they (don't) own this town — reggie & ten.

they (don't) own this town — reggie & ten. Sept 30, 2019 22:25:58 GMT -5

Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Sept 30, 2019 22:25:58 GMT -5

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this town

It's been two years.

I don't know why I ever thought that maybe I was safe, that maybe the world had taken from me the slice that it required, that I would have lost all the family they saw fit to take from me. I remember every loss all too well, remember starving in the street, curled up under the eave of the Thorne's house until Nico spotted me and tossed me some of his hardened bread. I remember the day that the world tried to take him away from me, remember the horrible emptiness that it stirred in my chest. I remember falling into all my worst habits, remember grieving for my brother before he was even in the ground, having to undo all that loss and anger and emptiness.

It had almost undone me.

For weeks, I had been lost, confused and angry and unable to understand what happened. A skinny boy from twelve lost two of his limbs, but somehow in there he found love and walked away with a crown. I hadn't been able to understand it, and on my bad days, I still can't.

But I had thought I was almost to peace, had thought that what was done to me had to be it.

I should have known better.

The old me would have.

Instead, I almost scream when the announcer calls out Reggie's name, crumble in on myself and want to die. I can feel every bone in my body trembling, all the spaces between my vertebrae on fire. I want to call out, to run to him, but I am locked in a prison made by my own body, and I cannot. Instead, I wait patiently, tremble more and more and I hear Nico screaming out, begging them to take him instead, to let him go back in the Games, that he's ready and willing to risk death again. I've never been prone to the same theatrics, have never been able to bring myself to wailing when perhaps I deserve to, and instead I fall into myself and wait.

And I wait and I wait and I wait, until finally, they let me in.

"Reg?" I say, pushing through the doors that the Peacekeepers direct me to, terrified that they will kill him before I get the chance to say my goodbyes. "Reg," I say, putting my hand on his cheek. I have never been one for physical contact, but I cross all my boundaries. "Hey, it's me, Ten," I go on until his eyes blink open. "It's Taylor, please wake up." Direct and to the point.

I need him awake.

I need him.

they (don't) own this town — reggie & ten. Oct 3, 2019 18:49:04 GMT -5

Post by sidney on Oct 3, 2019 18:49:04 GMT -5

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wonder of you

Crack.

Everything goes dark.

Time feels languid, as incorporeal as the black abyss I feel is my new home. Is this death? An endless sea of nothingness. Cold. Empty. Numb. I wait for panic to overwhelm me, to choke me, to force bile to rise in the back of my throat—but it never does. It’s almost calming, this place where I reside now. Here I am nothing, no one, nonexistent. Here I am not Reginald Blume, youngest of seven. Only survivor. Motherless. Fatherless. Brotherless. Here I am not Reggie, that jagged boy with a scowl always on his face. Angry. Alone. Abandoned. Here I am not another tribute of District Twelve. Marked for death and destined to never see the age nineteen.

Here, in this foreign place of eyes-wide-open unconsciousness, I am just me.

I am anything I want to be. A scholar, writing biographies of the greatest people to have ever lived. A doctor, saving so many lives of those who cannot save themselves. A brother—still—visiting his many nieces with my mother’s soft eyes and nephews with my father’s strong jaw. A friend with those I trust by my side. A partner in life and love to give my heart to who I know will keep it safe. A father, happy and proud, with children who I vow to give a much better life than I was ever allowed.

Here, in this vast new world of darkness, I am everything I want to be and more. If this is death, a never ending journey of what ifs and maybes in which I can live, then take my life right this instant. Leave me here where I can turn around and see my parents, beaming with joy at the sight of me. Let me exist in the space opposite them, where my brothers stand with their families. Their partners and sons and daughters the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. Afford me the spot to my left, where Taylor sits at my kitchen table, big smile across her face ready to hear about my boring day. In life and after, I need her. She calms and completes me. As much as I hate to admit it. But most of all, grant me the forest to my right. Give me the clearing across the way where Nico rests atop the tall grass, waiting for me to arrive as the dawn fights to shine through the trees.

I go to move toward him, to push my way past the brush and emerge by his side, but my limbs stay stiff. My feet won’t move; they’re not under my control. Looking back over my shoulder, the place where my mother and father should be is just darkness. So is the spot where my brothers once stood. Taylor is gone and emptiness is all that remains. I try to swim, to move forward, to do anything, but I can’t. And that panic I waited for earlier comes rushing in, filling my chest with sharp pains. I thrash left and right, yank my neck back, but all it does is cause my head to throb. They hit me, hadn’t they?

This isn’t real.
This place is not real.

To my right Nico still sits under the early morning light, at our spot in the woods—just out of reach. Like always. But just for a moment, I think this place can’t be so bad. At least not if I get to see him like this.

If this is death, I am ready.

“Reg!” A voice comes through, loud and booming, yet distant and hollow. Like it’s a hundred yards away over a broken speaker. “Reg, hey, it’s me,” I hear it again, clearer this time as my arms and legs start to come back to me. Can you hear the living when you’re dead? Then my eyes blink open and I meet the source of the sound.

Taylor.

It takes me a second to come back, to realize I am in the Justice Building now, but I don’t remember getting here. The pain on the back of my head is still there, and I connect the disjointed dots. The Peacekeepers hit me so hard I lost consciousness. I’ve seen it done to plenty of people, some not surviving the weight behind such a hard blow, but I suppose I’m one of the lucky ones. Though it sure doesn’t feel like it.

I try to sit up but realize quickly Taylor has put her hand to my cheek and recoil slightly, more so worried about her feeling uncomfortable than the oddity of her touch. But in this moment it feels nice, like someone cares for me. Enough to brave the Peacekeepers and venture into the one building you dare not catch a resident of the Seam. Instead of pulling away, I almost lean into her hand a little, eyes falling shut for a brief moment in comfort before speaking.

“Um,” I croak, voice hoarse and still broken, “hi. You’re here,” my brow furrows, though, still a bit confused and out of it. “Why?”