blake. wip.

Smothered.

We were given the good life, my brother and I. Shiny uniforms, food on the table, Mom and Dad who expected a lot from us but still loved us anyway, regardless.

Sometimes when I think about them I smile, and then their faces crease up and I wonder how they dealt with the concept that their only children had died. At least they had each-other, I suppose, but I saw families break apart when kids got arrested or whipped or reaped or killed, trauma leaves a hole you can never get back.

I hope they're still together. I'd always thought that they'd never split up, always holding hands and planting little kisses on each-others cheeks, my brother and I were lucky. We had stability - if only for our childhood. Love was never a foreign concept, nor a question. It was a certainty.

We were loved, and we loved each-other. Kid sister toddling around after her big brother, holding my hand and whispering quietly "Tell them what you did," leaving a broken dining chair behind our trail. I jumped too far off the living room table - Mom was mad, Dad got out his tools and fixed it, I was never scared because Kane held my hand and I was only trying to be like him in his Career uniform anyway.