Rumi Erudite - Tumblr Posts

Okay after much stalling here it is. @randosfandos was responsible for about 90% of the encouragement so this is their fault. The first chapter of my Hunger Games fanfic

SNOWBIRD: CHAPTER I

I finally knock my opponent's feet out from under her with one sweeping kick, then rush behind her and catch her into a chokehold. She turns bright red, frothing at the mouth, then rapidly taps my arm after only a few seconds.

I drop her. She rubs her throat, gasping and coughing as she slumps over on the ground. I sit down next to her, trying to catch my breath. I underestimated how difficult that would be. I pull my black hair out of its high ponytail, wrapping the band around my wrist.

It reaches my lower back when I'm standing, although my slouched sitting position means it now brushes the ground. I would always absent-mindedly play with it when I was younger. I tend to do that less now.

I massage my sore chin. It took far too many hits in that fight. My sparring partner is no better off, one of her eyes squeezed shut and my handprints on her skin from every harsh grab. I probably clawed her up more than was necessary, now that I think about it.

But we're not training for a competition, are we? We're training to be deadly on our own without weapons. There always has to be a certain sense of urgency when it comes to training, but today we felt it most. We had to finish fast, after all. This was a last-minute session.

She punches my shoulder. I glance at her. She's holding out her hand for me to shake. I take it, the wrapping on both our hands rasping together. She stands up, stretches her back, and walks out the door of the den.

Fair enough. I should leave to get cleaned up, too. A good shower and a lot of soap would do wonders for me right now. I crack my neck as I rise. Then my knuckles. Then my wrists.

As I finish twisting my left wrist around, someone in the audience catches my eye. She waves meekly at me, one hand on her knee and clutching at the hem of her blue dress. It's quite a nice summer dress. She's wearing it for a good reason today. I wave back at Sera, smiling at her. She looks like she laughs, tucking some of her curly dirty-blonde hair behind her ear.

Her warm, amber eyes crinkle when she laughs. She's always been a good friend of mine. Always. But... I mostly only call her my friend because it's the safest option. I don't truly know how I feel about Sera, only that I trust her. That I love her, platonic or otherwise.

I push those thoughts to the back of my mind. It's not important right now. I'll have time to figure it all out later. Sera stands up and starts to walk down the steps from her row in the seats.

She's never been stable on stairs, giving her an unsure step down. It's careful and controlled, however, so that she doesn't fall. She has to hold her hair behind her ears while she walks down. Otherwise, it obscures her vision.

It's always so pretty, the way she gets down stairs, all things combined. The way she carefully tests her stability with one foot, gently bringing the other down and hesitating before repeating the whole thing again.

She's quite a graceful-looking girl, Sera. Even if she trips over, as she likes to say, "particularly thick patches of air." She always manages to recover immediately, popping up with some bright comment about the quality of the pavement or the situation with the ants.

Sera reaches the bottom of the stairs and smiles at me. She closes her eyes when she smiles. It's a sweet, although slightly childish, trait that's persisted even to the age of seventeen.

"Did you see that, Rumes? Made it to the floor this time," she says, the light tone of her voice suggesting she's not serious.

"Yes, you did very well, Sera. Would you like an award?" I jab playfully back. I theatrically spread my hands in the air, acting like I'm showing something off. "Sera Kaishurr, great at not tripping and snapping her neck during basic physical activity!"

Sera elbows me, annoyed but still amused. I can't disguise the pained groan that comes out of my mouth. I must have bruised pretty rough after my sparring partner hit me in the ribs.

Sera tsks disapprovingly.

"Is it that bad, Rumes?" she asks, genuinely concerned now. Her playfulness has vanished, being replaced by mild sadness. Sera has always looked out for me.

"Oh, just hurts a little. I'll be fine in no time, don't you worry," I say clunkily. I may as well have told her with how bad that lie was. I'm not a bad liar, but I just can't seem to lie to Sera.

As expected, she's not convinced. She rolls her eyes.

"It's okay if you got hurt, Rumes. You don't have to act like you're invincible," she says. I give a short, quiet laugh.

"Nah, I'm immortal. I'm indestructible. Infallible, even," I jokingly boast.

"Ah, yes, Rumi Erudite, famous for never ever making a single mistake in her whole life, ever," Sera shoots in response.

We both laugh. She takes one of my hands, her fingers between mine, and starts leading me out the door of the building.

"Oh, also, happy birthday, you jerk. Your present's on your bed," Sera says, trying to sound annoyed.

"Aw, you shouldn't have," I say. Sera laughs softly, tucking her hair behind her ear again. I study her face, unable to tear away my eyes.

Some people think we're sisters, if only for a short while. Their main justifications are our heights and how close we are. I can sort of see it with our similar statures and frames. But there are differences aside from our hair colour and attitudes that make us easy to tell apart.

Sera's eyes are that gorgeous dark gold. Mine are just a foggy green. Sera is healthily tanned, spending all her time out on the open ocean, while I am an alarming type of pale for someone my age, spending my time indoors learning all the ways to kill someone with a fishhook.

Sera is strong with calloused hands, handling nets and heavy loads of fish. I am fit and scarred, exercising and fighting every day of my life. Sera is broad-shouldered and round-faced, I am lean with a narrow face and sharp cheekbones.

Sera is capable, definitely, but her body has a pleasant softness to it that she can't seem to shed, always eating well and in large quantities. My body has nothing in excess as a result of a tight diet and tighter exercise.

Sera is bright and brilliant, always smiling or laughing. I always look outwardly hostile, my default expression of a scowl making me unapproachable. We lead very different lives, Sera and I. We couldn't be sisters. And... I think I'd prefer we remain that way.

My heart's beating faster now that she's holding my hand. I squeeze her hand tighter, looking to hold it forever. There is only birdsong to greet us. We are awake before the sun.

"Hey, come on. Let's see the sunrise," says Sera, leading me to where we always go.

There's a hill that runs behind the Justice Building. The hill is almost touching it with how close it is, meaning if you know your way through the alleyways, you can get onto the hill and the roof of the Justice Building.

The Peacekeepers don't usually do anything to stop people from just sitting there. Why would they? They have no reason to even bother. The only people who ever go there are me and Sera. And the odd couple, of course.

Sera talks about nothing in particular while leading me there. She goes on and on and on about her latest fishing trip. Allegedly, she caught some kind of shark that was this big. The shark gets bigger every time she mentions it.

Sera talks when she gets nervous. I've found that out during school presentations. Sera once completely froze up and started a nearly irrelevant tangent about muttations. We were supposed to be talking about the core industries of every district at the time.

Her anxious ramblings slowly fade from my hearing. I can see, from my place at her side, the notch in her nose, which makes it a little crooked. I've always blamed myself for Sera's slightly disrupted features. I can very clearly visualise how it happened to her.

We were young, very, and we were playing by the docks. I was only seven while she couldn't have been older than six. It was just after my seventh birthday, I believe.

She called me "Roo" when we were younger. She didn't really have a reason to stop, although I guess she didn't really have a reason to start, either.

We loved to chase each other around the docks. Her father's boat was a favourite landmark of ours. We used it as a final point for any races we ran. We were fully aware that there were rocks right under the dock, just in front of where Sera's father would tie up his boat. It was why it was "his" spot; he was the only one brave enough to risk gouging a hole in his boat.

One day, that boat was missing. Sera's father had taken it out for a fishing trip. Sera loved to come along with him, but she was at my house and hadn't known that he had set out.

We were once again chasing each other.

"You're too slow, Roo! Can't catch me!" I felt absolute outrage at Sera's statement.

"Nuh-uh! Can too!" I said, using my best counter. It was true, I was unable to catch her. She kept running along the docks.

It had started to rain, and the water made the rotting wood at the far ends of the dock slippery. Sera and I knew how to run without slipping, but it didn't mean we didn't still fall from time to time.

"Ser-uuuhh! Wait up! You're too fast!" I whined at her. She giggled and kept going. I ran faster, trying to catch her. One of my feet lost its grip on the dock. It was the old part of it, after all.

I kept running, though. My balance wasn't thrown too far off.

"I'm gonna get there before you!" Sera teased. We kept running together. Sera never seemed to tire, never seemed to need rest.

I was always envious of her stamina. I noticed the ship missing before Sera did, however.

"Sera! Wait, the boat!" was all I could manage. Sera did spot it, but not before she had already veered off to the side that would throw her onto the jagged rocks below her.

She stopped, but far too late.

"Sera!"

The rocks weren't kind to Sera, seeing as nature will have no mercy on a child. All that remains of Sera's accident to remind me of my failure is a crooked nose and two barely noticeable scars on her forehead and mouth.

