Our Souls Open, Eyes Full [Sampson]

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Our Souls Open, Eyes Full [Sampson] Jun 11, 2013 22:12:00 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 11, 2013 22:12:00 GMT -5

Sampson Izar

•••

I want to change the world

[/color]
Instead I sleep
I want to believe in more than you and me[/center]

•••

I’m lost in a sea of yellow and green.

The corn is coming in, despite the heat. The long stalks reach up toward the sky, and frayed patches of yellow come out the ends of the budding ears. We do our best to till the fields but the painful drought of the summer is threatening to eat away our crop to dust. There hasn’t been an ounce of rain. Thick clouds of dirt kick up from the fields and circle round us like the vultures above. We march on, pump hard from our well for buckets and nurse the soil best we can, but it ain’t enough. The clank of scraping metal signals the weariness of the well. There’s no break in the drought and Papa says that all of it might rot away. He don’t even try to come up with a solution, don’t even ruminate one little bit. Course Mama takes to not saying a word; her sighs are as thin and high as spider webs in the wind. We don’t speak his name but his death hangs like a shadow over us still[/color]. His body may have gone under the hard and cracking earth in a simple pine box but—

Naw, I won’t think of it[/color]. Can’t. I push the thought of his going underground deep into the back of my throat, until it slides down my gullet and into my stomach. And then I push further still. Down, down, down it goes until I can feel it between my toes and underneath the warm mud around my feet. Feels better walking all over it than having it come out my mouth[/color]. Papa said I can’t go on crying and carrying on all the time. He don’t believe in talking to the stars.[/color] I still whisper to Benat at night, saying little prayers for a good harvest and about what he missed. I know it’s silly, asking the dead for help, but makes me feel better to talk to someone that ain’t talking back to me. He already knows about Jane Small breaking her wrist, and that the twins two farms down got the pox. I told him how momma cried when she saw a white rabbit on the porch. Poppa just set a trap and said (pipe in his mouth, puffing away[/color]), “We’ll get this varmint.”

I stagger on into the fields hoping the rest will forget about me. The sun’s just starting to dip and it’ll be quitting time soon. They don’t usually much mind me wandering off. It’s not like I shirk work when it needs doing. We’ve been drifting more toward normal—whatever that was[/color]—back to when I got to sit and say nothing. Sometimes I like it best when I can just learn from watching. Here and now I trudge my boots through the mud, and pause when I come across a collection of broken stems and bits of wood scattered.

He used to run through here, right where the earth makes a little cross with black stones. He left them here to mark his spot and I—on my knees, hands touching them as though they have a special power[/color]—close my eyes. I’m falling behind the rest of them, breaking from work, not tilling the deadening soil as I should be. Sweat drips down my face, and I bring an arm across to wipe it away. It would be better to salt this earth, so nothing else could grow.[/color] But that’s a pang of anger, brought on by the heat. I find myself swinging back and forth lately, like the stalks of corn in the wind. The days have gotten longer and my the bed seems smaller, even with the empty space. A quiet hovers close, even in the shadow of Crickett Antoinette[/color] and all the fanfare she brings. We’re supposed to respect the trudge of time, even if we’re not ready to move along with it. Just dust into the wind, my family disappearing from my hands and into the air.

I reach a hand out to grab a withered green leaf. I wonder if I’ll grow up big and strong head and ears toward the sky, or shrivel and shrink back toward the earth. . Without a lick of food we’ll have to take out more tesserae. They don’t want me to, being the youngest. Benat always took out so much—more than he ever let anyone know[/color]—and we all saw what that brought. But lately I’ve been so hungry my stomach plays six piece orchestras that must keep the whole house awake. Some of our cousins would talk about it, the older ones. Their voices got crackled and they’d start growing hair everywhere. I always turned beet red when Benat made a crude joke, especially the ones I didn’t rightly understand. Here I search for an answer from my brother, about this change, this stirring, but nothing comes. It’s not the first time since his going that I’ve come up empty for an answer, not finding a witticism for what I should know. Instead I’m left with a dead leaf crumbling in the palm of my hand.

