hayden fray | district one | fin

I am Heaven's wings and a bitter soul, and I've been told too many times that I'm a shameful excuse for a son. I am the only boy of five children, and I am the oldest. I am expected to lead. But I can't. My father would be the first to tell you: I can't do anything.

Technically speaking, my father drank himself into his sickness: a victim of denial. He did not want to leave the paradise in his head, where he was somehow great and had somehow accomplished what he believes he was put here to accomplish.

He had ignored all of the signs saying 'bad weather,' and before he realized he was in danger it was too late. The largest ships sink quickest, so a single crack in his titanium armor quickly became a spiderweb fracture.

He began to sink, and it was his dying wish to bring is down with him.

If you ask me though, it isn't the drinking that has pulled him down beneath the waves. I think it is the years of self hatred and disappointment combined with his so-called failures for children and his gold digging wife who loved the failure children more than she loved him. I think he built his own grave from the inside long before the drinking did.

According to him, I need to spend less time folding paper and more time memorizing the names of poisonous plants. I need to spend less time tying cherry stems and more time practicing my public speaking voice. I need to spend less time doing card tricks and more time cutting the heads of dummies off with my sickle.

I am incompetent and ultimately a failure in his eyes. Eighteen years old: one last chance to be reaped, one last chance to give him what he has always wanted. And of course my cousins were thrust into the limelight first with their abundance of wealth and their arsenal of young warriors, and it only pushed my father further past his breaking point. Maybe Uncle Tarver had the right idea, pulling in every stray who could weild a sword and slapping their last name on them.

He had lived a life in Uncle Tarver's shadow, he said. He would not live a death in it as well. He didn't say the rest to us but it was not necessary. We knew he would hold on until one of us was dying a tragic death on live camera. (No, not tragic. One death was an accident, a mistake, absolutely a tragedy. But dozens of them planned on an annual scale was not tragic. It was just good for ratings.)

I hope it is me to go. Not just because I want the glory and the gore and the crown and the bigger house, but because I don't think the others could handle it.

Rather, I don't think I could handle watching them handle it.

My siblings are strong, some in areas I wouldn't dream of touching. Peggy's axe is an extension of her body: an extra limb with sharper edges than her wit. Charlie could conquer kingdoms with her words, I've seen her do it. Rose is faster than anyone she has ever competed against. Even Kaiser and Kellan and Rian. They'd all fare well if ever they were reaped. But tributes leave home and when they return they are either dead or the reason someone else is. And I don't think I can handle the idea of them dealing with that, though I would never say it to them.

I am not even supposed to say it to myself. But I can still remember when we were children and the games seemed like nothing more than a game, and we could play tag in the yard, or climb things we were not supposed to climb. I remember reading fairy tales under sheets with flashlights and bubble blowing contests. I remember sword fights with sticks and adventures in our treehouse.

Peggy and I would look at the stars when we were younger, dream of being in places where we were regarded with the same respect. We would name the constellations we knew and make up names for the brightest stars we could see. Time and my own father's cruelty took that away, but sometimes I catch a glimpse of her looking up at the sky at night, and I wonder if she remembers how close we once were before we were made to be competitors.

One night, after Scout was bone and Justice was gold, I found her outside in our old treehouse.

"That is Scout." She said, pointing a thin finger to a starless part of the sky. It was blacker than the rest somehow: cold and mysterious and fucking beautiful. And my sister was right. That was Scout, that little blank spot.

Scout Fray: thrust into the sky before she was ready to burn.

I laid next to her and stared at the spot, at how envious it must have been of all its neighbors.

"I have a better name for it: Malcolm." (Our father's name.) Peggy laughed a small laugh, and I felt a bit of pride burning within me because she remembered them too. She remembered the nights with the stars.

After a few moments of silence, I lifted my own arm into the air.

"And that," I said toward the brightest star, "is Justice." I pretended to flick it away, as if it were that simple to take back the unchangeable feat my cousin managed to create.

There were two stars there, not quite bright, but still there. They seemed close to flickering out. I sighed deeply.

"And those two there, the little ones by Ursa Major..."

Peggy had smiled weakly. "Us?" She finished.

"Yeah."

Rose, the sly thing she is, laughed from just outside the walls of the treehouse.

"Should we light a campfire and sing some songs?"

"Go away, Rose. Or I'll come out there." I said, never taking my eyes off of the sky.

"As if you could catch me." She said. I could practically hear the smirk on her lips.

They called me reckless for a reason. They called me tame for the same. What I wanted was wild beyond belief, and still such a simple request in a place like One. Becoming a victor was something of an Everyman's dream, and I wish I was the exception. But I'm not. I'm not the exception.

But none of us are, except maybe Peggy.

Charlie gave up trying to impress our parents at a young age, and though it means neglect from our parents, she seems free in some way. Logic would have told her to stick it out and pretend to be something she wasn't, and when she was younger she tried. But Charlie has always had her humanity and a strong will, and I can't really ask her to change.

Besides, it means less competition in the house.

Once I was still up at five in the morning, when the sky went from black to blue and everything seemed to be at peace. It was supposed to be that way: silent and at peace. And we were supposed to be resting up for another big day of training our lives away, but I was up. And it was not quiet.

My fists were clenched and blisters decorated my knuckles. I painted pictures on the punching bag in front of me, each hit adding another intricate detail that only my hands could have added.

I didn't see her standing there. I almost didn't even hear her when she called my name.

"Hayden," she repeated, her arms folded over her chest. She was wearing her sleeping clothes.

"I didn't mean to wake you." I promised, labored breathing making it hard to whisper. "You didn't. I have to study."

She was convincing, but I didn't entirely believe her.

She started to turn away, but didn't. I could see the words in her mind, trying to find their way to her tongue and form a good question. I answered it before she had to ask.

"I haven't slept yet."

"Why?"

This was the one I was not prepared for. I was taught that the 'why' never mattered. It was the 'what' that held the secrets. If I were reaped, I would kill. End of story. There wouldn't be a 'why' after. It would just be a fact: I killed someone.

"I guess I got carried away."

She narrowed her eyes at me, taking a step in my direction.

"I'd say."

"Just say it, Charlie. Get it over with." She nodded.

"You're being stupid. What is this for? A chance to win? Justice did that. How often are families allowed more than one victor?"

When I didn't say anything, she pushed a little further.

"Is it approval you want? What, from Mom and Dad? If that's what you're after I can tell you it won't ever happen. They don't approve of us because they don't approve of themselves, Hayden. They never got their shot. And they've made us believe that what they are doing now is for us, but it isn't. It's for them. It always has been."

She was younger than me, but she had always been wiser.

"And here I thought I was the mature one." I said, pulling off one of my gloves.

"I wouldn't count on it." Charlie said. This time, she did turn away. "Go to sleep, Hayden."

"Fine, okay, I'm going."

I guess I've always been a little grateful to have Charlie around. Or rather, to have someone who didn't live for a chance to die around. She brought a new perspective and helped me see things more clearly.

Maybe some day, when my blond hair has faded to gray and my blue eyes are open, and I have settled into a job and a family, I'll do it right. Maybe my children will be enlightened and bright, and maybe they'll see life as a chance to be something great instead of a competition. Maybe they'll be happy.

Maybe I'll be happy. God knows I'm not now.

{zoe}