keifer degraw | district two | resub | fin

I never needed my birth parents.

They didn't need me either, apparently, or Arryn. They were at least nice enough to not just leave us on a random doorstep with a note. They took us to an orphanage, signed all of the papers, told the officials that we were twin brothers, that we were eight months old, that they didn't make enough money to support both of us and the little girl that shared a womb with us. They said it was nothing personal, that raising a girl and raising two boys were two different jobs completely. "We do care about them, and if there was any other option, we would take it but..." they told the professionals.

I think it bothers Arryn more than it does me, that they chose her over us, that they chose at all, really, and I guess I can't really blame him. To normal people, being abandoned is an awful thing, but I didn't need them. I still don't.

I never needed many friends.

I had my brother, and I knew I always would. I also had Hedvig, an orphan who, like me, had a twin, and who had witnessed the death of her own parents. Her parents wanted her, and they were taken, she did need them, and they needed her, but we all have to make sacrifices, and though it seems a bit ridiculous that someone so young would have to make them already, it's the way the world works. We were both quiet children. Arryn earned his place with the other children easily, obviously being the more likable of the two of us, but I preferred going unnoticed, and so did Heddy.

"Hedvig and Keifer can be on a team, I guess," the kids would say during play time, and we never asked questions. I grew up with just her and Arryn, and I never needed anyone else. I still don't.

I never needed to cry.

It has always seemed pointless to me. Problems can't be fixed with salty water and shivering lips. Time heals some wounds, and we grow used to the ones it doesn't, which is why when I was ten and the Degraw family spent money for Arryn and I to live with them, I didn't cry, even though Arryn did.

Even though I had to say goodbye to Hedvig, even though I had to hug her one last time and even though I just knew I would never see her again, I didn't cry. I didn't need to then, and I Still. Don't.

I never needed to be told what to do.

My choices in life were just that: mine. If I wanted to spend all of my time training, it was my business. Even Arryn, my own twin, didn't really seem to get why I was so into it. He trained of course, but only barely, and certainly not because he ever actually planned on being in the games. His friends. That seemed to be the only reason he ever did anything, which is sad to say considering I shared a womb with him.

I can't even try to say I didn't. Everything about us is the same, from the dark, disheveled hair to the bright blue eyes, to the slender, slightly lanky build of our bodies. We were exact replicas of each other, and people still could tell us apart simply by the way we carried ourselves. They said I was more severe, straight to the point, that I walked around like I had a chip on my shoulder. (Maybe I did, maybe I still do, but what the fuck does it matter to you?)

I never needed to tell anyone I was grateful.

They knew already, in their own way. But I did make it known that I was grateful when I found out that Hedvig, a girl I thought I would never see again, moved into a house on my block. We instantly picked up where we left off, and to everyone else it might have seemed we hadn't had anything to leave off of, but to us, it was a world that was just our own that had almost become barren and dead.

I had actually started to care about my new parents and the little boy they had given birth to shortly after adopting Arryn and I. His name was Kyler, and I found how quiet he was intriguing enough to volunteer watching him when my parents went out. I should have told him I was grateful, because it wasn't long after he got sick that his body got tired of fighting. The doctors called it a perfect storm, that everything that could have went wrong did. A domino effect in my four year old brother, that is what caused his death, and it was me that held his hand when he finally let go.

After the fact, it seemed that I had grown even more angry at the world, and fuck, I think I had a pretty damn good reason to. It seemed that the only person that I could relate to was Heddy, who had witnessed the death of her own parents, and we realized we could find a way to deal with our anger.

I never needed to fight for what I wanted.

But I did anyway. That was what worked for me. "Whats the one thing we are both really, really good at?" Heddy asked one day. "Kicking ass, obviously." I retorted. "So why don't we do something about it?" It was brilliant really, nothing too big or too noticeable at first, just a group of about ten meeting in an abandoned basement, trading licks, but our glorified club grew into a small empire of blood, sweat, and dedication.

People bet money, actual money on matches, and every time someone lost, Heddy and I got a percentage of the money. We were the ringleaders, we called the shots. I could have went head to head against anyone and taken them down except for my best friend, and we decided it was best not to even try and fight anymore, considering time always ran out and we had to call it a draw.

Outside of the fighting, things weren't really any different. Arryn was still obsessed with being the perfect child, and my parents still subtly preferred him to me, and I couldn't blame them. Really, the only thing that was different, was that Hedvig and I were now old enough and mature enough to test our friendship. We made out a few times, both of us claiming it was just a way to relieve stress but secretly we both knew it was something more. No one was allowed to mess with either of us, and we were incredibly protective of each other. Neither of us was really allowed to date, even though we both claimed we were fine with it.

I never needed to care about what people said about me.

Even though most of the rumors are true. I'm not in a good place, it's true. I do spend every waking moment of my life fighting, or thinking about fighting. My version of fun isn't the version that is accepted by society or the law, but I don't give a fuck. I'm reckless and I'm wild and I'll probably end up breaking myself beyond repair some day.

But you can just get the fuck over it.

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i said so: jardin (speaking)
get with it: photosynthesis (emphasis)
everything else: misty wood (main)
this just in: moss carpet (headers)
your words: shadow trees (hearing)

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table by zoe