Talk amongst us boys used to be about how much we liked the wooden train set on display in front of the general store. Or about how the best way to get to the moon would be. But now instead of staring up toward the clouds rumbling across the sky, I stare at the sheen of sweat on the older boy’s back. I can see it drip down into the dirt, and how their shirts cling to their skin. When I stare too long and catch them looking back, I try my best to look past at the corn growing around us (though I half hope they’ll smile back at me[/color]). I think of the stories my grandpa used to tell, with knights and princesses and true love—I think about how nice it must be to kiss, and to be in someone’s arms. Not the kind of hug between me and Deval, but something that makes me feel…

I break the little leaf into pieces. I don’t know.[/color] It’s all silly, swooning and awing and staring at things that shouldn’t and couldn’t be. I ain’t even mustered the courage to whisper out a prayer to the stars. Instead I wish for a kiss, or to hold hands—am I supposed to want to hold hands? I seent boys with girls, marrying and going on and making families, but what’s it I’m supposed to feel? But I think it must be nice to have that too, the special kind of feeling with someone else that ain’t my kin. The kind that leaves your face blushing red and voice all scattered into nothing when you try to speak. I kneel on the ground, placing more stones along the ground, dirtying my hands as I build a bigger cross.

•••

But all that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now...

[/color]

•••

[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

Sampson
Merchant

[M:-50]

162 POSTS

last seen Sept 7, 2018 6:51:56 GMT -5

pardon me, just getting used to v5...

Our Souls Open, Eyes Full [Sampson] Jun 13, 2013 19:47:22 GMT -5

Post by Sampson on Jun 13, 2013 19:47:22 GMT -5

I lit a fire with the love you left behind
And it burned wild and crept up the mountain side
I followed your ashes into outer space
I can't look out the window, I can't look at this place.
I can't look at the stars
They make me wonder where you are

[/i][/color]

My world burns with the vengeance of summer. It smolders with a heat I can only compare to the anger that once threatened to consume me from inside. When Benat's death mutilated my days of living until they were like eternities in the domain of hell, my hate had felt like fire. I feel that same heat now. Where my earlier rage had been suffocating in my chest, summer's touch laps at my skin and makes sure I feel it everywhere. There is no escape either. Not even Benat's sky, his stars and darkness, can soothe the heat that threatens to turn everything to ash. At night, I'm still lying in my sweat. I'm just there, exposed in only my boxers, attempting to sleep in the thick summer air. With Sampson beside me, I try so hard to make sure we don't touch. These are nights when I am thankful for the little extra room that was awarded to us for offering up the third occupant as tribute. Does it make me heartless? Does being appreciative about something as trivial as a few extra centimeters separating me from my brother make me selfish? Is it wrong if my brother died for those few centimeters?

I blame the heat. If I am wrong for cherishing the space where Benat once slept, it is the temperatures that have corrupted me. It is unrelenting, even as I stand beneath the shade of one of the taller trees in District 11. I'm still burning up while I take my miniscule break from carrying the water buckets from the well. A cool breeze is my only relief but it comes at a cost. The wind sends dust from the earth to dance in the air like a brewing storm. But it's a completely wrong type of cloud. I want one saturated with water, one that could be squeezed like a sponge until every drop has poured down onto our needy district. Looking at the swirling crumbs of the earth's crust as they fall away into the dying corn, I know we need more water. Our crops will soon be nothing more than stardust.

Moving back into the line of workers that are moving to bring water to the corn, I wipe my forehead. Sweat gleams on all of us, our shirts glued to our bodies. It's suffocating. I've already stripped to only my undershirt, but I still feel like I can't breathe. These days, the ones where no one feels like moving because it's just that hot, I sometimes refer to as "Dead Days". I don't like the term much anymore, considering the word 'dead' has a lot more connection to me than it did before. Even so, as I pick up two more rusty pails of water from the well and move to join the trail of workers again, the phrase keeps coming up. It fits all of our situations so perfectly. On some level, I almost feel like we've all died and gone to hell. If that's the case, I should keep my eyes open for the crazy girl from 9 or the Magpie—although I'd bet my money on seeing the 9 girl before Elodie. Perhaps it's the heat making my head funny, but I can actually stand to call her "Elodie". It's been awhile since I've actually called the District 5 female tribute by her real name. But she was more than just a Mapgie, so I should be more respectful. Even if she helped kill Benat.

