ander de la cruz | d8m | fin

"All my family wanted to do was see the world from every angle, height, and depth it had to offer. Just the four of us: Mom, Dad, Luca, and me. We never enjoyed staying in one place for too long. We had a home in the District, sure, but that couldn't compare to the mountainous Midwest or the sandy deserts of the Southwest or any of the forests in between. District Eight's industrious center left a lot to be desired for explorers like the De La Cruz's.

Explorers. Heh. It's funny, really. Over the past ten years, nothing's changed so far as what I do, but every few years, a new label becomes who I am. Explorer. Runner. "Rebel," if you can call it that. Survivor. Drifter. By now, it takes me a minute to realize that Ander is my name. It's flattering, though, that you want to know more about me, not us. You want to hear about who I was, not what I was a part of. Thanks for that. I mean it.

Just give me a light and I'll tell you everything you want to know, and maybe some stuff you don't."



i. explorer

Ander De La Cruz never owned a pair of sneakers or boots that didn't end up muddied within a day's adventure. If he and Luca came home after a trip, they'd pull their shoes off of their feet and sit on their beds, picking away the pebbles that found themselves lodged in the soles of the shoes. Ander would toss the pebbles and rocks into a tin bucket that eventually overflowed after traversing what seemed like all ends of the earth within a few years.

The wonders of their world did not rest in the streets of District Eight. The wonders were in One and Two, Four and Thirteen. Those places seemed far away, and not having access to them within a short stroll always managed to frustrate Ander and his family. That's why they turned into Explorers in three of the four seasons. Mom and Dad never had steady jobs in the Textile business, and they usually made their money through small chores for some of the wealthier people around, or they'd make some money by doing rather 'important' favors. But a youthful little Ander had never thought anything of it. Being able to go far away without a care in the world was something he'd always planned to do, but being able to do it with family made it that much better.

Before they went out on their first adventure, Mom came home with three wrapped gifts. "One for each of my boys." One by one, Dad, Luca, and Ander unboxed the packages and looked to see what was inside. They were adventurers' hats! Dad's was beige, Luca's was grey, and Ander's hat was black, with a brim wide enough to keep an overhead sun out of his eyes.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The hat seemed like it was made to fit just for him, and it matched his new pair of boots that Dad gave him just a week earlier. Same texture, similar little designs, the whole lot.

"Anything for my little explorer. And big explorers, too." Mom looked at Dad and Luca and they all hugged each other, laughing and smiling.

The next day they went out on their first adventure, hat's on and boots laced tight. They decided to go to District Four's ocean first as Luca wouldn't shut up about it for months prior. And therefore, by virtue of being the younger brother, Ander wouldn't shut up about it either.

For years, via either his own walking or sitting on his big brother's shoulders, Ander saw all corners of Panem. And if he could, he'd split himself into fourths to live in all of those places. The smell of the ocean, the warmth of the South, the gentle breeze of the north, and the views of the mountains, every piece seemed invaluable. His favorite season by far was autumn. Every day there was something new to explore: the color of the leaves around him got a little warmer before they eventually fell off of the trees for good. Even then, he'd crinkle the dry leaves up, breaking them bit by bit in his hands.

Going home always felt like the worst part. Being homesick was never an issue for Ander as home in Eight always appeared expendable. There was growing tension between the districts and the Capitol at this point, so staying out for too long was getting riskier and riskier by the day. Still, whenever they did return home, he'd keep tossing the peebles from the crevices of his shoe into the bucket, letting the tin rattle as the stack grew. Once that would finish, he'd rest his eyes and still pretend that he was in a land far, far away.

ii. runner

As the war started in the districts, any sense of stability there had seemed to vanish. That, in addition to the fear of getting caught in the middle of unfortunate circumstances, led Ander and his family to stray further away from District Eight. Some people chose to fight in the war head on, with guns and bombs and starting fires, but the De La Cruz's never saw that as an efficient strategy to survive.

At age eight or so, strolling through the wilderness of Panem and sneaking around the other districts was adventurous. It made him feel like an explorer stepping where no person had stepped before, or looking at waterfalls from a precise angle that nobody would ever see again. Now, though, at twelve, hiding and sneaking around made him and his family runners. They'd simply run from their problems, like the ear-splitting sounds of never-ending gunfire. During the war, autumn's crisp leaves never made it to the ground on their own terms. Instead, the gusts of wind from the bombs shook them off prematurely.

