace. He imagined each part of such a ceremony for Larae, how he would dig her grave, what Cygnus would say. And then he would have somewhere to visit, instead of this lonely patch of earth that he now stretched across. Maybe if he stayed. Forever. A little part of him would always be there, in this moment, the summer of Larae's death.

Mace closed his dead eyes, felt them coming to life. The rage would take him soon. But before it could, he folded his arms over his chest, crushed her spirit to him, and said, "Goodbye, my thief, my friend."

I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie here forever