I'm beginning to feel something close to remorse for Benat's past alliance members so I let down the buckets of water and just breathe for a minute. If there weren't Peacekeepers watching my every move, I'd probably dunk my head in one of the buckets. I'm lost in my conflicted thoughts, when someone grunts from the line and I hear the metal of the pail connect with the dusty earth. The sound of water flooding out of it makes me cringe. They hate it when we waste water and the continuing drought probably hasn't made them anymore tolerable. My dark eyes shift to see the panic on the boy's face who has dropped the bucket. Will it earn him lashings? I'm not sure, but I don't want to find out.
I move quickly, pulling my two buckets from the ground and pressing one handle into the boy's now empty palm. "Go on," I whisper, willing the boy to keep moving like nothing has gone wrong. My hand scoops up the hollow bucket and I carry it just like the one in my other hand, just like if it had water. Whether from the heat or the younger boy's clumsy mistake, I feel my temper threatening to show as I walk. It's been a long enough day and I don't want it prolonged if we have to stop just to watch some poor kid get whipped. The dead day is almost over anyway. Better me clean up the mistake than let anyone get bent out of shape about it.

Even if I feel like I've made the correct choice, I still feel angry about it. The sweat drips from my face as I kneel down and let the full bucket empty into the stalks of dry corn. I'm chewing on the side of my cheek, mauling over words that I should let rip on the kid who dropped the bucket. Curse words are bubbling in my throat when I look up to find my little brother playing in the dirt. He's hidden away in the rows of gold. The sight makes me grin, the anger suddenly leaving my body. Our work day is almost over, so I see no problem in vanishing into the corn with my brother. Creeping into the stalks by crawling through the freshly muddied portion I had just watered, I make my way over to Sampson.

He's building a cross with some stones. Wiping the mud from my sore hands and propping myself up on one of the empty pails I brought with me, I close my eyes. "What are you up to?" the words are light-hearted, as I am in no mood to do anything but relax after the long day I've had. I open one eye to make sure he knows I'm talking to him. Searching his face quickly, I check his eyes and cheeks to make sure he hasn't been crying recently. He does that alot. "Ya know, hanging around by yourself isn't gonna get you any girls," I grin again, baiting him to blush. He's always so embarrassed and teasing him a little about it will hopefully open him up to an easy conversation. We've been too serious for too long.

And now I'm all alone in the dark of night
And the moon is shining, but I can't see the light.
And I can't look at the stars
They make me wonder where you are
Stars, up on heaven's boulevard
And if I know you at all, I know you've gone too far

[/size][/justify]

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Our Souls Open, Eyes Full [Sampson] Jun 15, 2013 0:40:03 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 15, 2013 0:40:03 GMT -5

Sampson Izar

•••

I want to change the world

[/color]
Instead I sleep
I want to believe in more than you and me[/center]

•••

I feel his shadow before I can hear his voice. What are you up to?[/color] I take in a breath. For a moment I think about hissing how stupid he is and to leave me along. Why don’t you go sit and spin?[/color] I could only imagine the look on his face if I said that. And the fat lip he’d probably give me, or the headlock he’d put me into.[/color] What’s it to him what I’m making? Siblings had to be the most infuriating thing in the whole wide world. One minute I wanted nothing more than to have Benat tell me stories about princes and faraway lands; the next I wanted Deval to go soak his head. Another bead of sweat drips down through my brow and I turn over a rock in my hand. Then I feel the heat prickle down through my neck and into my chest. I cast a sidelong glance at Deval and toss down one of the rocks. “Making a marker,” I grumble as I spit the words out. The last er comes out with a squeak and I flinch. I toss the black quartz down into the dirt with a huff. Throwing my arms behind me, I lean back on my butt with a grin.