I attempt to find these scars with my eyes now. I fail, but I remember exactly what they look like. From her right eyebrow to her hair parting is a pink line just about visible against her vaguely tan, freckled skin. From her chin to her nose is an almost invisible scar that I believe also runs inside her mouth. She was lucky to escape with only those.

Oh, and her speech impediment. She was left unable to properly say things with an audible "w" in them. Sometimes, just so she doesn't have to hurt her mouth trying to say a "w" word, she'll pause and actively avoid it. It makes her sound a little like the six year old she was when she got it.

She can't really say "w" sounds, either. It means she has odd ways of saying words like "out." She tends to avoid words she struggles to say. She doesn't try anything when she gets emotional, though, just letting the words tear up her tongue.

Sera doesn't remember a thing of the day she got hurt. Sera doesn't remember about a week before that, either, but that's understandable, considering she was young. I would find it understandable, however, if Sera wasn't able to recall the week before the one she has no memory of.

Sera, for a while after her injury, had memory problems. To this day, she's more forgetful than I think would be reasonable for a healthy person.

"Rumi? Are you even listening?" Sera's voice snaps me back to the present day.

"No, sorry, I stopped listening to you three years ago," I blurt. I watch Sera make a bizarre medley of facial expressions as she tries to restrain a smile.

She inevitably fails, her eyes creasing up as her beautiful smile shows on her face.

"Fine, Erudite, you're forgiven," she says, defeated. I laugh. I glance around. We've walked farther than I thought while I was lost in my thoughts.

We're now right next to the Justice Building. Sera continues to walk, although she speaks less now. I can't tell if that's a good or bad thing.

Whatever the case, it doesn't matter. We'll both be okay today. Sera's face is paler than normal today. I give her hand a tight, quick squeeze to remind her that I'm still here for her.

She smiles back at me. I can't help but notice that it seems ever so slightly forced.

After a short walk through the housing past the Justice Building, we've come to Sera's family home. As is normal, we do an awkward, flattened shuffle between the fence lines of Sera's home and her neighbour's.

We pop into the space behind the homes. This narrow sliver of dirt is the only path not blocked by trees or barbed wire. Sera's property line has no trees on it, making it the most convenient path.

She's no longer holding my hand. It's childish that that's all it takes to upset me, even if it's only slightly. I don't truly care, but a part of me wants to be that near again. For her skin and mine to be that close.

I push that thought away as I follow just behind Sera. We're quiet as we pass behind houses, not looking to disturb those still sleeping.

The ground slopes upwards. Sera runs quickly up the hill, bouncing off each of her feet so she doesn't slow down. I copy her. We reach the top of the hill, almost completely lined up with the Justice Building.

Sera takes a few steps back, then runs up to the ledge. She springs forward, easily clearing the gap. She trips and loses her balance when she lands. She doesn't quite land on her face, although she gets close.

"Uh-oh, Rumes, the roof is cracked! Better not... uh." Sera cuts off her own joking comment, falling into an uncomfortable silence. She's nervous to the point where she won't even make jokes anymore.

I clear the gap also, joining her on the other side. Sera gives a quietly uncertain laugh, walking over to the edge of the roof and sitting down. She kicks her legs as they hang over the edge.

The silence slowly shifts into peace as I sit down on her right. We don't need to talk, not when we have this view. This view of the docks, the ocean.

The sun. It starts to rise after a while. It strikes the water, letting me see every tiny ripple in the surface I thought was flat as glass. The tide will be coming back in soon. People will start to depart to catch fish.

Well, they would on a normal day. Sera would be one of those people, handling tridents and nets and fish and maps and helms and knots. Sera would come home late, clothes stiff with salt and hands blistered from ropes.

She's been hurt out there more than a few times. Tangled in ropes or cut by her own knife, giving her awful burns or severe lacerations. She once spent a full day recovering in Cod's workspace after being impaled by a swordfish that lodged itself in her shin when she tried to harpoon it.

The swordfish is a favourite story of hers. Her father and Seth can both confirm it as true, and older fishermen can validate that it actually happens.

Regardless of whatever happens to her, however, Sera loves the open water. She's more stable on boats than on land, and such a strong swimmer that it's a wonder she's as uncoordinated as she is.

The sun turns the water almost white as it finds its footing in the sky, growing larger than the sliver of gold it appeared before. I glance over at Sera. It's getting hard for both of us to see the sunrise as it gets brighter, and Sera's eyes are already halfway shut.

"You sure did get up early just to watch me, huh?" I say, breaking the silence. I hadn't considered it before, but as the sun outshines every other star, I can't help but acknowledge that Sera woke up at an unholy hour just to see me practice fighting.

Sera sighs.

"Truth be told, I never really slept," she says, awkwardly scratching the back of her head. "I'm just so scared, the idea of keeping my eyes closed never really..." I lean my head on her shoulder as we watch the ocean.

"Hey, you'll be okay. Your odds of getting drawn are lower than mine," I reassure her.

Sera stops looking out to the horizon, glaring down at the ground far below us instead. She balls her hands up, gripping the edge of the roof so hard I'm convinced the stone will break off in her hands.

"That's w-w-what I'm scared about," she starts, briefly tightly shutting her eyes as she concentrates on saying the letter "w." "I'm not scared for me. I'm scared for you," she says, voice wavering. I'm confused.

Sera doesn't look at me, continuing to attempt to melt the concrete far below us with her eyes.

"Rumes. I need you to promise me you w-w-won't volunteer today," she says quietly. There is an urgency in her voice I don't believe I've ever heard.

"Of course I won't, Sera," I reassure her. Sera looks at me. She's crying, I notice. Her expression doesn't suggest sadness, however. She looks more determined than anything.

The light of the rising sun make her tears nearly glow on her face. The loose strands of her hair are made to look like flaming gold, the sunlight reflecting in her eyes. They shine brighter than ever now, in this moment, wet with tears and defiance.

I am left breathless as I stare at her. The word that floats into my halted thoughts is ethereal. Sera is a goddess given human form. Sera is the only true thing in this gorgeous, shining moment. Nothing is as important as Sera. The sun itself has highlighted her against the skyline.

"No. Promise. I w-w-want you to promise me. Promise me that you w-w-won't volunteer even though you're eighteen," she insists. The crack in her voice reminds me that she is just a girl. I take a deep breath in, remembering that I am human also.

"Okay, Sera. I promise you I won't volunteer," I say gently. Sera nods slightly, looking back out at the horizon again. She starts to chew on her lower lip, nervously biting until it bleeds.

She licks the blood off, looking at me again. She looks like she wants to say something. I place my hand on her leg, reminding her that I'm here.

"I'm really, really scared, Rumes," she finally says, burying her face in her hands. Her voice is tiny. I shuffle closer to her and put my arm around her. I let her cry into my shoulder as the sun finishes coming up.

Here you go @randosfandos and @baxieblur-turnip since you wanted it so much I'm ENSURING you see it the second you check your notifs

SNOWBIRD: CHAPTER II

I shower, scrubbing my sweaty body. The breeze from the roof of the Justice Building air-dried me slightly, but it feels nice to finally be showering. My hair isn't especially dirty, and it's irritating trying to dry it, so I make a conscious effort to keep it away from the water. The soap smell is soothing. I can't quite place it.

I scrub my face. I get soap in my eyes. I no longer feel happy about the soap. I wash the soap off of me and out of my eyes as I think about today. It's the day of the Reaping, meaning I need to be prepared, just like every year, to potentially be sent to die.

Or watch someone I care about get sent to die... Yumi would tell me that she loves me in a situation like this. She did every year before she passed away.

Yumi. My older sister. Never did well as a Career. Yumi was gentle, empathetic. A bleeding heart, even. She couldn't bear to hurt anyone. If someone hit her, she'd ask them why instead of hitting back.

I step out of the shower, wrapping my towel around my torso. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Yumi and I didn't look similar to each other. Yumi's nose was softer and rounder, her eyes kinder. Yumi's hair was a dusty black, much lighter than my charred colour. Yumi was cheerful and radiated warmth and welcoming.

I can't stop seeing her instead of me when I look in a mirror, though. I knew Yumi's face as well as I know Sera's. I know that while her eyes were warmer, they were still as narrow and catlike as mine are. They still looked just as harsh in the wrong lighting.

I know that while Yumi's default expression was a soft smile, her anger still looked the same as mine. Anger was so rare, so jarring, that I couldn't help but memorise it.

