no light, no light { darren }

D U S T Y N

When the rapid knock, knock, knock fired against the door, Dustyn figured the time for saying goodbye must have come to a screeching halt and it was time for him to wave goodbye to District Two for good. Instead, the littlest Chautin stumbled through the door, constellatons of tears and shivering skin painting her freckled flesh.

Little Chautin, with all the promise in the world, was a broken doll standing in front of him and he realized that Bette was not the only one losing someone because of fate's cruel, humiliating, unforgivable stare: Artemis and Candee and Roxanne and Juliet and maybe even Holden if he was out there somewhere. And Carson -- no! Poor Carson would grow old knowing he had a big brother who was dead to the world! And--

"Please tell her I love her," Artemis pled, "...I miss her so much." And I knew instantly who she was talking about. Four years it had been already, four years of tears and funerals and putting band-aids on the surfaces of wounds that cut much, much deeper. "I will," he promised, though it only confirmed his own death.

"And you take care of your family, you hear?" he clutched the flowers that wrapped around his wrist. It was hard to believe that only hours ago Bette's hands had placed them there. "They need someone strong like you, you know? They need you..."

He reached out and squeezed her elbow and, oh, how warm she felt against the ice in his veins. Soon that ice would take over forever, and his corpse would freeze all alone six feet under, but for now Artemis was warm and he longed for that warmth, at least until he would be forced to trade it in with cool silver and hot blood.

"They always did."

And so did I, he realized.

D U S T Y N

She believed in him.

She saw more than the summer and an easy smile within the dying embers of his heart, and something about that was reassuring. If little Chautin believed in him, he thought it possible to believe in himself. Even if it was just a harmless statement ushered from quivering lips that spoke as the thoughts cleared in that bright, bright mind. It made a world's difference and he was grateful for her: for feeling he belonged.

After all, his entire life he had been a puzzle piece that did not exactly fit in with his peers or even his own family. District Two built soldiers, taught its citizens combat as commonly as math and reading. He was the son of a seamstress and a father who wanted him to be someone he was not. He was brother to District Two's next shining star when Dustyn was broad daylight, a single ray of sunshine that raced through the sky with people like Tiger and Bette, all too busy working together to bring the light to ever dare to stand alone. But there, with Artemis and Candee and Bette, he was a perfect match somehow.

"We'll tell them together." he claimed, and he hoped it was not a lie.

"And for the record, the way Bette talks about you and your sister..." he swallowed and he pulled her in to a tight embrace. "You matter more than you realize, Arty. Don't forget that."

He kissed the top of her head. For a moment he could have been hugging Tiger, with the mass of curls and the sweet scents. Memories flooded his mind of her, of Bette crying into his chest when her head rolled across the sand. That arena ruined her beautiful hair, and it ruined all of them. He decided then, instead of hiding the pieces they had all been working to glue together, he would make sure no arenas could ruin little Chautin's hair. He would save them all for the price of his own soul, that was a choice he would make time and time again.

"I love you, little Chautin."