“You look chawed up,” I say with a flick of my thumb against my nose. I stare at the way the sweat drips off his body, and how his shirt slicks against his chest. I look down at my own puny little frame (which is nothing compared to his[/color]), and my cheeks burn again. I knew that Benat was handsome, and when I’d seen him on the television screen the whole world got to see just the kind of face he had. But Deval? He had been the same mushy, doughy boy just a hair older and a bit taller’n me. Weren’t no girls that I ever seen go after him, not what I ever got to know. But here in the burning red of the dying sun, with a shadow down half his face and shirt tight against his body he—I stare down at the dirt and swallow in my throat[/color]. It’s then his words come, the playful, silly words that raise the hair up on the back of my neck. Ya know, hanging around by yourself isn't gonna get you any girls.[/color]

“Like you know something about getting girls,” I sass back, head all cocked like a son of a gun. The heat’s got me fired up and tears me away from building my cross. For once it’s me and Deval free to be twelve and fifteen, not trudging with the adults picking ears of corn or splashing out buckets of water onto the muddy earth. And there’s a hair inside me, tugged and pulled, by the very words that run about in my brain. Isn’t gonna get you an girls.[/color] Right, Sampson. Ain’t never gonna make you be like the rest of them in this district. Ain’t that what I’m supposed to be? I grasp at another cache of dirt and squeeze it between my fingers. Just like everyone else, every other Izar that grows up and gets a patch of corn to work until I drop. Well, Benat wasn’t like everyone[/color]—

“Besides, ain’t like none of them are worth it anyway.” I lift up the dirt and release bits into the wind, sending a spray up and past my face. The future would be so much easier without having to think about who I’d wind up with. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life out in the fields, all by myself and Gregor, the old mangy mutt we keep on the porch. I’ll wear overalls and nothing else, just like the rest of the farmhands. And my hair will go gray like poppas, my teeth will fall out, and I’ll shake my fist at the boys and girls that get too close to my property. I’ll never think about holding hands, or kissing lips, or any of that gross stuff because I’ll have plenty more important things to worry about. I let out a sigh and cross my arms across my chest with a stubbornness that could buckle a mule.

But a nagging, whispering voice in the back of my mind speaks, wouldn’t it be nice to hold someone’s hand?[/color] I start to unfold my arms. Or have another ~~boy’s~~ mouth against your own?[/color] It’s wrong and silly and has me blushing. I must be the only person in the world that thinks about these things. I let out another sigh and draw with my finger in the dirt. “Right?” I muster out the word without looking at Deval. I’ve already leant on him so much, I half expect him to fall over when I ask a question.

•••

But all that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now...

[/color]

•••

[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

Sampson
Merchant

[M:-50]

162 POSTS

last seen Sept 7, 2018 6:51:56 GMT -5

pardon me, just getting used to v5...

Our Souls Open, Eyes Full [Sampson] Jun 15, 2013 4:35:18 GMT -5

Post by Sampson on Jun 15, 2013 4:35:18 GMT -5

I lit a fire with the love you left behind
And it burned wild and crept up the mountain side
I followed your ashes into outer space
I can't look out the window, I can't look at this place.
I can't look at the stars
They make me wonder where you are

[/i][/color]

I can sense his bitterness the moment I settle down beside him. I'm in no mood to handle my brother's irritation, so I close my eyes and hope he doesn't reply to my earlier question. He can forget I ever asked if he's gonna be a little baby about it. Sampson keeps throwing down more stones and I try to make myself feel less hot. If I try really hard, think about really cold places like the 59th Arena, I can trick myself into thinking it's just a little cooler outside. I'm about to turn over on my side, face away from my annoying brother, when he replies with as much sass as a Capitolite. "Making a marker," he mumbles with enough attitude that I want to kick out his arms from beneath him so he'll lose the grin on his face. It's the squeak in his voice and his next words that save me from physically hurting him. "You look chawed up," he must find it funny that I've done an honest day's work. I open my eyes and glare at him. Sampson's a total brat sometimes. Honestly, he talks a lot of mess for such a little guy. Looking over his small form with a spark of irritation in my dark eyes, I can't help but wonder why no one has put him in his place. Why haven't I? It's about time.

