71st Reaping [D2]

K E I F E R
they used to shout my name
now they whisper it

One last reaping, one last name. Metal grinding against metal, screeching until a victor rose, arrows thump, thump, thumping in the background since he could remember. This was supposed to be Keifer DeGraw's dream.

But it wasn't.

It was hers.

One, Two Reapings had fallen like the clockwork of the 70th. One took Hedvig from District Two, the other from the Earth. The Reaping he faced alone was cold and bitter. He still had his twin at his side, Arryn with his wild eyes and hopeful features. The girl Hedvig saved still had her twin, as well. Amberly missed her carbon copy, it was true, but Arryn was not Keifer's twin and Amberly was not Hedvig's.

They belonged to each other. They thought the same thoughts, made the same movements, fought the same battles. In the end, she hadn't been good enough. Which meant Keifer DeGraw was not good enough either, so why would he have dreamed for his name to be called? What honor would death bring? What point would it prove? No, he had lied-- to Arryn and to his parents and of course, to the brawlers: he told them what he knew the wanted to hear. But in truth, this last reaping, this last name... It was not Keifer DeGraw's destiny and he wanted nothing to do with it.

"Halcyon Antoinette!" The Escort called first, and the crowd swallowed up all the air Keifer already fought to have. She, too, would know the troubles of losing a soul to the games, or at least the thought of it. In the end, her person came back alive and adorned: crystals and gold chains and cheering crowds. Keifer's person got a wooden box, and a black parade on a rainy day, where Amberly squeezed his scarred hands with her trembling ones and the Rochelle twins refused to show their faces. He guessed he couldn't blame them.

If he would have been such a coward to watch in fear as Arryn's name was called rather than taking his place, the shame would have been too much to bare. Hedvig was Summer's hero, not Wynter. But Hedvig had been Keifer's hero first, and with her last breath, a symphony of anger and disgust and sorrow and mourning erupted in Keifer's heart and, to be honest, he was afraid it had stopped beating somewhere along the way.

"And now, the boys!" she called, and Keifer found Amberly's hand again. For a moment they could have been watching Hedvig sink lower, lower, and lower into the ground while the music played. Or they could have been gritting their teeth at one another when Amberly had taken over Hevig's place in the fight club. (The other Fabre had a fire in her heart, it turned out, and Keifer was reminded of his lost partner in crime.) That moment disappeared. The next, a hand fished for a slip of paper, and lips parted to breathe the words written on the one it selected.

"Arryn DeGraw!"

No.

No?

No!

It couldn't have been! But the way Amber squeezed his fingers told him he had heard correctly. Arryn DeGraw: Keifer's only living family, was chosen to die. But this time he could do something to prevent it.

"I volunteer!" he meant to shout it, but the words barely broke the silence that swallowed the crowd. It was enough, however, because the people in white came and wrapped their hands around his arms and led him to the stage. He heard Arryn's shouts of protest behind him but there was nothing to be done. Keifer saved Arryn so someone else didn't have to.

The Games, it turned out, were Keifer DeGraw's destiny after all.

He woke to Arryn's crooked smile. "It's reaping day, brother."

It had all been a dream.

D U S T Y N
this can't
be happening

He had spent the entire morning with Bette Chautin and god, he loved her.

It had taken so long for them to finally cross the barrier but it had happened. Bette was his, and he was Bette's, and for the first time in a long time, Dustyn Chase could see the light again.

They ate breakfast at his house, with Carson blowing bubbles in his milk, as well as challenging Bette to a very long game of fetch using his sippy cup. She wore her hair in a braid and her eyes seemed especially blue that day. Bette had always been good with children, while Dustyn found himself awkward and uncomfortable in general.

All the stars Dustyn had ever wished upon finally aligned one night, and his entire life was turned around. He could hold her hand if he wanted to. He could kiss her if he wanted to. He could stare at the jealous faces and know they were all shocked that Bette Chautin had chosen him, her best friend since childhood. She had chosen him.

He had won.

After breakfast, it was a quick stroll that involved a lot of humming and giggling and Bette wrapping herself up in Dustyn's arms. He thought perhaps she felt safest there, but he didn't dare let her know it was where he felt safest, too. They made it to their place in the woods and he carved a heart from a limb and she braided a daisy chain. It was an annual thing they did each year, giving one another small gifts before the reaping, just in case. This time however, Dustyn made sure to scribble "D.C. & B. C." on the front before handing it over.

"I can't believe it's finally our last year," he remarked, plucking a berry and tossing it at the girl, who knit her eyebrows in frustration. They had faced this war together countless times in his dreams and in real life. Each time they stood beside one another, with their other friends around them and each time, the crowd got smaller and smaller but they both remained, standing closer and closer every year.

"Goodbye, Bette."

"Dustyn, I'm sorry."

"Here," he said, fumbling the thing over to her. "Same ole same ole, with slight modifications." Upon receiving his gift, Bette handed over a bracelet of intricately woven flowers. "Perfect fit." he said, smiling into a kiss.

They both put off showing up for as long as possible: stopping to tie their shoes, pretending to see something in the distance, anything they could think of to keep the beauty of the forest in their hearts and the fear of the square out. But inevitably, they had arrived.

That year, they stood all alone, the last two of their group.

Dustyn nodded grimly at a boy named Keifer-- a boy wo was rumored to have an illegal fight club on the outskirts of the District. He looked as if he hadn't been sleeping well and for a moment Dustyn wondered why, before remembering who he used to run the club with. Had Hedvig Fabre been Keifer's Bette? If so, a million lives couldn't repay the one that had been lost to him, that much, Dustyn knew.

"Ladies first," the escort said. "Halcyon Antoinette!" A victor's sister. Not Bette. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her neck. "Congrats," he whispered. "A few more seconds and we'll be fr-"

"Dustyn Chase."

He wasn't sure if the noise erupted from his mouth or Bette's. He did know it was Bette who collapsed and it was Roxanne who hustled over to help her up when they whisked Dustyn away. No. No. Please, Please! No! He went with a brave face, blinking away the tears, trying his best to put on a brave face and breathe through the pain that erupted in his chest.

Dustyn Chase. That was his name. And it was his face on the screen. Dustyn Chase: the Career with too much heart. Dustyn Chase: the boy who loved broken things. Dustyn Chase: the boy who finally got it right. That was him, all of it. He was that boy and that boy was him. He shook hands with his District partner. Dustyn Chase: the boy who finally loved his life. The crowd started to cheer, he thought, but he didn't hear most of it. He just heard her screams replaying in his head.

Dustyn Chase: the boy who came to die.