So he would run. The rebels of District Eight scoffed at his family for their refusal to get directly involved, but it didn't stop Mom or Dad from doing what needed to be done to protect their kids, now twelve and fifteen. They certainly supported the cause, yet they were hesitant about putting themselves through the crossfire.

Tío Jorge stayed to fight in the rebellion with the others in District Eight, but at least he understood. He gave Ander a pocket knife, "Just in case, and only for emergencies," he told him as he stuck it in his pocket. Luca and Dad got pistols for their own defense, while Mom stuck the rifle in her bag. They waved goodbye, Mom and Jorge kissed on the cheek, and the family went back into the woods.

Explorers one day, runners the next. Ander tried to tell himself that it was just another wild adventure, they all tried to tell him that, but a twelve-year-old boy in Panem isn't that stupid. This adventure would be a dangerous one.

And dangerous it was, as this departure from District Eight was the last one where the De La Cruz's came back in one piece.

iii. "rebel"

For a while, they were fine. Business as usual, except maybe looking over their shoulders was a bit more frequent now. Compared to the districts that overflowed with rebels, the woods were the safest place to be during the war. The blasts and rising smoke from the battlegrounds was kept at a distance. And they had the means to protect themselves with Uncle Jorge's firearms if need be. But even then, not one De La Cruz in these woods posed a threat to anybody. Ander and his family went through their days as neutral figures, if not completely uninvolved.

But pretending not to see the war did not make it cease to exist. And eventually, even the woods became battleground territory.

Peacekeepers and Capitol soldiers began to sweep the woods often, doing all they could to contain the rebellion to the districts so it could be easily cut off. On a Tuesday evening, just as the sun began to set and Dad prepped the fire, their little camp had been found out. A squadron of six soldiers crept up on the place, guns and batons at the ready. Luca's hands grabbed at Ander and he was pulled away behind the trees. Mom and Dad, though, weren't so lucky.

{"You two folks shouldn't be out here,"} one said calmly, lowering his gun and resting his baton at his side.

Mom chuckled before speaking, trying to diffuse any possible tension there might be. "Sorry, you guys, we just wanted to get away from all the-"

Another spoke up, this time not so nicely, {"All of the war? Maybe you districts should've thought twice before starting it then. Where are you from?"}

"Eight."

{"Well then I suggest you go back there. We'll escort you, make sure you get back okay."}

The soldier took his arm and wrapped it around Mom's shoulders, pointing her in the direction of Eight. She quickly shrugged her body away from him, clutching her bag. Dad reached into his coat.

{"Gun! They're rebels!"}

It was a matter of seconds before Dad's horrible aim missed the soldier. He fell to the ground shortly after, probably dead before he even made it there. Three of the soldiers raced to Dad to both disarm him and keep him on the ground, as if he had enough life left in him to do either. Mom struggled in the arms of the soldier, pushing and shoving, screaming and shouting. "Let GO! Let GO!" Her emphasis on the word go was enough to let Ander and his brother, Luca, take the hint. Her screams drowned out the stomping feet of two boys who once ran for fun and games, but now ran for their survival.

Ander held his tears back for maybe a minute of running before he collapsed to the ground unable to take a solid breath. For what felt an eternity, all Ander and his brother could do was hold each other tight and not let go.

Dad was dead on the ground, and Ander never saw his mother again, probably dead too, or maybe brainwashed by the Capitol and their goons. They could keep telling themselves that the woods were the most stable place to be, but it didn't stop the world from crumbling around them like an avalanche off a mountain, ruining everything in its path.

iv. survivor

Ander De La Cruz had no choice but to grow up. His days of being an explorer were over, the games he onced played were now boxed up and thrown into the back of the shelf, never again to be reopened. Mom was the expert survivalist of the family, and Dad was an excellent navigator, but with both of them out of the scene, Luca and Ander had to learn quickly how to make it around and do so without getting caught. Soldiers and peacekeepers infiltrated the woods more frequently now, as people being caught trying to escape the war grew more and more common.