I know that while I rarely smile at anyone but Sera, Yumi had dimples and creases identical to mine. I can't stand to smile at my reflection anymore. It's impossible not to see Yumi.

Sometimes I wonder if Sera sees Yumi in my smile as well. I wonder if she loves her exactly the same as I do. I wonder if she blames me exactly the same as I do.

I wonder if Sera sees Yumi in her own smile also. Yumi's narrow face didn't especially resemble Sera's, but Sera's eyes and Yumi's were similar browns, although Sera's eyes practically glow from the inside. Sera's smile has the same comforting quality as Yumi's.

Yumi was just as good with people as Sera, just as patient as Sera. Just as kind. Just as sweet. Just as trusting.

I wanted to be like her when I was younger. I know now that Yumi's thinking never did anything good for her. She needed to be vicious. Capable of taking a life. She wasn't, not when it mattered most.

I'll give her that. Yumi passed on her own terms. Yumi knew what she wanted. Yumi stuck with it. With her love for humanity. She's braver than me in that sense.

She was so much like Sera, it's almost like they're the same person. Perhaps that was the reason I got so close with Sera after Yumi died.

Or maybe the reason was because Sera loved Yumi, too, and felt her loss as much as I did.

There's a lump in my throat. My vision blurs slightly. I wipe my eyes, clearing my throat. I splash cold water on my face. Today, of all days, is a bad time to think of Yumi.

I violently scrub my face again, this time with my towel to dry it. I look up into the mirror by accident. My fringe is completely soaked. My eyes are reddened. There's a brief flash of Yumi's face across my vision, angry and full of hate.

It's gone as quick as it arrived. I hurriedly turn away from the mirror. I dry myself, keeping the mirror behind me the whole time.

After I'm no longer sticky, I pick up my clothes from the floor and start to get changed. A nice button-up and trousers. The shirt is grey, and the trousers are white, both slightly worn as they originally belonged to... I glance at the mirror again.

Yumi glares at me. She sniffs and wipes her nose as she finishes putting the clothes she wore on the day of the Reaping on. I leave the bathroom, and my sister, behind.

Sera is sitting on my bed, toying with her hands anxiously. Her eyes are trained on my clock, watching every second quietly thunk by. The sound of the clock is almost muffled by her uneven breathing and the occasional thump of her heel when her bouncing leg makes contact with the floor.

She smiles up at me when she notices me in the doorway, stopping her jittering. Her hands continue to shake slightly, as does her leg. Her eyes dart to what I'm wearing, then back up to my face again.

Her smile vanishes, if only for a moment. It's back so quickly, it's almost like she didn't react at all. She remembers, then. Well, how could she have forgotten?

Yumi was just as much Sera's sister as she was mine. If Sera wasn't at my house to talk to me, she was here to talk to Yumi. If Yumi was out, chances were that she'd be doing something with Sera.

Sera screamed louder than I did. Sera's grief was known. Sera gained sympathy.

Such an apathetic child...

No reaction whatsoever..?

Her sister...

How awful...

A monster, that's for sure...

I block out the whispers of District Four as I sit down next to Sera. As she always does when we are close like this, she leans into me. I put my arm around her and let her rest her head in the crook of my neck. She sighs deeply, her breathing calming down.

I know how deeply Sera craves the comfort of touch. I have always been averse. In general, if someone is making contact with my skin, it's because they're trying to hit me until I don't get back up.

But I also know how good it feels to be near to Sera. For our hands to be locked together, for our shoulders to be touching, for her breath to be on my neck.

Sera is gently gripping the hand attached to the arm I'm holding her with. She carefully traces lines along my palm with her thumbs, following the creases. Sera likes repetitive things like that.

There are a million things I could say to Sera. But just like every year, I don't need to say any of them. Now is not a time for words. Words come later. Words come after. And some words come never.

Words used to express relief. Words used to state gratitude. It's considered awful luck to say things like that. Especially when the people selected only have a one-in-twenty-four chance of coming home.

No matter what, there'll always be at least one grieving family. Sera's family has always been so lucky. Seth, Sera's brother, is only about a year older than I am. He's too old for the Reaping now. He's never been pulled.

Sera hasn't been pulled before, either. I hope she stays that way. I don't know what I'd do if she didn't. I've never thought about it, either. If I think about something like that, it starts getting hard to breathe.

I can't really think about it. My thoughts just won't go there, and if I force them to, they don't stay for long. I don't like it. I stay away from things like that. They belong at the very back of my mind with everything else.

I don't have to worry about that. Sera won't be pulled. I won't be pulled again. We're going to be okay.

Sera's switched from massaging my palm to fiddling with the hem of Yumi's shirt. She's started her gnawing of her lower lip, the already damaged skin bleeding slightly.

Her eyes flick to my clock again. I once again hear her breathing grow uneven as some degree of panic sets in. I squeeze her a little tighter, pull her a little closer.

Sera tears her eyes from the clock. Sera has a death grip on Yumi's shirt. I gently pry her fingers off, squeezing her hand when Yumi's shirt is free. Sera's tenderising of her lip ceases. Sera sighs and surrenders as we fall over together on my bed.

Sera adjusts herself to be resting her head on my chest, her feet hanging off the edge of my bed. Sera only ever wears one pair of shoes. A clunky pair of worn leather boots that fall off her feet at every possible occasion. They slide off, one actually hitting the floor while the other clings for dear life onto her ankle.

I hope my heartbeat doesn't speed up too much. It'll probably make Sera's head bounce if it does. I let my head fall back onto my pillow, my neck already hurting from my observation of Sera's boots.

Sera starts to toy with my hair, running it through her hands. She's always loved to compliment how shiny it is, how smooth I keep it. She always goes on to say how she wished she could have her hair as tidy and clean and nice-to-the-touch as mine.

I never said anything to her. Perhaps I should have. I would have liked to tell her that her tousled mess was charming. That it framed her face. That it brought out her smile.

I would not have liked to tell her that it made her look like Yumi, who wore her unkempt, unruly disaster in almost the exact same way. I don't think Sera remembers, but her hair was kept neat once, too.

Back when Yumi was still alive and Sera's mother was still around. Sera saw her family a lot more when she was younger, her brother not yet graduated, and her father not totally responsible for their income.

She had to brush her hair every couple of hours and apply some sort of gel to it, but it stayed in place. The kind of cutesy style that made little girls an object of affection for all the little boys.

She was maybe around seven when she properly met Yumi. She had come over to my house and accidentally walked into Yumi's room, briefly forgetting which was mine.

Yumi was fourteen at the time. She had been so sweet with Sera. By the time I realised that Sera had gotten lost somewhere, she was already playing some sort of complex game that involved knots with Yumi.

I tried to join. I wasn't good with knots then. I'm better now, but I still struggle with complicated ones. Sera has always been so talented with her hands. She's always had such nimble fingers.

I finally tied a knot. Yumi couldn't untie it. Neither of our parents could untie it. Sera couldn't untie it. That memory has resulted in this sweet mental image. Of Yumi sitting on the floor of her room, her little sisters next to her, puzzling over a knot tied by the least competent one.

That mutual lack of understanding for how I created such a thing was a building block for their relationship. I don't quite remember what became of the knot. I believe I gave it to Sera.

Sera has always admired Yumi. Sera saw the way Yumi wore her hair and decided it was the most amazing thing she had ever seen. She mimicked Yumi in other, smaller ways that she still does to this day.

A little flick of the hand here, a tonal shift there. Sera saw how Yumi played with her hair when nervous and started doing it herself. She does it automatically now, pinching and rolling her blonde locks between her thumb and forefinger.

I absently run my hands through Sera's curls. My fingers snag on knots, and I hear Sera wince as I work them out. I groan.

"Sera, did you brush your hair this morning?"

Sera doesn't respond. She's pretending to be asleep. I know from experience that Sera takes at least ten minutes to fall asleep; it hasn't even been three. I sit up, Sera sliding down my chest, then sitting up as well.

Sera won't meet my eyes. I sigh and rub her face.

"You need to take care of yourself, Sera," I say, disappointed but not surprised. Sera tends to neglect things like this. Only small things, and she doesn't really resist, but she doesn't do them if she's not prompted.

Brushing her hair is a bad one. She almost never does it. I have to do it for her most of the time. Once, I didn't see her for four days because of an especially busy week for both of us.

It took me ten minutes to clean the accumulated grime off of her body and at least an hour to work the knots out of her hair. I scolded her the entire time for her forgetfulness. I wasn't surprised that her family didn't remind her, considering that her father and Seth were out fishing for a good three days. I assume Sera avoided them on day four.

