Parting Ways, Falling Tears // Raquel/Romana | JB

RAQUEL IZAR

I've never been in the Justice Building before. I've seen it, every year, looming over the stage, and every year I've watched as it swallows two children whole. I watched Benat go, then Iago, then Levi, then Salome. One after the other. Shadows wrapping around them until they disappeared and the whole world forgot that they ever existed. Well, almost the whole world. I won't forget. I know for a fact that Grams won't forget.

When I was younger, I was curious about what it looked like on the inside. I always thought of it as an animal, some monster crouching over the Town Square, hollow windows watching us all like the eyes of a cat. I'm not sure why I thought of it in that way. I think perhaps it was because the thing ate up my cousins like its first meal in a century.

Whatever I thought, I certainly didn't have it right. The inside is grey, dull and cold, unwelcoming. I have a room to myself, big enough to fit my family of five quite comfortably for the night. I dislike how big it is. The walls are too far away, the ceiling too tall, the floor too crowded with rugs and couches and chairs. I suppose they're trying to make it comfortable for me. You have to give them credit for trying.

My feet carry me to the window, covered in dust, but still slightly opaque. My hands rest on the windowsill and I lean my forehead against the glass. The stage, now far beneath me, is being deconstructed, the camera crew packing up and heading towards what I can only assume to be the train station, where they will once again eat up our faces for the Capitol. The roped-in sections are taken down, children dispersing and rushing to find their parents. One more year of safety for them. One more year to celebrate.

I scowl, something deep inside of me aching, wishing I could be with them. A death sentence hasn't exactly been the number one priority on my bucket list.

The door behind me squeaks. I don't turn immediately, instead standing up straighter, moving my hands to the pockets within the folds of my dress, scanning the District beneath me.

I can hear the door close and clumsy steps causing the floorboards to creak.

"Raquel? It's your cousin Romana."

Yes, I know you. I can recognize her voice. We've never been close, but she's been at every family gathering, every birthday party, every celebration. That's what defines an Izar, isn't it? Being part of a family?

I turn my head sideways, glancing back at her, smiling with whatever nonchalance I can muster.

"I know you." a voice is put to my thoughts. "You gonna celebrate tonight?" Another cheeky smile. "You didn't get picked."

DISTRICT ELEVEN FEMALE

RAQUEL IZAR

"Sorry. I suppose that's not what I meant."

Oh great. I swear, if she just stands there and apologizes...

The girl shakes her head in response to my question, and my brows knit together in a slight frown. I turn around completely in order to face her and look her in the eye.

"I couldn't do that to you." she does her best to force a smile, but of course, it doesn't work. "Sorry I'm not all that cheery. It's hard saying what could be goodbye. You know that..."

I shake my head slowly. "No, don't you start."

There's tears in her eyes, and I won't know what to do with myself if she starts to cry. I hate crying. I hate seeing others cry. It's not natural, it shouldn't happen, and I just wish it didn't. I'm useless when it comes to crying.

"You need to come back home."

My gaze hardens. I close the distance between us, till I'm about a foot or two away from her, taller by a few inches.

"You listen here." I say sharply. My hand reaches to point to the door. "You are going to turn around, walk out that door, and celebrate with everyone. Celebrate the fact that all of them are safe, that you and all the other eighteen-year-olds don't have to be scared anymore. You will not be sad, and you will not cry." I put my hands to my forehead and shake it back and forth. "God, no, you will not cry or I swear I'll hit you. You will go home, and you will be happy because being sad will not fix anything."

I take a deep breath, fists clenching tightly. "You will not worry, because worrying will do nothing to bring me home. And if I die," a pause, to make sure she's listening, "If I don't come back, you will not cry. Promise? Will you promise me that?"

DISTRICT ELEVEN FEMALE