europa pools | paisley [&sam]

"Pais," Poppy breathed when her eyes reached the bottom of the notice.

"Don't-"

But Paisley Hart was already sprinting up the stairs of the Justice Building.

Her worn shoes squeaked against the brand new linoleum and the sounds screeched against her ears, cheering her on. Closer and closer and closer, "Let me in!" banging her fists on the wooden doors as the clock ticked through the last of its eight hour. "Let me in damn it!"

The Keeper guarding the door grabbed her arm and shoved her back, pointing up to the clock on the wall as she stumbled. "Nine am sharp, kid," the arms of the clock ticked agonisingly on. "Not a second sooner." Paisley scowled, heart racing from running, wiping the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead and tapping her foot impatiently. Sam, she thought. Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam.

A handful of others stood in the queue already, some solemn, some excited, some with tissues and some with hand-held cameras. She took her place, five heads back, sixth in the line, and stared at the clock, every second Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam.

The doors opened and she took off again, rushing past an old man and two toddlers - she didn't give a fuck who she upset. "Welcome to the Hunger Games Museum..." echoed through the hall. "A reminder to please not touch any of our displays..."

The hall smelled new, like bleach and plastic and fake oxygen. Poppy wouldn't approve, she knew that much. But Poppy didn't understand. Her sister mourned in a different kind of way. Passively. Quietly. In private.

"Seventy-fourth," Paisley croaked to the machine. "Five female."

The engine whirred into life, and pixels danced in front of her, and there she was, just as Paisley had left her: golden hair and giant blue eyes and a little scar on her chin from when they were kids. She stood in her reaping dress: baby blue, tartan, four white buttons and one grey because the fifth had popped off when she was sixteen.

"Sam?" the youngest Hart sister croaked, eyes spilling. Heart ripped out of her chest, again again again not again.

"Paisley!" her sister, not sister, smiled. "You've grown!" Sam's eyes crinkled, and her cheeks rose, and Paisley dropped to her knees and sobbed.

The hologram dropped down to her level, crossing her legs underneath her. "Paisley, what's wrong?" and her voice was a bittersweet memory unearthing all of Paisley's hurt. 

"You left," Paisley managed, stuffing her knuckles into her mouth to keep herself from bawling. "You left us."

The hologram tutted, resting her elbow on her leg and her chin in her palm. "Pais, I had to. You know that."

Sniffing, the sleeve of her shirt now a makeshift handkerchief, Paisley gathered herself and took a deep breath. "Can I...?" a hand outstretched, she reached for her sister's fingertips and found nothing but air.

That only made her heart sink even further into the ground.

"I miss your hugs," Paisley mused, studying every single detail of her sister. Each strand of hair, each split end, every freckle and dimple and scar was the same. Incredible, she thought through her aching. "Poppy's too skinny. It's not the same."

Sam laughed at that, blue eyes glistening. "I bet you're both taller than me now."

"Yeah," she croaked, managing a weak huff of laughter. "Shorty."

"Five foot four, they tell me," replied Sam. 

"Who tells you?" asked Paisley, unfurling from herself at the question. 

"I..." faltered Sam, turning her head to the side - searching for an answer that wasn't ever able to be found. "I'm not sure."

Paisley knew. But it felt wrong to tell her sister. So she didn't, falling silent, studying the hologram that flickered ever so slightly with the morning light. Sam didn't respond unless spoken to, so they sat in their silence - listening to the shuffle of feet around them, the quiet sobs of others in the distance, the muffled words of other tributes. Paisley dabbed at her eyes with her knuckles, smiling through her tears. 

Sam, every inch of her thought. Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam.

Hours passed, and Paisley sat still looking at her sister. Her mind fell through memories, asking if Sam remembered them. "Yes," she'd grin. "Of course." But Sam never talked about the details. Never continued stores. She just laughed or smiled or sighed, nodding enthusiastically or repeating Paisley's words. It didn't matter. Not really.

Not real, thought Paisley in Poppy's voice. Not really.

After a while she readjusted, pulling her legs into a cross to match Sam and asked, quietly - like a whisper. It felt fitting. The hall was almost empty, the sun slowly dipping behind the horizon. They were alone. It was safe to talk about secrets.

"Did you love him, Sam?"

"Who?" Sam whispered back.

"Reese."

"Oh," Sam responded, smiling softly, looking up through the windows to the orange and pink clouds of the evening. "I think I did."

Paisley nodded, smiling through a fresh batch of tears. "Okay."

"Okay," Sam smiled back. 

"Time to go," barked a Peacekeeper approaching Paisley - the same one from that morning. Her head whipped around in protest, mouth open ready to scream, and he must have seen that, seen Sam, seen their similarities. Understood. 

"You- you can come back same time tomorrow."

"Oh," okay. "Thank you."

Sam grinned. "Same time tomorrow?"

Paisley beamed, nodding as her eyes welled, remembering their last goodbye. How awful it was. How real she was, then.

But this farewell wasn't a real goodbye. Not really.

"Go strong," whispered Sam with a wink.

With all the strength she could muster, Paisley Hart logged off and watched her sister disappear.

"Poppy says you're not real."

Samira turns to look at her sister, frowning. "I'm as real as I can be."

"Yes but-", she sighs. Frowns back. It's difficult to find words, to reason with something that can't be convinced it's anything else but. Poppy's glare appears at the back of her skull at that thought and Paisley chomps down on her knuckles, nervous, blowing air out of her nose as she closes her eyes. No more tears. 

"Never mind. Tell me about Reese."

Sam sits up, straightening her posture. "Reese LaChance was the District Seven male for the seventy-fou-"

"No, no, no," Paisley groans into her hands. "Tell me how you felt about him."

It takes a moment for the hologram to blink, process what she's asked, search whatever strange memory it has. Paisley's starting to notice those little things after five days spent sitting in front her sister. Sam never used to pause this long. She didn't always tilt her chin to the side when looking for an answer. Sometimes she'd purse her lips together, or glance to the left, or fiddle with her pinky finger.

Not that they'd know those things, the people who made her.

"Reese and I were allies. He saved me from the tracker jackers and I saved him from the earthquake. We held hands. We were quite fond of each other."

There's a little laugh to her words, sweet and secretive. Paisley sighs dreamily at that, as if she was hearing about them for the first time. 

"Did you kiss him?" asks Paisley, heart racing.

Again, another pause. Another tilt of her golden head, searching through training center security footage.

"Once."

"What was it like?" the girl gasps, eyes alight with wonder.

"Sweet," replies Sam, eyes somewhere else entirely. "Brief. Magic."

Solemnly, Paisley drops her head and closes her eyes. That was all she needed to hear.

"Sam never believed in magic."

Her heart sinks with every word.

She turns the hologram off, wipes a tear from her cheek, and exhales.

When she opens her eyes again, Samira Hart is still dead.