"I know, Rumes. I'm sorry," she mumbles. "It's just... I didn't have the time this morning." Sera's excuse is flimsy. I stand up and walk over to my dresser, locating my hairbrush. I walk back over to my bed and sit down. Sera obediently turns to show me the back of her head.

I start to slowly run the brush through her tangled mop.

"I think we both know that isn't true, Sera." I'm not trying to be accusing. But I'm not trying to be nice.

Sera winces, both at the fact that I've caught her and because of the knot the brush has just caught on. It rips out a little of her hair as I work it through.

"I... It's..." Sera sighs. "It's a little hard, you get it?"

I don't. I really don't get it. Self-care has never given me any trouble, but I don't dare mention this to Sera. Telling Sera she's strange for not washing her face won't help her. Reminding her that she needs to do it will.

I've never been completely certain if her poor care of herself was because of her faulty memory or something else. I'd love to blame it on her memory, but Sera's general... erraticness is probably to blame.

She'll start tasks and forget about them entirely, she'll lose track of time, she'll forget to drink water... It's not really a surprise that she forgets important things anymore. She remembers to eat, at least. That removes some level of worry I have for her.

"Yes," I lie. This seems to reassure Sera. A part of her hair bounces back into shape as I finish pulling the brush through. I start again at my next chosen section, running my hands through what I've brushed. For a long time, there is no sound but our breathing and the soft, gentle noise of the brush through Sera's hair.

"You remembered to wash it. That's good," I say aloud, recalling its pleasant smell and softness when I hugged her earlier. I should have praised her then.

"Thank you," says Sera, a little uncertain. I regret speaking almost immediately.

Sera sighs and fidgets. Her other boot fell off at some point.

"You look like her, you know," she says quietly. I force the brush so hard through her hair it slightly yanks her head back. It was an accident. I hope.

"Sorry." There's a long silence.

"You really do, though. You look like Yumi," Sera finishes.

"Can we not talk about this, Sera?" I ask. Sera huffs.

"You can't just pretend she doesn't exist because she isn't around anymore," says Sera, more certain this time.

"I'm not," I respond levelly.

"Then w-w-why do you keep acting like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you never cared." I yank the brush suspended in Sera's hair.

"Hey, look at that. It's stuck," I say, letting go of it. It remains in Sera's hair. She reaches around to the back of her head and pulls it free, handing it back to me.

"Stop doing that, Rumi," she says, sounding like she's dealing with a small child.

"Doing what?" I ask, starting to brush Sera's hair again. Sera sighs.

"You know exactly w-w-what I'm talking about, Rumes. Don't change subjects to avoid things," she says. I don't avoid things. I'm not avoiding anything.

I voice this. Sera sighs again.

"You do, though, Rumes. You are. It's okay if you miss her. I do, too," says Sera. I finish brushing her hair and throw my hairbrush at my back wall. It thunks onto my dresser again.

"Can we just not, Sera?" Sera turns around to face me.

"I think w-w-we should, though," she says. I don't want to listen to her anymore. "I think w-w-we need to talk about her."

"We don't. There's nothing more we could say," I mutter.

"Rumi, you get so... distant. Around this time of year, you just avoid talking about her entirely."

"Have you ever thought that maybe I don't want to talk about a dead woman?" I snap.

"Yeah. Lots," Sera responds softly. "But you talk about her." I stiffen.

"You like to mention her from time to time, anyw-w-way," says Sera. "You joke about how Yumi w-w-would do this, Yumi w-w-would like that, blah blah blah."

I turn away from Sera, no longer enjoying this conversation.

"Rumes, you talk about her like she's just... aw-w-way," says Sera thoughtfully. "And I think that's good, I do, because -"

"Stop." Sera sighs softly.

"Rumes, can w-w-we just talk -"

"Stop."

"Rumi, it's not healthy to bottle these things up. If you don't w-w-want to talk now, that's fine, but -"

"I don't want to talk about it at all," I interject. "I don't need to, I don't want to, I won't. It's that simple." Sera needs to drop it. I'm fine. I'm acting normal. I always behave like this.

"She died for a good reason, okay? And I think w-w-we -"

"A good reason? You think it was good?" I interrupt. Sera looks startled.

"Rumes, that's not w-w-what I -"

"Oh? It's not w-w-w-w-what you m-m-m-eant?!" I shout, imitating her stammer.

"Rumi..." Sera's definitely upset. I've crossed a line. I don't care. Maybe she deserves it, just this once.

"Why don't we all just celebrate, huh?! 'Cause Yumi's dead! That's GREAT!"

"Rumi, just stop..." Sera mumbles.

"Sorry, you'll have to speak up! I can't hear you under all those extra letters!" I find the wound and tear it open.

"Rumi, w-w-w-why are you -"

"Oh, get to the point! How hard is it to talk?!" Sera flinches. She pinches the crooked part of her nose. She always does that when she gets self-conscious.

"Rumi, please just calm down," says Sera, voice gaining a pleading quality. I ignore this.

"Calm down?! You want me to calm down?!"

Sera's eyes start to water.

"Oh, don't you start crying AGAIN! You're so bloody emotional all the time!"

"You don't even have emotions!" she snaps back. Sera gets up off my bed.

"Maybe the reason you act like you don't care is because you really don't!" My sheets are pulled taught as I clench my hands. Sera angrily kicks her foot into one of her boots, looking for the other one. "Maybe you didn't cry at her funeral because you didn't love her!"

"Of course I loved her! She was my sister!" I shout, following Sera as I kick her boot from my bed into my wall. She snatches it off the floor and slams her foot into it.

"She w-w-was my sister, too!" Sera shoots back.

"No! No, she wasn't! Yumi was never your sister! No matter how close you think you were, you were never her sister!"

That's hurt her. She stops for a moment, tears threatening to start rolling down her cheeks.

"I loved her. Doesn't that mean something?" For just a moment, I feel a sliver of regret. It vanishes.

"Doesn't mean anything. You never meant anything to her," I snarl. This is untrue. Yumi did truly care about Sera. But now I just want to hurt her. Sera mumbles something.

"Huh? Speak up!" I demand. "You wanna say something? Say it to my face!"

"At least I'm not the reason she's dead," she says. There's utter silence.

"What?" Sera is completely crying now.

"At least," she repeats. "I'm not," she continues. "The reason she's dead."

"So you're saying it's my fault, then?"

Silence.

"N- no, I... No, I'm sorry. I got angry."

"No, I get it."

"Rumes, please, I didn't mean it. It w-w-wasn't your fault."

"It was, though. It's my fault. And it's always going to be my fault."

"It's not! I got angry! I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I've never been that angry before. I'm sorry. If it's any-w-w-one's fault, it's mine. I could've -"

"Just stop, Sera."

"Rumes..."

"You can go now, Sera."

"But -"

"You can go now, Sera. Go home. Say hi to Seth for me."

Sera nods. She tries to hug me. I gently push her away.

"I'm sorry, Rumes."

"So am I." Sera opens the door.

Sera hesitates, standing in the doorway.

"Yumi w-w-would have said you look nice."

The door closes.

Made some Snowbird things using this picrew

Picrew

ElenaA's Windswept Oc Maker

🌟 Hi! I made this for my friends to enjoy. Be sure to check out the different colors so you don't miss any options, and beware of blood! ✧(

Sucked it up and drew the Snowbird girlies myself

Based on this comment under a youtube video

Made some Snowbird things (again) using this picrew

Also some that match the conditions (sort of) that the post I found this with had [your current self with the younger version of yourself]

EVERYBODY STOP AND LOOK AT THESE COOLL AS SHIT DRAWINGS A FRIEND OF MINE MADE AFTER BEING EXPOSED TO SNOWBIRD

Sorry for the delay, but it's finished!!

I'm just going to tag @baxieblur-turnip and @randosfandos because they're the only interaction I get lol

SNOWBIRD: CHAPTER III

"You'll be fine, Rumes. Your name's only in once this year," says Yumi. She wraps a hairband around my braid, keeping it in place.

I rub my nose.

"Yeah, but you're in a bunch of times," I say. Yumi sighs.

"That's okay. It's my last year, remember? And so many other people have the same odds as me. We'll both be safe."

Yumi awkwardly stumbles out from behind me. I remain seated on the floor, staring at a scuff mark on Yumi's floorboards. Yumi crouches down slightly. She squeezes my shoulders.

"It's going to be okay, Rumi." I nod. Yumi gently tugs me to my feet. "Come on, then, Junco. We'll be in trouble if we're late."

Yumi had all sorts of cute little nicknames for me. Sometimes, I wished she'd just say my name, although it usually wasn't positive if she did. It was mainly "Rumes." I don't let anyone call me any of Yumi's nicknames anymore.

