|Talking To Stars| [Navy's Death; Stand Alone]

I didn't think it would hurt so much when it happened. She'd been gone and out of my life for nearly three years and I guess I figured that meant she was out of my heart too. I found myself trying so hard not to care - every cut, every stumble, every tear, every tortured scream, every stitch - I tried so hard to pretend she was just another tribute from some other district that I didn't know or care about. I would turn on the TV and tell myself I only wanted to see how things were going, to see how it was all progressing, to see that the Capitol was getting their fair share of fun so that they wouldn’t press more than one a game a year on us. I told myself that I would only watch for a few minutes to check on updates. I thought that I could tell myself I was only watching to see if little old District 6 could somehow get a victor this year. But the fact of the matter is, every time I turned on the television was because I wanted to make sure she was pushing through. Instead of just a few minutes every night, I found myself missing work because I couldn’t stop staring at the screen. When I wished District 6 would have a victor, I was wishing for a District 6 victor who was my sister. But that wish isn’t coming true. Ever. And I realize now it hurt even more because I believed. I truly did believe that she might come home. Not just to District 6 but home to me and Jay in our crusty little home with a drunken prostitute mother and no one to take care of us but ourselves. Sure we sound like a sorry pair but we are - were - her sorry pair. And she made it a happy trio. We could be that again. You know? They call it a family? We could have that again, if only she came home.

It wasn't easy seeing her lose it. The girl I had known had held it together like a mother was supposed to, stayed strong even when no one else in the family could, and taken care of me and Jay when we were sick or just too stupid to realize that we needed to grow up and be men. Or at least I needed to be a man. But through those years without dad and when mom went into a state of shock and stupidity, my older sister was there to hold the roof up while I jumped around on top or cried in her arms. Bu the girl that I saw on the scream and at the Reaping was could only be described with one word: Broken. Maybe crazy would work too? She cried on stage as she waited for the boy's name to be called, she stumbled as she walked on stage for her interview, she spoke of being a Beast but I could see it was all just an act when I saw her eyes, she appeared on her platform a crumpled mess, did nothing but trip a girl in the Bloodbath, cried and cried and cried over three dead boys, even stooping to kiss one before his last breath, she ran around alone, killing tiny creatures and then crying over them for hours, she talked to things that no one else could see, screamed about our father and swatted at invisible things with her crazy weapon, she carried around dead animals and named them after her lost ally, she sewed her lips together in some crazy attempt to intimidate others, she kissed rose petals, and drew a line on her neck with blood-stained chalk when she was completely shattered to pieces and could take no more.

Let me be free - amongst the stars I roam.

I came home from work that night to find Jay weeping in a crumpled mess in front of the television screen. I didn't even have to watch a second of the coverage to know what was going on because for the first time in quite a long time Jay ran to me and forced me into a hug. He was sweaty and tears dripped down his face in endless sobbing and I knew that it was all over. I tried to be the big brother - I really, really did try - but in that moment I couldn't control it. I pushed Jay aside instead of embracing him. I ran to stare at a television screen instead where my sister was dead instead of paying to my suffering little brother who was still alive. And after I watched the entire fight, after I watched her head roll across the ground a few times, I completely lost control. Like a little boy throwing a tantrum over a broken toy. Except I was grown man throwing bottles, flipping tables, and screaming at images on a screen over my headless sister who was never coming home. I knew I was supposed to be comforting the 12 year old boy who stood crying in the middle of the room, but my body wouldn't let me go to him. Instead, it made me replay the scene again and again, each time more and more tears leaping into my eyes, each time my screaming getting louder and louder, and each time begging with more and more ferocity for her to get off her knees and keep going. But the same thing happened no matter how many times I watched. She kissed rose petals, wailed into the ground, cut a rope to pieces, drew a line around her neck, handed the boy her sword, and waited for the sword to end her life. My sister, my long lost sister who I had finally found, was gone again in an instant.

Why hadn't I said goodbye when I had the chance?

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My eyes open to a blurry tiled floor. I let my eyes blink a few more times before I realize I'm lying on the bathroom floor. My head is beating with a pain so fierce that I know only a hangover can manage to create. I shove my fists into the ground and push up, nearly toppling over in the process as the ground shifts beneath me. Somehow I manage to stand and stumble my way over to the sink. I grasp at it's edges, holding myself up, keeping my head down in the hopes that maybe the throbbing will go away. The porcelain glows as the black light the shines around the room buzzes. What time is it? I raise my head and stare into glowing eyes - or eye I should say. The other one isn't glowing blue but swollen and beating a nice black and blue color. which I suppose accounts for the throbbing pain. Puke is all over the front of my beater and as I snatch a glance behind me, I see I must've completely missed the toilet and collapsed in a puddle on the floor. Holy fucking shit, what time is it? Green glitter lays like snow across my blonde hair and as I begin to search my body a little more thoroughly, I find a bite mark on my shoulder with a phone number written in purple eyeliner around it, some interesting illustrations labeled "trouser snakes" all over my chest, and another nice looking bruise across my stomach to match my eye. I toss my beater in the sink and twist the handles to let water wash over the filth down it's front until I can't tell it was ever dirty at all, then use it as a sort of sponge to scrub down the rest of my body. Screw the time, what happened last night?