Luca, eighteen, and Ander at fourteen, might've seemed in their twenties by the way they talked and acted towards each other. Neither one of them dared to talk about Mom or Dad, fearing that they might lash out at the touchy subject. They were dead, or at the very least in Mom's case, gone forever, and nothing either of them could do would change that. All they could do was survive for them, in their honor, and make it through the war with no holes in their chest or arms blasted off by bombs.

Surviving, though, was often uneasy. Food was the main source of that difficulty. Some days, they couldn't find anything to eat, and other times they barely made out with enough to keep their stomachs from moaning in displeasure. It was that and the cold that hit them the worst, but both of those things together brought the worst out of Ander. He might have had maturity ten years his senior, but the teenage attitude ran wild in his veins. Being grouchy and snappy was what frustrated Luca the most, but even as they shivered in the night, Luca kept Ander close, blocking out any complaints that Ander had.

It was months before the pair had finally grown desperate for something more. They'd walk for miles now, evading soldiers and searching for other people to leech off of, or a community that they could coexist with.

The war was over by the time they found that. A group of maybe ten boys, anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five, who roamed around the wilderness just as Ander loved to do. And they had fun while doing it, sneaking into the other districts if they could to cause mischief and chaos.

"What're your guys' names?" he asked as one of the boys passed him a chunk of bread.

"Heh. Buddy, we don't ask that around here. If those Capitol freaks ever try to catch us and get information, the first thing they'll want is names. The only name we know nowadays is Drifter. I'm Drifter, he's Drifter, him," the leader reached into his bag and gave something to Ander. "Here, have a smoke."

It was a cigar. The leader held a lighter in the other hand and lit it for him. Ander took it with a nod of appreciation.

"So, Drifter, you down for some more fun times?"

"Heh, yeah. I am. Thanks, Drifter."

He only heard Ander once again before his name was called to participate in the horrific Hunger Games.

Now, Drifter was the name he, or any of them, knew.

v. drifter

A dozen Drifters walking around all in one pack was way too threatening to all travel through the districts. They'd stick out like sore thumbs. Although none of them were violent (the lead Drifter, who they just called "Drift", made sure of that,) any group of boys their age would make people look twice or feel uncomfortable. Instead, if they ever had to go to the districts, they did so in groups of four, like the squadrons of soldiers that would hunt through the wilderness and kill their families and friends.

Together, the groups would do what they could to get enough food for the next couple of days for the Drifters, or better yet, score some back alley deals on alcohol or a bundle of cigarettes. They'd scam, deceive, and pull off some crazy shenanigans to get what they needed. Everything Ander did, he did for the group, and anything the group did, they did for Ander.. or.. well.. Drifter.

Drifters, he thought, friendly until they don't need you anymore. Then.. poof. Whether in Four or One or Twelve or Eight, he owed these people nothing. After all, what had they done for him lately? Caused a war that got his parents slaughtered and kidnapped, perhaps?

He stomped out his cigarette in the dried up grass before carefully maneuvering his body through the ever-growing fence, pouch of cigarettes in hand.

As the years went on, and the Capitol began to rebuild their empire, getting through the districts became more and more difficult. Fences grew taller and unauthorized zones expanded by the day. Even some traps were set up to catch the escape artists of the districts off-guard. Fears were growing in the group about not everyone being able to clear the fences and gates for clean exits, but Drift refused to let anyone stay behind in a district because they weren't slim enough to fit through wires or smart enough to get around them. Ander agreed. The only thing worse than death would be being confined into a district.

Ander would come to regret saying that a few months later. A group of shopkeepers in one of the districts realized that his Drifter group was sneaking away with extra rations of food in their bags. With kitchen knives, spoons, and forks in hand, they went after Ander and the other boys, shouting and clapping their silverware together as they gave chase. They ran to the border fences where the other Drifters were waiting. Everyone was shocked to see that for the first time in a while, they'd have to make a speedy exit.

The Drifters now ran together as a pack, charging at full speed to the woods they'd gotten to know so well. He looked at Luca by his side. They'd grown apart during their time as Drifters. Being a part of this group required so much more than just being nice to one or two people. A Drifter couldn't pick favorites. It's a community, where one is for all and all are for one. They hadn't even said each other's name in months. Here they were though, grown boys, making their adventures once again. Ander and Luca, explorers of the-

All it took was one step in the wrong place for Ander to lose his footing and come crashing down. But he didn't fall into the ground. He plummeted into a pit six feet under. Banging his chin on the way day, Ander yelled in pain and covered his eyes and dirt scraped up against his face.