She called me "Junco" a lot, too. It was my favourite bird. Yumi said she started calling me that because her earliest memory of me is me pointing at one during winter. Yumi loved to tell me that story, too.

I was sick. Nothing that would hurt me now, but I wasn't a strong child, and such a mild illness hit me hard. I never really knew what I had. It never occurred to me to ask.

Yumi said that she came to check on me, alongside my mother. I was apparently standing up in my cot and watching the window.

I pointed at it and said, "Bird." I was talking about a fat little dark-eyed junco I had spotted. Yumi used to say how she was convinced it had cured me. She said she figured out that it was medicine and care, but she was young.

She found out what it was called and started using it as if it was my name instead of the bird's. She called me that less as I got older, but she almost never called me by my real name when I was younger.

I hug my knees closer to my chest.

"Junco, you should dig a -" A wave crashes over my cubic sandcastle, obliterating it and reducing it to naught but a pile of dampened grains of sand.

I frown.

"A moat. You should dig a moat. That way, the waves can't hit it that hard," Yumi finishes. I start to rebuild the sandcastle. Yumi walks over, her footprints shifting the waterlogged sand around them.

"You can't just rebuild it and expect it to be okay, you know," Yumi states. I halt my construction, watching as the waves once again take it from me.

"Why not?" I ask, resuming.

"You can't control the ocean, Junco. It'll break your blocks down over and over again, no matter how high you build it up," she tells me. I look up at her. She smiles.

"You can do so much else in situations like these," she chuckles. "You change what you can control. Like a moat! You could dig a moat. Or build a wall."

Yumi does both of these as I watch, fascinated. She uses her body to block the waves as she digs and uses the sand to build a wall.

She gets up. The waves once again crash around my sandcastle, but it remains unharmed.

"See? It can't do anything now."

I was only eight, I think, which would have made Yumi fourteen. She made it her business to ensure I learned something from all our interactions. Even if that something was simply that she loved me.

Yumi felt it was important. I didn't realise until just last year that she did it out of a fear of early death. A completely justified fear. Yumi was never paranoid, not even when she was literally surrounded by people who wanted her dead.

"Happy birthday, Junco!" Yumi says cheerfully.

"Yumes, aren't you supposed to be at the Reaping?" I ask her as I yawn. Yumi shrugs and hugs me.

"Ah, well, I have a few hours. A few hours for your birthday!" Yumi does a stupid dance that involves flicking her hands around and jumping a little. I giggle.

"I'm pretty old now," I state once I'm done screeching with laughter after Yumi unintentionally falls and lands flat on her face.

"Ten!" says Yumi excitedly. "It's your first milestone!" Yumi's cheerfulness seems slightly strange.

"Are you okay?" I ask. Yumi sighs. She smiles, albeit slightly forced.

"I'm just a bit worried, Junco," she says.

"Oh, but it's nothing major! Just silly little anxieties," she says, backtracking desperately as she sees my frown.

"Okay..." I say slowly. I don't believe her. I hope that's evident. Yumi hugs me again.

"It's fine, okay, Junco? You're fine. It's your birthday," she says. I don't know why she's hugging me so tight or why she's shaking so much.

"I think I'm a little old to be called 'Junco' now, Yumes," I say, changing the subject.

"Oh. Okay," says Yumi vaguely. "What do you want to be called?" she asks. I ponder her question for a moment.

"I like Rumes. Call me Rumes," I say. Yumi nods and smiles again.

"Well, Rumes," says Yumi, placing some extra emphasis on my name. "The Kaishurrs caught some nice salmon. Mother's cooking it for breakfast today!"

I smile. I do like salmon. Yumi relaxes at the expression on my face.

"I'll let you get your good clothes on, Rumes," she says. Yumi turns and leaves.

Mr Kaishurr is a fisher, as he was at the time, working in his big teams on their haulers. They'd sometimes go over quota, meaning they got to choose what to do with the excess.

Well, not really. They weren't truly allowed to, but the Peacekeepers turned a blind eye to it. Some even bought fish from them. District Four has never been a poor district, but if you were doing that physical labour, if you were being tossed about on the open ocean, at the mercy of the elements...

Well, would another bowl of soup truly hurt anyone? Another, more filling topping for your bread? Just a little more food at dinner? And the Capitol wouldn't even suffer without the extra. The Peacekeepers understand that. That's why the Capitol remains unknowing of District Four ever going over quota by more than would be noted.

The Kaishurrs often chose to share their excess with us. It's what we'd cook on special occasions. My mother was the reason we knew them, being incredibly good friends with Mrs Kaishurr. With their wives occupied with talking and laughing and cooking together, my father and Mr Kaishurr really only had the option to talk to each other.

Their conversations were stilted and awkward. They coexisted because it was easier than hating each other. Mr Kaishurr always rubbed my father the wrong way. He irritated me slightly, too, always talking and knocking people about or putting his arms around people's shoulders or talking far closer than he really needed to.

Neither of my parents fished - when they still worked - and worked much higher-paying jobs than the Kaishurrs did. My mother ran a glass-blowing business, as well as just making small-scale glass panes and such.

Most of the glass in Panem is sourced from here, although One is responsible for making most of the gorgeous things out of it.

My mother used to say how she loved the shapes and colours the glass made. That was why she did it, she said, and not because it paid well. It did, though. Fine glasswork such as Mother made was expensive.

My father worked on the mayoral council. Still works. He must be disappearing there all day to still be bringing in an income. He's fairly close to the mayor in his position, and he used to be good friends with him. Maybe he still is. I don't know when he'd find the time, though. He's buried himself in work and alcohol, even more so lately.

Sometimes, the mayor would come over for dinner with us. When Yumi was still alive, when Mother was still here, when Father still smiled, when the Kaishurrs were in the early stages of their fight.

Yumi would dress nicely, as would I. Our mother would start preparing food early while our father would clean the house. Mayor Esthel was his friend, but he was the type of friend that Father had to be cautious around.

Yumi gently kicks my leg under the table. I look at her. She pulls a strange face, tugging the skin under her eyes down with her pinkie fingers while she stretches the corners of her mouth with her other fingers. She sticks her tongue out.

I laugh quietly. Our mother smacks the side of Yumi's head, stifling a laugh of her own. Yumi stops tugging her face, her mouth snapping back to her normal smile.

We're silent again as we eat our dinner. I messily eat the bread I've been soaking in my soup, getting the hot liquid all over my chin. Yumi hands me a napkin.

I look up at her again. She's balancing her spoon on her nose. It falls off and clatters on the table. She quickly slaps it back onto her face like it never fell in the first place.

I laugh much louder this time, mainly at how goofy Yumi looks with her large grin and nose obscured by silver metal. Yumi seems satisfied.

Our father clears his throat, briefly distracted from his conversation by Yumi's antics. He's glaring rather pointedly at her. Mayor Esthel chuckles and waves a hand good-naturedly.

"Please, Sesten, it's fine. Your daughters act like my little girls. It's nothing I'm not well-versed in."

Mayor Esthel has two daughters, Tyra and Mechi. Completely identical to the point where they're sure they were confused with each other as babies. Both have straw-coloured, collar length hair cut in neat bobs. Each about my height.

They're both my age. We talk occasionally. Nobody can tell them apart by face alone, but Mechi has taken to embroidering her name onto all her clothing for that exact reason.

The day they swap clothing is the end of whatever we have together, I suspect. Tyra completely believes that she is more attractive than her sister and that they shouldn't be indistinguishable from each other.

They're both good-looking, with their fair complexions, sharp noses, and keen, narrow features, but Mechi is far nicer to be around. That doesn't stop both of them from being equally popular and equally desired. Tyra loves the attention while Mechi merely tolerates it.

I wouldn't say we're friends. Friends are too dangerous.

I hear quiet, muffled crying. I wander out of my bedroom, searching for its source. It's coming from Yumi's room.

I open the door. Yumi's face is buried in her hands, and her shoulders are shaking. She's sitting on her bed in a weak slouch. I walk over to her.

"Yumi?"

Yumi snaps up to look at me. She sniffles loudly and wipes her nose.

"Are you okay?" Yumi looks like she tries to smile. Instead, she bursts into sobs again.

I sit down next to her and wrap my arms around her. Yumi continues to cry. After a long time, she takes a deep breath. I hand her a handkerchief.

She wipes her eyes, then loudly blows her nose. She folds the handkerchief up.

"I'm sorry, Junco, I... It's not your problem, really," she says damply.