He doesn't help his case as he sneers at me, "Like you know something about getting girls." I've half a mind to collect my buckets and leave, the way he keeps talking like he's anything but tiny. The other part of me says to collect my buckets and beat him with them. I like that idea much better, but I'm far too tired to confront him. Instead, my mouth does the defending.
"I know more than you do, little man," I snort, grinning at my own words. It's funny how I feel the need to argue with him. Sampson has that effect on me. We're still both childish enough to go at it, even when Benat was around to break us up. Now, without anyone to stop us, we kind of restrain ourselves. Why do I? Because Benat asked us to be good to each other. Why does Sampson? Because he knows I'll deliver him a fat lip if he pushes me too far, regardless of what Benat asked of me. He probably wouldn't be too happy with me, but he understands that even I have my limits.

I wipe sweat from my forehead on my arm, but it feels no different. My fingernails tap along the empty pail I'm leaning on, willing it to magically fill with water again. This drought has dried up everything, including my patience. Running my fingers down the metal and into the dry dirt beside it, I watch Sampson pick up a handful of dirt and let it go. I can see he's thinking about something serious, mauling it over in his head. I've barely said anything and he's acting as though he has to be on the defensive. I wait for him to speak again before I say more, even if I doubt it will be worth the wait. "Besides, ain’t like none of them are worth it anyway," he finally gets it out and I grin again, "Right?"

Sitting up a little more to squint past the glare of the sun that's hiding my brother, I watch his form against the backdrop of the corn rows. His face holds some kind of determination, as if he knows he's right about girls. A gentle breeze makes the sea of gold and green around us sway in uniform. I'm suddenly thinking that Sampson is much more aware of his growing age than I had realized. He's still 12 and I'm still 15, but we are older than we were before the 63rd Hunger Games. I don't think anyone would deny that. Maybe, during our growing older, Sampson's been thinking a lot more about relationships than I had realized. "You're damn right," I hoot with another wild smile as I suddenly lurch forward to hook Sampson's neck with the crook of my elbow. The sound of my laughter surprises even me.

"It'll just be you and me then," I'm squeezing his neck and rubbing my knuckles into his hair because I think it's funny. My irritation has shifted into the lackadaisical feeling I had wanted earlier. Can't this just be an easy, fun conversation? S'all I want. If Sampson doesn't think girls are worth much, I guarantee he'll think they're pretty terrific if he thinks he'll end up with me instead. "We'll grow old together without any girls, but no one will call us lonely because we've still got each other," I'm laughing, hollering at Sampson because I just want him to stop being mad or sad and just mess around with me for a little while. Whatever he's thinking about, he can tell me, but can't we have fun while he does it?

And now I'm all alone in the dark of night
And the moon is shining, but I can't see the light.
And I can't look at the stars
They make me wonder where you are
Stars, up on heaven's boulevard
And if I know you at all, I know you've gone too far

[/size][/justify]

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0 POSTS
last seen Nov 15, 2024 10:38:59 GMT -5

Our Souls Open, Eyes Full [Sampson] Jun 15, 2013 13:58:08 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 15, 2013 13:58:08 GMT -5

Sampson Izar

[/color]

•••

I want to change the world
Instead I sleep
I want to believe in more than you and me

•••

I know more than you do, little man.[/color] He’s high talk now, seemingly perturbed but playful. My face scrunches into a frown, and I stick out my tongue. Two of us don’t do no better’n anyone else, riding a wave back and forth through heat and hurt, snipping and snapping. I’m looking at his empty pail and hear the sound of drumming. Ain’t that how it is, old people thinking age gives them the biggest advantage on account of how much they get to know? Not like I don’t have something to contribute. Hard enough when there are so many Izars stomping around the farm what for me to even get a word in edgewise. Beats you down enough to not say much of anything at all, or to find a little whole where you can set up stones or stare up at the stars. Don’t think they hardly notice, aside from maybe Deval, that I’m off making my own little patch of stones in the middle of the field.

I’m watching him, eyes all wide and full for an answer. It’s a pinprick against my skin, this waiting to see what Deval-the-all-and-powerful (oh wouldn’t he just to be called love that[/color]) has to say. I shouldn’t put so much stock in, but at this moment I want more than anything for something to settle my mind. The haze in the air is as thick as the tension between the two of us boys not yet men. Another drop of sweat lingers down my chin and plops down into the dust. I used to be able to go a long time without having to say nothing; now I feel like I’m all words and shudders, electricity and crackles jerking me this way and that. My bones stretch, hands behind my head, and a prickle runs up my skin. Grandpa used to say that getting old was hell. Guess he was right.[/color]

But like all brewing storms, something’s got to give.[/color] A cloud opens, Deval’s words following.

