Pellin Nixton :||: District 3 :||: FIN

The interview is burned into my mind as the reporters’ invasive questions keep probing my brain for answers my tongue will not let loose. “How was your relationship with your brother before the Games started?” Absolutely fuckin great, I would think as the bitter, copper taste filled my mouth as it always did whenever I lied. Even if I lied in my thoughts, I would taste the metal burn as if it was punishment for thinking falsehood. It made my childhood difficult because even if no one else could sense the metal taste I had, they could see my face every time I told a lie. My mother would whup me every time I made that face—she wanted me to fear the lies and turn away from them.

“Are you scared of being in the Games as well?” Absolutely less. The copper taste left but my mouth still would not open and my vocal chords would not work for a week. I just want you all to go away. Stop asking questions! My sisters did their duty—spoke only what needed to be said and looked as strong as they could—but even in my 14 year state, I was not strong like they were. My duty was not to my family, but to myself. I was nothing like my brother, sisters, parents. I had grown up as an individual, the younger son who would never amount to anything anyway. I was the product of my father’s second marriage. I was supposed to be the saving grace, the child he could love as he resented his children from his first marriage. I never knew how to tell my father that he was never going to love his children if he kept his mindset.

”How will you commemorate his legacy?” I had stared coldly at the reporter asking the question, the first time since Prism had died that I had showed an inkling that I was still alive. Why did I care how I would honor my brother? What did they even know about him? He was the District 3 fighter who was in an alliance of crazy people who somehow managed to keep him alive for a little bit longer.

“I see you all come from a wealthy family. Do you think this has had any influence on Prism making it as far as he did?” None of my family members had answered that question and for the first time since ever, I was certain we were all united in staring that reporter down. The reporter had gotten the message and backed down, but that didn’t deter the other reporters and their questions.

“What do you think about Wyatt and Prism?” None of us had been aware that Prism liked guys. When we watched the two of them press their lips together, I was pretty sure all of us had our jaws unhinged. I didn’t like Wyatt, didn’t like the way he talked or acted in the arena. He made it seem like the Games was something fun, like it was all a joke. My brother being in the Games was not a joke to me or my family. But obviously my brother found something in him or he wouldn’t have given him the ring that was given back to him. He never loved you like you loved him, Prism. You should have known from the start.

The reporters started to leave once it became clear that we would no longer speak, but the copper taste lingered in the corners of my mouth as I watched them turn their backs on us for the last time. It was a good riddance but it also made me realize that no one was going to remember us now that Prism was gone. Nobody would remember what Nixton even meant, not until one of us was reaped again. In a way, the interview was what kept Prism alive for that much longer. I had watched the interview over and over again, looked at all of my family members.

There was Dad, the head honcho of the family. He was constantly disappointed in all of us—you could see the permanent wrinkles on his forehead—but it was always for different reasons. He loved his first wife and he never forgave Diamond for taking her away from him. He was mad at Prism because of some accident that I wasn’t around for, and because Prism started enjoying some recreational drugs. I never saw the appeal myself, but I was also basically a goody two-shoes in my own right. He never had much love for Mom’s daughter from before, but she wasn’t his blood so that always made sense. And me? Well, I never quite lived up to his standards. Sure, I followed the rules, but not the rules that he played by.

Then there was Mom. She was Dad’s second wife and brought another girl with her to the family. She was never afraid to be harsh with me and was liberal with both her words and hands. I never understood why she was so mean to me, but I guess she was trying to raise me “right”. Then there were my two sisters. I always felt bad for them both; they had really drawn the short stick when it came to our parents’ love. They were always nice to me, though, sometimes a little too nice when it came to play time. If anyone had asked me how it was I kept my appearance looking so nicely, I could only credit my two sisters for teaching me how to be a pretty boy.

And then there was me, the youngest in the family. I had studied the film so many times that I saw what everyone else saw when they watched the interview. My brown hair was nothing like Prism’s, my face a little smaller and rounder than Prism’s, and basically, I was not Prism. I had spent years listening to people that they couldn’t believe that we were actually brothers, that they were certain that one of us had been adopted. I guess being half-brothers would do that. I was tall like Prism and I guess our hair always had a tendency to grow on its own in a similar fashion, but the similarities stopped there. Where Prism’s coloring was light, mine was dark. It would have been great irony if he was the hero in our story and I was the villain, but we were no storybook characters.

I had always grown up awkwardly. None of my father’s money could have fixed me—it required fixing by the Capitol and no one dared to try to replicate that medicine. The first time my parents noticed, I was a toddler. I was having difficulty balancing as I continued to learn how to walk, always favoring my right side over my left. I ended up preferring my left side to do tasks and it made me realize how much of the world favored those who operated with their right side. It wasn’t so much that I preferred one side over the other; because the length of my appendages on the right side was shorter, my body leaned toward the right. It affected my back, but the best my parents could do was pretend it wasn’t a problem.

My childhood involved playing with my siblings despite our age gaps. Prism always seemed a little distant for me, a creature that lived in my house was not in any way a part of me. I loved my siblings, but being the youngest and the child of both parents, it made things a little difficult for me to belong. It took a Games for me to realize how much I wished I had spent more time with them, knowing that any chance of becoming close was tainted with the 69th Games. I learned to fear the future, but I also learned to appreciate what I still had.