She pats my head. She smiles as more tears pool in her eyes. She pulls me into a hug.

"I love you, Junco. Don't ever forget that."

"Do you miss Otto?" I ask.

"Yes," Yumi chokes out.

"I miss Otto, too," I say feebly.

"I don't think there's anyone who doesn't," Yumi responds, equally quiet.

"I think she did a good job," I try. Yumi is quiet.

"She fought pretty hard," is all she says after a while.

Otto was a sweet enough girl. She was Yumi's closest friend, right up until her death eight years ago. She went down roaring. Yumi said she didn't like seeing Otto like that, but what did she expect?

Otovia Ossa, the best student in her grade and the most lethal fighter. She killed three other tributes before... Gloss, was it? Something like that, anyway. Before what's-her-name from District One took her down and won.

"Why?"

It was a stupid question, really. It had an obvious answer. But hearing it out of Yumi's mouth made it stick with me.

"Because she wanted to go home. In the end, the winner isn't the most vicious. They're not the best at killing. They're just the one who fights the hardest to get home."

I'll never forget that. It's burned into my brain. And I know. I know exactly how she meant it. I know what she was doing when she did it.

Yumi squeezes my hand reassuringly. I look at her. She smiles warmly. I smile back.

"The female tribute is..." Yumi doesn't let go of my hand. "Rumi Erudite!"

Yumi almost crushes my hand before she releases it. I stiffly walk forward. Yumi sputters from behind me. I get halfway to the stage before she shouts.

"I volunteer as tribute!" Yumi shoves me back into where I was. Our eyes meet in passing. She's angry. Her expression softens as she looks at me, but then she turns back to the crowd. Her eyes harden and smoulder again, the brown suddenly appearing black as she glares at them.

I didn't misunderstand the meaning. Yumi was always clear with me.

There's a close-up of Yumi's disgusted expression as she turns away, then the camera switches back to the Careers finishing the District Eleven tributes off. Yumi's district partner created a net trap. District Eleven was their first set of victims.

"Man up, Erudite," scoffs District One. "This is the 'fight each other to the death like animals for a chance to go home' games. Being a pacifist gets you killed." Yumi glares at him.

"It's barbaric," she spits. "Trapping them like fish."

"The barbarity is the whole point," shoots the other District One tribute in retaliation. Yumi still looks appalled.

"I won't have a part in it," she mutters. The other District Four tribute quickly comes to her aid as the other Careers growl and mutter as they turn toward her, faces twisted into snarls.

"So you're just dead weight, then?"

"You're using our supplies, but you won't contribute?"

"We don't need to keep you, you realise..."

"She doesn't mean it like that, guys. She'll help us, obviously, and she'll kill someone if she needs to. She just means she doesn't want to for the moment," says her district partner, pointedly turning and glaring at Yumi.

"She's not good at getting things across," he lies.

"That's believable," sneers District Two. District Four huffs.

"She is worth more alive than she is dead right now," says the other District Two tribute.

There's various mutters of agreement.

"Fine. We're eating you the minute we run out of food, though, Yumi," says District One. She's met with awkward silence. "It's called a joke. It's called a bloody joke, guys, relax."

So why? Why would she tell me that and do what she did?

District Four stomps after Yumi, his trident in his hands. He could throw it.

"Fight me, you idiot! It's just us! Why are you still running?!"

Yumi doesn't respond to him, losing her footing in the mud and slipping but not entirely falling. She continues fleeing. Her district partner finally decides to try, shifting easily into a sprint. He gains on Yumi immediately.

He yanks on her jacket, throwing her to the ground by her hood. Yumi makes no visible attempt to resist. He raises his trident in front of her face, and his whole body tensed as if to throw it. He holds himself there for a while.

"Yumi..." he says quietly, his trident falling from his hands. "...please fight. This is getting depressing."

Yumi looks up at him and smiles, although slightly sad.

"No."

I couldn't put the pieces together. I can now, of course, but I was twelve, and she was eighteen, and I firmly believed she was amazing. I couldn't see her flaws.

And I couldn't see why she would let him kill her without even resisting. I realise now, though, that Yumi saw it as a way out.

As her escape. Yumi never liked the idea of the Games. She never liked being trapped under the Capitol. If she had been around when it happened, she would have wholeheartedly supported the rebellion that started this whole mess.

She kept quiet. She loved me. She protected me. And then when the moment came, the time when she could help our family...

She didn't take her opportunity.

She loved human life in general more than she loved me.

That's fair, I suppose.

Finnick Odair yanks his trident free of Yumi's body. As he is declared the winner, he throws the trident far away from him. It buries itself in a tree trunk. Finnick drops to his knees and begins to sob.

For a brief moment, there is only the babbling of the commentators on the screen. Something shatters.

What do I remember, I wonder? What do I remember of my mother's screams, of my father's mournful fury? I remember the sound of my mother screaming until her throat was raw. I remember how she sounded as if her heart had been ripped from her chest.

I remember my father's bleeding, shredded knuckles as he continued to punch the walls until they gave way. I remember his face. I remember my mother's. I remember...

I don't even remember what I felt. I loved my big sister more than anything.

There was a funeral. Yumi's friends attended. Yumi's parents attended. The girl who had practically become Yumi's younger sister attended. Finnick attended. Did I attend? Did I attend the gathering meant to mourn, if I had never once mourned? I don't know.

I left dandelions on her grave. She liked dandelions.

My father gave the eulogy. My mother couldn't. She was forgiven fairly easily, so wrought with grief that she wasn't really present in the first place. District Four talked about me. They thought I didn't hear them.

Everyone loved Yumi. Most cried when she died. They expressed their sympathy to my family. My parents were inconsolable. Some people tried to talk to me.

I'm told I showed nothing. That I was completely and utterly blank with no sign of mourning or sadness or anger or anything that would be brought about by the death of a sister.

I'm told I unsettled people. Because a child's eyes should never be so dull or emotionless, I'm told. So they started avoiding me. They still do.

I receive sideways looks. I receive double takes. I receive second glances. People walk faster when I am behind them. People do not show me their backs if they can help it.

I loved my mother, too. Although the last time we ever spoke was the hour before Yumi's death.

Mrs Kaishurr, of course, attempted to console her. My mother's other friends, my uncles, my father, they all made efforts to help her. I think the last time I ever saw her was when we passed in the hallway.

She didn't look at me. She hadn't looked better than she'd been before, but she wasn't crying. Her eyes still seemed flat and hollow. The circles under her eyes were much darker than they had been.

Her hand was briefly on my shoulder. She gently squeezed it. And then she walked into the study.

She was a lovely woman. Brown curls down to her upper back and brown eyes to match. She was patient. Perhaps too loving. She had her hobbies. She didn't even leave a note. She loved her friends. She was a loving mother and wife.

It was my father that I looked most like. Yumi's distinction from me came from our mother's eyes and curls, but our narrow faces and black hair came from our father. Yumi was a combination of both our parents. I clearly only took after our father.

My parents used to joke about how I was exclusively my father's daughter and that my mother had no part in me. My father would then say that this was a blessing, because I was already such a pretty girl and that if I looked like my mother he would have to start nailing boards to our doors so people couldn't break into our house and propose to me on the spot.

My mother would laugh and smack him with whatever was in her hand at the time, often a spatula.

I wasn't the only victim of my father's jokes. He would occasionally ask Yumi how many boys she'd turned down that day, to which she would respond with a random number. My mother would sigh and shake her head, smiling.

There wasn't any sign of a struggle. Most of her things were missing, along with some bags. The door was unlocked. It's reasonable to assume she left of her own accord. She didn't even look at me. She couldn't, apparently. If the conversations overheard through doors are any clue.

We still don't know where she went. We had no guesses, no indication. We just assumed she went to another district. I wonder how well that went for her. I used to despise her for it, for abandoning her family when they needed her. I don't blame her for leaving anymore, though.

She left because she just couldn't face it anymore. Because she couldn't look at her home and know that one of her daughters would never return to it. Because she couldn't look at her surviving daughter without seeing the other one. Because she couldn't look at her daughter, knowing why she'd never see the other one again.

I can't blame her. I'd leave, too, if I knew that I would be forced to live in a home that could never feel full again.

Some good leaving would do now, though. Now that the damage has already been done. There wouldn't be a point. And besides, who would miss me?

Who would miss Rumi Erudite, the girl good at nothing but violence? Who would miss Rumi Erudite, the girl who only knows how to hurt? Who would miss Rumi Erudite, the girl that everyone would be correct to hate?

