The Hardest Goodbyes | Cyril Rinne oneshot

Cyril had always liked District 9's Justice Building. When he was younger he would tag along with his mother as she visited the Town Square, perusing the bright shops in search of a new item of status that could content her in the feeling of pseudo-wealth she was always chasing after. Cyril didn't mind these shops; they were so different from the drab and gloomy factories and houses that made up most of the scenery. The windows were always spotlessly clean, where the only sign that there was any glass in the sills at all came from the light that shined back from their surfaces. The doors had tiny bells attached to them, greeting you as you entered with a pleasant and melodic ding. But these tiny shops were nothing compared to the impressive majesty of the Justice Building, with its pristine marble pillars and giant doors made from thick chestnut. It stood with such a proud grace in the center of the square, making the beauty of the shops around it seem shallow and superficial in comparison.

As Cyril sat in one of the opulent rooms of the Justice Building, he realized this was the first time he had ever seen its interior. Under normal circumstances you only entered the Justice Building when asked, or when you had important business involving the Capitol. His mother, despite rubbing her shoulders with the well-off, had never been important enough to enter. Nobody in his family had been important enough. But now Cyril was important enough, an important pawn in the grand scheme of the Capitol's cherished games.

Looking around the room, Cyril saw that the Justice Building was just as impressive on the inside as it was on its exterior. Everything in this room was made of the same dark chestnut wood as the doors. He sat on an upholstered sofa made from some incredibly comfortable material that had been dyed a royal blue. Upon one wall were bookshelves, filled with leather-bound books all sitting neatly next to one another. Cyril wondered if any of them had ever been opened. He debated walking over and opening one himself, but he knew the way the letters would rearrange on the page in front of him would only serve to leave him feeling frustrated. Besides, he was too nervous about the difficult meetings he would soon be facing. Cyril was about to say his goodbyes.

The doors to Cyril's room opened, and he cam face-to-face with his family. Jools ran over on stumbling legs, tears streaming down her face, desperate to grab hold of Cyril and never let go. His father also had tears in his eyes, but he was silent. Cyril saw the pain in his eyes, the fear of losing a son. His mother had no tears, standing with her usual stiffness but paler than usual. For a brief moment they all just sat around each other, silence punctuated only by the sobs of Jools as she clutched tighter and tighter to the older brother that was such a giant part of her tiny world. Finally, his father spoke:

"You can win this."

"Dad, you know I can't, I-"

"You can win this, Cy. You're quick. You're hard to catch. If you train enough to defend yourself and learn some skills to survive, you can win this."

Cyril locked his eyes onto his father's as Jools launched into a chorus of "You gotta win, Cy!" and "Please don't go!". The fear he had seen echoed in those eyes had changed into a forced determination. Cyril's father wasn't ready to give up hope that his son would return from this torture a victor. Cyril only felt sadness. He knew that there would be many other tributes better suited to the brutality of the games; older tributes that outrank him in height, in size, in intellect. Not to mention the Career tributes that already know more useful skills than he could ever hope to pick up before the games began. He didn't see how his father could hold onto hope like this, but he couldn't bring himself to say he didn't have much optimism.

He turned his attention to the weeping child clinging to him, as if she could hold him rooted to this spot as long as he was in her grasp. "Jools, stop crying. Please look at me, Jools. Please," he coaxed. She unburied her head from his shirt and looked up at him with her watery eyes. He continued. "I don't want to leave you, I wish I could stay, but I have no choice. But I'll be thinking of you every day while I'm gone, just like you'll be thinking of me. And you'll get to see me, up on the screens!" You'll get to see me die, he thought, and instantly became filled with dread at the realization that his sweet, curious, innocent little sister might have to watch her brother die. He quickly continued, "And if you still miss me, ask mom or dad to sit with you under our stars, and it'll be like I'm right there with you. But I need you to be brave so that I can also be brave, just like you." Cyril gave her the biggest smile he could give her as his heart broke into a million tiny pieces.

Jools loosened her grip and wiped her eyes with a sniffle, steeling herself to be brave for him. "Please come back home, Cy." she pleaded.

"I'll try my best, I promise."

Jools ran over to their mother, burying her face in the folds of her best dress. Cyril waited for his mother to say something snide about Cyril's situation like she always does. Maybe if you weren't so bad in school you would stand a better chance, or At least this will give me more attention, maybe we'll get some money out of sympathy. Cyril braced himself as his mother opened her mouth, but her words completely took him by surprise.

"I'm sorry about Nessa."

Nessa. The only person outside of his family he'd ever been close to. Who his mother disapproved of. Who she forbid him from seeing again. Who died shortly after. Cyril had always resented her for this, and she had always told him it had been for the best. But now, as they sat facing each other, Cyril could see the regret in her face, the pain in the face that told him that underneath her harsh exterior, she truly loved him. Suddenly it occurred to him that there might have been something deeper underlying her desire for status and wealth. Maybe it wasn't all for herself. Maybe she was doing what she thought was best for her family. As he thought this, Cyril stood up and gave his mother a hug.

And soon Cyril and his family were all hugging, all crying, all holding onto each other in a circle of love, of pain, of despair, of family. And they hugged and hugged until the Peacekeepers came in to escort them out. Cyril told them his final goodbyes, his final I-love-yous, and watched his family disappear behind the chestnut doors. Possibly the last time he'd see his family ever again.

But the visit had changed Cyril. He no longer felt hopeless, wanted to sit there and wallow in his despair and misfortune. His family had lit a fire in him, washed away his pessimism and filled him back up with a determination.

He was going to give the games everything he had.

He was going to come back.