{"We got a couple! Get the Peacekeepers!"}

It was a pitfall trap, the ones that the Drifters heard about, and Ander had fallen in.

When he regained his composure, he tried to claw his way back up, but each time he turned up empty.

{"You guys okay down there?"} Two of the Drifters peered over the pit. Ander looked to see who was beside him.

Luca.

"Fuck, fuck. Oh fuck, no. Lu-"

"Don't say it." Luca cut him off from revealing his name, just as the Drifters would've wanted. "We're gonna get out of here."

For a few moments, both of them tried their best to gain some sort of footing, but the walls of the pit were tall and nearly smooth. By the time the rest of the Drifters got back with some rope, the Peacekeepers would be there to shoot them all down.

"Drifter, get on my shoulders."

"What?"

"Stand on my fucking shoulders, Drifter. Like way back when."

The memory of him looking high in the sky on Luca's shoulders flooded back into his head. He felt so tall back then, a fearless and carefree explorer, happy. Now, all Ander saw in himself was sadness and anger coming from an angsty lowlife who labeled himself as a Drifter to sound cool and offer maximum comfort. Oh, how he wished to go back to these days and be able to do it all over again.

"Do it!"

Ander complied, hopping onto his brother's shoulders as Luca groaned trying to maintain a good stature. He could see the grass again, taking one final push from his feet to lift off an up onto the firm ground. All of the other Drifters disappeared into the woods. Cowards, he thought, but Ander didn't doubt himself doing the same thing.

"Okay, now grab my hand. Reach!" Ander leaned as far down as he could without falling in again himself. He made contact with Luca's hand and used all his muscle to pull Luca up. It was slow, but they'd get there in time.

{"Hurry, this way!"}

Time wasn't something Ander had, though.

"Shit. Those fucking idiots. They should've stayed!"

He kept trying, but he saw the vendors bending and turning their way through the fences.

He pulled with more and more might, but Luca was too heavy to bring up all on his own, only half of his forearm was above the pit.

Suddenly, Ander found himself falling backwards, with no arm in his hand anymore. Luca had let go. "Come on, come on, we have to hurry!"

"Just go, man."

"Luca, no!" All too familiar tears began to trickle down his cheek.

"Drifter."

"Luca! Come on!" He shouted now, begging his brother by name to try again.

"Drifter," Luca said, his tone proving that he wasn't messing around.

"Luca!"

It was a whisper now. "Ander.." The plea was shaky and words cracked, but he finally got the message.

Luca backed himself into the corner of the pit and sat now, eyes closed. He wasn't going to try again. Ander ran back into the woods just before the Peacekeepers and vendors from the district made their way to the clearing and the pit. He listened to the screams and struggles of Luca despite pressing upon his ears as hard as he could. Ander presumed that they'd drag him out of the pit and torture him, or shoot him while he's down there, stuck, or maybe they'll starve him, or bury him alive, or make him a slave to the Capitol, or, or..

Ander made his way back to his Drifter gang. They looked at him, as if they were expecting another person to come from behind the trees. After all, Drifters defied all odds, right?

Ander shook his head, and one by one, they stopped staring and carried on packing up the camp. The Peacekeepers would be on to them soon, they couldn't be caught slacking.

Drift came up to him and patted him on the back.

"He was a good guy. Hard worker, too. Have a smoke."

Ander wanted to yell and rip Drift's face off, but he resisted and just took the cigarette. Drift and the rest of the gang were the only people he had left who cared for him. Once a Drifter, always a Drifter, even if the rest of the gang leaves you in a pit to rot. Get high together, get low together.



"What, did I say too much? Yikes. Sorry about that. Feel bad about sending me off to go die in the Games now? Oh.. no? Oh well. Worth a shot. Got a free smoke out of it, so like, who's the real victor here?

Well, if you're not gonna break me out of this shit hole, at least let me sleep a bit. You know, gotta conserve energy for when I fight to the death.

Night, God.

Yeah yeah, curse you too."