No one. I know that if I vanished, no one would look for me. My father already refuses to acknowledge my existence, as if pretending he only ever had one daughter would prevent him from losing the second. There is occasionally food on the table when I get home, but beyond that, I am dead to him. I doubt he's even doing it to save himself anymore. He ignores me out of habit and hate.

People would hear that I had disappeared. They'd remark that it was odd, perhaps, if I didn't leave a note. That would be the end of it, and no one would speak of Rumi Erudite again.

Maybe I should. I should just leave in the middle of the night, quietly and without making a spectacle of it. Since nobody would care.

I kick the wall across from me, hoping to put a hole in it. The wall does not give, but when I bring my leg down, something makes a crinkling noise. I look up to see what it was. A small, rectangular parcel sitting under my foot. I pick it up. It fits nicely across both my hands. It says my name on it in a neat, very deliberate script, as if the person writing it had to spend a lot of time and effort forming each letter. Sera's handwriting.

I tear the paper off it. A photo frame, thicker than most that I've seen. I run my fingers over the patterns dug into the dark wooden border. Framed is Yumi.

A greyscale drawing of her, done with graphite pencils. It's incredibly detailed. Yumi is facing the artist and smiling warmly. A few of her dark curls are caught up around her ears. She looks a little windblown, her hair preferring the left side of her head to sit.

I turn it over to find that it has a stand. Pinned underneath the stand is a note in Sera's slow handwriting.

Happy birthday, Rumes. Love ya.

I run my fingers gently down the glass panel in the front, tracing the outline of Yumi's face. The surface is uneven and rippled. I pull my thumb down the frame again and am pricked by a sliver of wood. This is Sera's handiwork.

It's not really a surprise that she made this. She's quite adept with things like these, a skill developed by years of gutting fish. Her hands tremble, but she can hold them still when she concentrates. A smudge on the side of Yumi's right eye tells me that Sera probably drew this, too.

Of course. Of course she did. Because that stupid girl just won't give up on me and move on.

My knuckles whiten as I grip the portrait of Yumi. Sera. I want to strangle her. I want to shout at her. I want to call her an idiot and slap her until she regains her senses. I want to hold her close and never let her go. I want to beg on my knees at her feet for her to forgive me. I want her to leave my life entirely.

She's an idiot. She'll never learn. She'll be the one who gets lost looking for me. She'll be the one who gets hurt defending me. She'll be the one who wastes her life on me. She'll be the one who stands too close when I lash out.

She's the only one who stayed in my life. She was the only one who comforted me after Yumi died. She was the only one who came to my aid when everyone was correct to say those things to me.

I grab Sera's arm and pull her away. She resists, ignoring my statements that she's done enough. The boy, covering his bleeding nose and what will turn into a black eye, cusses and runs off.

I use my thumb to wipe the blood away from Sera's cheek. She draws the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing the blood from her busted lip.

"Tetra shouldn't be allowed to talk to you like that," she mutters.

"And you shouldn't be allowed to get into fistfights with people who insult me," I snap back angrily.

Sera folds her arms across her chest.

"It's not fair. He w-w-went after Yumi." I let go of her face.

"He went after me, not Yumi," I tell her. Sera frowns harder.

"He said that -"

"It doesn't matter what he said. He was going after me." Sera's expression changes from a confused frown to near tears.

"Rumi, it isn't your fault."

It makes me angry, so angry, when Sera lies to me. She thinks I can't tell that she lies to me. But we've known each other for fifteen years. I recognise cues that basically don't exist. I can identify her mood based on how quickly she blinks.

I see all her little tells, her painfully obvious tells. And they infuriate me.

I am not a thinker. That is not what I do. I act before I ask, as I've been told by my many frustrated primary school teachers. And by plenty of others, to remove the needlessly complicated words.

I act on anger. I act on sadness. I act on hate. I do not act on happiness or love or anything that Sera does. That is why she does them, to make up for every horrible thing I do.

I regret acting in that moment. It would have been better if I had done nothing, nothing at all. It made me want to cut off my hands. She didn't deserve it. She hadn't earned it. She had already taken so many hits for my sake. And then I administered one more, and it was the one that made her cry.

Sera places her hand on her cheek, rubbing where I hit her. She looks rattled. I clench my fists tightly, backing away from her. Tears spring into her eyes.

"I'm... I'm sorry..." I mumble. Sera starts to tremble. Her tears drip down her cheeks. She looks utterly betrayed. I walk away faster, shaking my head. Sera's shoulders start to shake as she sobs. I turn and run entirely.

I ran all the way home and locked myself in my room. Rumi Erudite doesn't cry. She gets close, yes, but she doesn't ever cry. She's not capable of it. She's not capable of empathy.

She is capable of violence. She is capable of smashing photo frames and shattering mirrors and punching walls and hurting everyone around her.

She is capable of sitting in a ring of broken glass, her knuckles bleeding and cut by the shards stabbed into them that she couldn't be bothered to remove. She is capable of being discovered by the friend that she punched in the face.

That friend is capable of wrapping her arms around Rumi Erudite and brushing the hair out of her face. That friend is capable of telling Rumi Erudite that it is all alright as she gently pulls the mirror fragments from her awful hands. That friend is capable of bandaging Rumi Erudite's self-inflicted wounds.

That friend is capable of listening and nodding while Rumi Erudite gives the most worthless apology anyone has ever heard.

"I... I didn't mean it, Sera. Please. I didn't mean it."

"I know. It's okay. Did I push too hard?"

"..."

"Rumes?"

"Why do you always blame yourself?"

"Haha. You're exaggerating a little there, Rumi."

"I'm serious. What part of this was your fault?"

"I... Uhm... You... Tetra w-w-was being an ass! He -"

"You didn't deserve that. I'm... I'm sorry. I got angry and you were close."

"It's okay, Rumi, it really is."

Sera bounces back. She brushes things off. She ignores, she overlooks, she turns a blind eye. To everything I do wrong. She thinks I don't notice what she discards of her morals for me. She knows I'm not a good person.

I don't know why she's stayed by my side all these years. She's had six to leave, six to work out how to phrase it without hurting me. Sera is kind. She lets people down gently.

I don't deserve that, though. I deserve to be dropped from a great height, in the metaphorical sense. Perhaps in the literal, too. Maybe I would walk off myself...

I cut off that train of thought as quickly as I can, shoving it back to the dark corner of my mind where it resides. It's much worse than simply fantasising about leaving, and I'd rather not touch it now.

Sera tends to hold it out of my reach, though. Even if it hurts her, she stays by me. For fifteen years, I've been a thorn in her side. For twelve, I've hurt her. For six, I've been...

Awful. I am awful. I am a monster. And Sera is an angel, an angel, and she will always hold out her hand to me so that one day I may stand in her light. That hand...

That hand that is calloused and scarred from years of work. That hand that is wonderful to know and to love. That hand that is safe to be near.

That hand that is always gentle even when it is undeserved. That hand that is never raised against me, not even when it would be considered self-defence, not even when it is necessary, not even when it is right. That hand that is often wrong, that persists nonetheless.

That hand that is always outstretched, always waiting for me to take. No matter how many times it gets bitten and clawed and stabbed, it will never retreat. That hand whose owner always smiles, be it happily or sadly or with worry. I hate that smile.

I hate Sera. I hate her rough hands that feel so warm wiping the blood off my face. I hate her gentle tracing of the scars on my knuckles and abdomen and face and arms. I hate the way she holds my hands, acting as if they have a purpose that isn't pain. I hate the way she cups my cheek in her palm, and I especially hate the way I lean into it.

I hate the way I stain her hands with the rust-coloured aftermath of my training to die fighting. I hate the way I worry her with my cuts and bruises. I hate the way I resist when she tries to use me for comfort. I hate the way I abuse her.

I hate the way I dare use up air. I hate the way I dare waste her time. I hate the way I dare take up space. I hate the way my eyes are hooded. I hate the scar on my cheek. I hate the sight of my face. I hate how I love winning fights. I hate how I love the sensation of flesh under my fists.

And, oh, how I hate that all I know to do is hate.

I hate.

Sera hugs me desperately, hiccuping and sobbing. Yumi gently pries her off me. She sniffles loudly, and her face screwed up. Yumi hugs Sera, clearly feeling sorry for her. This proves to be a mistake, as Sera instantly latches onto Yumi with the approximate force of a vice.

"Sera, sweetheart, let me go," says Yumi kindly. Sera responds by burying her face in Yumi's stomach. Yumi pats Sera's head. "We'll be late, Sera. We'll get in a lot of trouble with the Peacekeepers if we're late."

Sera releases Yumi, desperately trying to contain another ocean's worth of tears.