You’re damn right.[/color] He puts an arm around my neck and I squeal, half struggling to get out of his grasp. I feel a hand jostle through my hair. His laughter sends another spark through me. It’s a cool rainstorm against the hot heat peeking through my skin. A smile spreads across my face and I feel a tickle shake down my throat and into my stomach. I let out a giggle. Then another. Soon my whole body is shaking, laughter pulled up and out. I shriek a good laugh through the air, my arms playfully smacking against Deval’s bigger body as the feeling grows between us.

Funny how sad I’ve been for so long, can’t even remember the last time I let out such a laugh. Been this way before, when Grandpa died and there wasn’t nothing funny to laugh about. But I always felt like laughter’s just like our shadows: just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean that it ain’t there, waiting. And here is the most wonderful, powerful feeling coursing through my body. Same feeling I get riding a wagon down a hill, it’s weightless and fun, making me feel strange all over. Almost like it’s shattered the whole lousy mood into little pieces at my feet. My cheeks burn and my eyes drip tears from my laughs. Whole body shaking, my slaps against his chest change to both arms wrapped against him, squeezing hard in a hug that I ain’t liable to break. All because I got one of the best brothers in Panem.[/color]

“Devaaal… y-you, y-you…” I can hardly breathe while he scratches at my head. It'll just be you and me then. We'll grow old together without any girls, but no one will call us lonely because we've still got each other.[/color] I squeeze him tighter as he says this. My laughs are lighter than his, voice higher, harmonizing with the sounds of my older brother and his plans for the future. A smile still beams from my face thinking about Deval and I growing old together, sitting on a porch and teasing one another like nothing else matters. A perfect ending—as perfect as we could get—in a district so full of anguish. More than this, I just us to see the sun on my nineteenth birthday, when the two of us are safe from the capitol’s reach and the biggest troubles we got to worry about are starting families and growing crops. I nod my head in agreement with him before shaking it and turning over the thought.

“Nah… I think we’d get sick of each other,” I grin again. Dreams are just that, perfect and unreal, hopeful but unobtainable. Besides, it’s not like I want to be alone forever. A part of me burns jealous for the Kearns boy that’s already stolen a kiss in the cornstalks. Didn’t care that he got to brag about it for weeks. I just imagined what it would be like to kiss him, and him to kiss me, sun against both our faces, hidden away between the rows from prying eyes and peepers. I rest my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. “I just… think I’ve never liked nobody like that. Not any girls anyway… don’t really understand ‘em…”

But maybe he hadn’t understood them either? Maybe it’s just a phase and it’ll pass, like wanting to play jacks or being afraid of the dark. I move to wipe my nose. “Right?” I give my best sly smile, eyes now looking up at his.

•••

But all that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now...

[/color]

•••

[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

Last Edit: Jun 15, 2013 14:00:49 GMT -5 by Deleted

Sampson
Merchant

[M:-50]

162 POSTS

last seen Sept 7, 2018 6:51:56 GMT -5

pardon me, just getting used to v5...

Our Souls Open, Eyes Full [Sampson] Jun 24, 2013 23:59:15 GMT -5

Post by Sampson on Jun 24, 2013 23:59:15 GMT -5

I lit a fire with the love you left behind
And it burned wild and crept up the mountain side
I followed your ashes into outer space
I can't look out the window, I can't look at this place.
I can't look at the stars
They make me wonder where you are

[/i][/color]

As my arm closes around his sweaty neck, my other hand burrowing into the mess of mousy brown hair on his head, all I want is to hear him laugh. Luckily, I don't have to wait long before his face splits in a long grin. It's contagious; my own cheeks pull up to reveal my toothy smile. How long has it been since we've laughed like this? I've missed my little brother's giggling almost as much as I missed my older brother's snoring in the middle of the night. Before this, I swore I couldn't even remember what it sounded like. His sniffles and whimpers were so alive in my ears, swelling even more when I tried to remember anything beyond them. It killed my memory of his joy before Benat died, before the Games. Smothered by all the loss and anger, I couldn't remember times like this.