I spray myself with the can of air freshener sitting on the toilet, step around my puddle of puke that still sits on the floor, ring out my tank, and force it back on my body before I step back into the club. The music doesn't beat loud, and dead forms line the tables, chairs, and stage, as the bartender scrubs down bar and one of the girls who works with me throws cups into a trash bag, one of her She has multiple and I'm proud to say I've seen most every one that she owns twice bras slung over her shoulder. I climb the stairs leading to the clothing store that sits above the club and find the sun glaring in my face through the front windows. I grab a coat from off the rack, nod at my boss who only reminds me that I better be back and ready by tonight or else, and then walk out the door where a chilling air greets me. I run my fingers through my hair and shake my head to get rid of the glitter that still sticks there, but I'm sure my hair still sparkles in the light. But really, who gives a shit? My breath billows in front of me in clouds and when I look to the sky, it looks as if snow might be on it's way. It makes me smile. I always loved snow. Cold, tasty, white, and each little flake was different, but somehow they all ended up as one big family. And it was always so fun to play in. Snowball fights, snowmen - in fact, make that armies of snowmen - all up and down my street. My army always won. Beating my brother and sister both with my amazing snowball making skills. Naveen's were always so terrible - and honestly I remember her spending most of her time building a little snow family and not a snow army.

When the snow comes, I remember what it was like to have family.

As I walk along the street, my hands shoved in my coat pockets, my ears freezing in the cold, I come upon a television smashed to bits in the streets. I almost ignore it, but then it starts to look familiar. Too familiar. It's ... mine. And just when I'm about to ask myself what my TV is doing smashed in the street, it rushes back to me. I destroyed it. I cried for hours. I started a fight for no reason. I drank and partied to get the pain to go away. My sister is in the games this year. She is in the final five. But - she died last night. And my dreams of that snowy family have melted away. I swallow back the anger that rises in my throat. "Shit." I rake my fingers through my hair, willing away the incoming tears. I sigh in an attempt to keep myself under control, but still the tears leap to my eyes and my leg kicks out at the shattered TV on the ground. "Fuck!" I blink and a few tears fall, but I quickly swat them away. Tears are a visible weakness. And weakness in a complete shit hole like District 6 is what gets you killed. So instead of crying I kick the TV again and punch a nearby streetlight before continuing down the street, pulling my coat collar up around my ears in an attempt to hide the tears that still managed to slip down my cheeks.

I remember when we were just kids taking on the world like there was nothing to lose.

Back when dad was still around and mom hadn't completely lost herself. Back when we ran up and down the alleys talking to every drug dealer there was as if they weren't dangerous. Back when we tried to kill eachother over the last piece of candy in the bag. Back when we could be sailors in District 4 and lumberjacks in District 7 and no one told us that those dreams would never come true. Back when a bedtime story or a lullaby helped us fall asleep. Back when hide-and-seek around the house was just an everyday affair. Back when you fell and scraped your knee and their was someone their to kiss it all better and put a colorful band-aid on it. Back when we conspired to secretly capture every cat in the neighborhood and hide them up in our rooms. Back when whoever could climb the to the highest rung on a ladder was more important than who had the most money. Back when dragons, fairies, pirates, unicorns, and sea monsters were real. Back when we believed we could fly. Back when the Games were nothing more than a gathering and life was something that you couldn't lose. Back when the world was only a blank canvas waiting to be filled with bright colors of the future.

But those bright colors washed away long ago, revealing a black slate beneath.

Suddenly, I start to sprint. My feet pound across pavement as memories fly through my head and tears run down my cheeks. My heart beats fast and I can't figure out what I'm running for - or from. They say not to run from the past, but what if it seems as if the past is suffocating you? Am I supposed to let my memories kill me? My tears grow cold against my cheeks as I find myself closing in on home. I run past the dumpsters that used to be ships, I run past the door where the dragon lived, I run past the best hiding place in the whole world as I feel my heart begin to give out. The place I used to call home is nothing more than deadly labyrinth now. The heart and soul of the one who made it all come to life is no longer around to breathe happiness into them. The memories that used to make me smile are now nothing but taunts. The past has turned from an angel to a monster and somehow I know exactly where it all originates from. I fly through the door, past Jay and past more and more memories as they grow denser and denser with every object I pass. I thought I didn't care anymore. I thought it was over. But I guess I thought wrong. I guess I will always care. I guess I will never forget. I climb the stairs, my breathing nothing more than little gasps and whimpers, like that of a little girl who wants her teddy bear. The door at the end of the hall stairs back at me, tiny pink flowers floating around on it. She wanted to tear them off but they wouldn't peel away. I haven't been inside the door since the day she left. I burst through the door, a loud bang accompanying a picture frame falling from the wall. I pick it up, looking at a smiling trio through broken glass. Anger rises within me and I find myself whipping the frame across the room and with all my might. The memories that have shattered me deserve the same, right? I break a globe on her bedside table, I throw books at the window, and rip clothes from their hangers, I rip the sheets off her bed, I throw her lamp to the ground, and when I can't find anymore strength to move, I collapse against the wall in a sobbing mess. I looks around the room through teary eyes and somehow, what I thought might make me feel better, only makes me feel worse.

No matter what I do, it's always going to hurt. My memories of her will forever haunt me.

Suddenly I'm aware of Jay sliding down the wall to sit next to me. He grabs me hand and I look at him. His eyes shine but no tears fall. I feel horrible that I wasn't there for him when he needed me most. I feel horrible that I can't be strong in front of him. I swallow and force the word, "Sorry." out of my mouth. And even though I know it's not, he says it anyways. "It's okay." And through my tears, I have to smile. And he smiles back before we both fall victim to the sadness of the situation, and cry into eachother's shoulders, hoping that tomorrow will be a better day.