Upon the realization that Sampson is laughing, that he is finally loosening up a little, I feel like crying. My eyes burn and my throat threatens to choke up, but I know I can't cry now. It would bring an end to the fun and to Sampson's giggling voice. Besides, I’m more grown up than that, or at least I think so. I’m old enough not to be such a baby about something so little, even if Sampson’s laugh means the world to me. I swallow hard and just keep trying to absorb the moment.

He’s breathing heavy by the time he finally begins to calm down, his voice melting into the warm air as he mumbles, “Devaaal… y-you, y-you…” What? Am I crazy for wanting to grow old with you? I’m suddenly flushed with insecurity. Before the 63rd Reaping, I’d always said that when I got enough money, I’d pack up my few things and head out on my own. I’d get as far away from the shadow of Benat and finally be my own person. No one would recognize me as the middle Izar child, only as Deval. Maybe it’s childish that, because I’ve suddenly had one brother torn from me, I can’t imagine growing up without Sampson. Maybe Sampson realizes how far-fetched the whole idea is, how crazy it would be to stay beside one another until we have wrinkles and age spots and weaker eyes. He probably does, but he doesn’t show it as he simply squeezes me harder around my waist. My grin widens as he nods his head, only to deflate slightly as he shakes it shortly after. So I am crazy?
“ Nah… I think we’d get sick of each other,” he explains and I begin to release him from my hold. Sometimes, the kid makes a lot of sense and it’s hard to ignore it. He notices things that I never would. I’d never admit it, but he’s smarter than most his age and I’m damn proud of that. It probably means that he knows what he’s talking about when he says we’d get sick of each other, but some little part of me doesn’t think it would happen that way. Maybe he’d get sick of me, but again, I’m terrified of losing him. Sure, he’s still annoying, but I’d never get fed up with him. But what do I know? I’m still a fool. “I just… think I’ve never liked nobody like that. Not any girls anyway… don’t really understand ‘em…” he adds, beginning a whole new reason for my brain to work itself too much.

Is my brother hinting at something? Not any girls anyway… I roll over the phrase in my mind. Am I just thinking too much about something that doesn’t need so much thought? My eyes shift to watch his face. He wipes his nose and looks up at me with a sly grin, “ Right?”
“Right,” I repeat with my own soft smile, “Girls are complicated.” I’m thinking of Asha for a moment, wondering if she’ll end up being complicated or messing my brain more than she already has. My palms get sticky when I dwell on her too much, so I wipe them against my shorts to make sure the sweat isn’t already collecting. “You know,” I ruffle my hair out of nervous habit, “It doesn’t matter who you end up growing old with, just as long as you really do like them.” My voice is confident, even if I don’t really know what I’m talking. For all I know, it’s nothing. Sampson could just be going through a confusing time and he’s only 12 and with the trauma from Benat’s death… Excuses rise in my mind like boiled broccoli in water. Maybe it’s nothing and I’ve misread, so I figure it’s better not to burn myself out on the idea. Not like it really matters to me anyway.

I smile at my little brother. The idea of us growing old is enough for the time being. I'll never get to see Benat in a rocking chair with grey hair, sitting on a porch with the rest of us. He'll never talk and share old stories with us, never help us drive off the younger hoolegens that come trampling through our yard. The Games took him away from the future, from our retirement and old age. I don't care who we end up growing old with, whether it's with our wives or just each other or maybe just a stinky dog as old as us. I don't care. All I care about is making it there, getting to that porch and wasting away knowing that I made it, that we made it.

And now I'm all alone in the dark of night
And the moon is shining, but I can't see the light.
And I can't look at the stars
They make me wonder where you are
Stars, up on heaven's boulevard
And if I know you at all, I know you've gone too far

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last seen Nov 15, 2024 10:38:59 GMT -5

Our Souls Open, Eyes Full [Sampson] Jun 28, 2013 0:57:14 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 28, 2013 0:57:14 GMT -5

Sampson Izar

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•••

I want to change the world
Instead I sleep
I want to believe in more than you and me

•••

I’ve come to appreciate the quiet little victories. They’re the moments when I feel the most alive. It might just be because I think about death all the time—even though I’m not supposed to—and so it’s harder just to live[/color]. That hot, prickly feeling I get when a shadow passes over me comes back, now and again. I get caught up, like a frost that comes over the crops, thinking about how the next day might be my last, or Deval’s, or Momma or Pappa’s. I want to keep them all in my pockets, away from danger. If I could do that, then I could pull them out whenever I needed them. I’d have never let my brother get out of my pocket, or been up on that stage in front of everyone. Even thinking about boys now here with Deval, I’m baited breath, wondering if I’ll be spirited away just for asking a simple question that’s not a question. I don’t claim to rightly know how I feel, much less expect to hear Deval tell me how’s I’m supposed to feel.

That’s just it though, I want him to tell me the way that my heart should pitter patter. He’s supposed to know about that by now, isn’t he? I stare at my brother’s arms, strong from picking in the fields and carrying water. He looks too, he must look and have known that moment, when our eyes open and we see people as more than people[/color]. It’s like a whole chorus of voices opened up in my head over night, calling out to me to look at him[/color] to look at the way his back arches[/color] or the size of his chest[/color]. They call out in melodies and harmonies. Sometimes they call out in a shriek that makes my face burn because I get caught staring, lingering too long at the way sweat drips down a boy’s cheek. Don’t we all see it?[/color] I don’t know. It drives me crazy now, thinking about plucking corn and boys, and the future. I used to never get so distracted. I used to want to keep to myself and never say anything to nobody, but now I don’t… I don’t want my voice to be empty, for no one to look at me.[/color]

I don’t know, I just don’t. I’m little and small, I’m twelve and I sleep in the same bed as my older brother. I close my eyes and listen as he tells me the truth. Right.[/color] His voice hangs. The thought is turning in his mind. Girls are complicated.[/color] I never want to have to understand them. They have high voices and even higher opinions of one another. They’re bossy and fragile and—I blink. They’re nothing but trouble[/color], as far as I’m concerned. And they don’t have that electric spark that I’ve felt, being with them in the fields. I’ve seen the hoots and hollers from the older men about them, the pretty young things.

It doesn’t matter who you end up growing old with, just as long as you really do like them. [/color]I glance up at my brother. For all his faults, he’s been good to me. He ain’t as funny as Benat and he don’t explain things in the same way, but it hasn’t stopped him from stepping in to tell me what I need. I scrunch my face and rub my nose. Life don’t seem so simple as falling in love and getting to be happy. Not when we’re out in the fields all day. Or when momma and poppa have to watch to see if all of us will make it out alive. And even if we get past the reapings, there’s no telling if we don’t get sick or starve. I should be happy, I should hug him again for—and I think he does, see through what I’m saying, not that I’m good at hiding nothing—for letting me love who I want. But it feels like I should have more. Like how I get to be in love, when some people may not like the type of love that I want. Was there anyone like me out there, even?[/color] It’s a silly question but is it really? Is there anyone out there that feels the same way that I do, here in all of district eleven, where the men are men and the women are women? I don’t want to know the answer ‘cause I ain’t knowed nobody like me. I ain’t never seen anyone, none of our cousins anyway, that holds hands with boys and gets to be like Momma and Poppa, with a family.

“It may not matter to me,” I say in a whisper, “But what about other folk?” I almost can’t finish the question. I know that Deval ain’t one to begrudge me for how I feel, but that don’t mean nothing outside of our little farm. “I don’t know,” I retreat again, my arms falling to my sides. “I guess I shouldn’t worry about it anyway. Ain’t like nobody gonna look at me the way I seent girls lookin’ at you.” And in that moment, I feel a twist in my stomach. Saying the words shifts from my insides from happy to almost—a bitterness. Maybe I’m a child for being jealous of my brother but what if I don’t grow up good looking like him? What if no one, not even the ones that I want to look at me that way, do? It’s a hard thing, looking in the river and studying the pox on my face from when I scratched as a baby. Or that my teeth ain’t straight. And my hair a little too long. A year ago I wouldn’t have never spent more than two seconds looking. But now it’s every day I stare, and a little longer still. “You must think I’m silly.”

•••

But all that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now...

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•••

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