"It's only her first year. She'll be alright, Sera. You guys can go to the beach again afterwards, like you normally do!"

Sera nods. She looks at me, then hugs me again.

"It's a beautiful day for the beach, Sera."

"Okay."

"Come on, Rumi. I wasn't joking."

"Come home, Rumes..."

"...please."

And hate.

Sera wipes her eyes. Then she wipes them again. And again. I hand her a tissue, which is instantly soaked by all the water pouring from her eyes.

"I'm so happy you're still here, Rumi," she manages, voice choked by emotion."And Yumi's going to be okay, right?"

"Of course she will. She wouldn't leave us. She'll fight."

"Y- Yeah... Yeah, I bet she w-w-will! Yumi's amazing! She'll be okay. I bet she'll w-w-win and not have to hurt anyone, either! She's smart enough to figure it out." Sera inhales unsteadily, her usual smile brought to her lips.

I hug her.

And hate.

I do not let go. I cannot ever let go. The world will fall to pieces if I let go. She is dead, so she is holding me together. And I am holding her together also, because Yumi is not here to do it for us.

She weeps. I cannot.

But it won't change the fact that my mother left.

My father barks a laugh. It's angry and mirthless.

"Of course she would. Because she just can't take anything, can she?! She just -" My father abruptly smashes his empty bottle of drink into the wall. It does not break.

"- can't -" Again, he forces the bottle into the wall. " - take -" I hear the bottle crack, but it remains sturdy. The wall is dented now.

"- anything!" The bottle explodes into a shower of shattered glass and alcohol dregs. It's almost pretty, with the way the light hits it.

But it won't change the fact that my father does not accept that I exist.

I gently open the door to my father's study. He is sitting at his desk, head down, and glass in hand. It's mostly empty. Paperwork litters the floor. I read one. It's about a request for a new Peacekeeper division.

I make no attempt to wake my father. He will not like it if I wake him from whatever heavy, dreamless sleep he has deliberately drowned himself in.

But it won't change the fact that Sera was injured.

I clutch the hem of my mother's dress, peering around her in an attempt to see into Cod's home. They talk at the door.

A little girl with blonde hair wanders into my field of view. She turns to look at me. Her face is badly scraped, stitches running from her chin to her nose and her eyebrow to her hair parting. Her nose is mostly obscured by a bandage.

She studies me for a long time, attempting to place me in whatever memories that have not bled out of her. She beams, her grin crooked, and waves.

She calls my name, and I call hers.

But it won't change the fact that Yumi is dead.

"Finnick?"

"Yes?"

"When you get home, can you please do something for me?"

"Of course, Yumi. Anything."

"Tell my family I love them. And there's a girl named Sera Kaishurr. Tell her I love her, too."

"I will, Yumi. I promise."

"My baby sister, most of all. Don't let her forget."

Yumi's slight smile does not ever fade.

And it will never change the fact that I killed her.

Cut out her legs because they look

✨️bad✨️

Aight @baxieblur-turnip and @randosfandos y'all know the drill here it is

SNOWBIRD: CHAPTER IV

I stare at the ceiling. It's quite nice. Wood panels. Inoffensive. I count the scratch marks in it, then the proper holes.

I've just nicked it more than I've actually hit it. I don't especially try when I throw my knife. It used to be Otto's. I feel bad launching it at the ceiling, but it's what I do when I'm bored.

I retrieve it from my drawer. I flick it open and close a few times, running my thumb over the dimpled texture of the green handle while I study the ceiling. I can almost see the shape of a face...

I throw the knife up into a blank spot. It makes a tiny scratch. Not enough force. It sails back down into my hand. I catch it easily, the blunt side of the blade slotting seamlessly between my fingers.

Again. It thuds into the ceiling, between the boards, and I almost think it's going to stay there. It slides out, however, rotating to be blade-first. It pierces the pillow next to my head. How unfortunate.

Again. A thunk can be heard as it stays put. I stand to retrieve it, my bed creaking in protest. The ceilings are not especially low, but Otto's knife is easily within my reach.

It comes away too easily. Not enough force, once again. I stay standing instead of lying down again. I look at the knife in my hand.

I could stop. I could stop damaging the ceiling over and over again, and I could stop blunting the knife. I should stop.

I am only breaking things. No, not even breaking. This is nothing.

This is just more purposeless damage. I am just stabbing the ceiling, the ceiling that can not die, or feel it at all. This is an exercise in futility. I am satisfying nothing.

The sound the knife makes as I personally drive it into the ceiling is very satisfying indeed.

I step off my bed, landing silently on my floor. I allow the knife to say in my ceiling. I don't need it, anyway. I have other, much sharper knives. Better knives.

I pass my empty wall. The spot with four holes in it as if something was once displayed there stares into me, accusing me. I face it, staring back. I blindfold it by displaying Sera's gift. Yumi's warm, grey eyes now bore a hole into my skull, but it's a marginal improvement.

I shut the door quietly behind me. I don't care about the noise I make, but I don't need to be loud. It would feel too small.

My footsteps echo in the empty hallway. There used to be photos in this house. Filling the walls. There also used to be laughter.

The one photo left sits alone on the mantle. I know what it looks like, of course. I wasted many days staring at it.

Yumi is approximately seven. My mother is desperately trying to keep a hold of her, obviously tired but still smiling. Yumi is wearing a large grin, several teeth missing, as she seems to yell and reach toward the photographer.

One of her hands is pushing my mother's face to the side, slightly squishing her smile. My father is holding me, smiling at my mother and Yumi rather than the camera. I look grumpy.

It was taken in winter, so we are all wearing warm clothing. I look adequately cared for, with a knit beanie and fluffy green jumpsuit covering all of me but my face. My father's puffy jacket is an equal green. Yumi's brown sweater matches the one our mother is wearing. Yumi had to be wrestled into that sweater.

It's a lovely, lively photo, full of warmth and happiness. It reflects nothing of what we are now, though. It's almost like looking into a broken mirror.

You know what's supposed to be there, what it's supposed to look like, and it just doesn't. You can tell what it was. You can tell what it did. And it will never be what it was again, even if you fix it.

It's far more complicated than a broken mirror, though. We've lost all but two of the pieces, and one is so dirty and scratched that it's functionally worthless. We don't even have the glue to put those two pieces back together.

I hate the year-old girl in that photo. I hate her dissatisfied frown and barely visible black hair. I hate her chubby, tiny, tightly balled fists. I hate her innocence. I hate her ignorance.

I'm not looking at the photo now, though, so there is nothing immediately in front of me to hate. At least until I reach the mirror. But I already know what I look like. I will just ignore myself, like always.

I wash my face for the third time today. I should apologise to Sera. I should also never speak to Sera again. I should also lie down in the sand and wait for the ocean to claim me.

It's unclear what order I should take those actions in. Logic states that the ocean will take up far more of my time than begging for Sera's forgiveness and exit from my life.

I do not like logic. It is normally against me. I don't really want to talk to Sera right now, either. I don't want to talk to her, full stop. She'll come to me, talk to me, convince me to talk to her. She always does.

Of course, the Reaping is soon. I have several hours to kill. Normally, I'd spend this time with Sera. It would be tense, and there would be something inherently sad about it, but we would have each other. And that would be how we held each other together.

But not today. I won't lose this. I don't lose. It isn't something I do. I don't need Sera. I need her like I need a gaping head wound. I need her like I need the knife in my ceiling. Gods, I hate that knife.

I hated Otto's urgency as she pressed it into Yumi's hands before pressing an equal kiss to her lips. I hated my father's soulless eyes as he dropped a box of Yumi's things on my lap. I hated the message at the bottom of that box.

I hate that message.

I twist the tap violently enough that it must have bruised my hand. What a shame. The tap drips for a moment, then realises it's done with its job and ceases. The ensuing silence is decidedly agitating. It is broken by the sound of the door creaking open.

I will not look in the mirror. I will not acknowledge who is staring back at me, and I especially will not acknowledge who is behind me. I bring my hands behind my head, gathering my hair into one area.

I make sure to keep my eyes closed. I slide my hairband off my wrist and wrap it once, twice, three times around my ponytail until it is tight and stays in its place just behind where my head curves. I drag the towel across my face, mildly hoping it'll miraculously turn into steel wool.

I push past the man with the unshaved face and uncombed hair. I do not speak to him. He has missed his chance. He lays a hand on my shoulder.

The father makes some semblance of an attempt to speak to his daughter. The daughter coldly brushes away her father's hand.

My gait is not hurried, but most would fall behind. I don't know where I'm going. I suppose I'll find out when I get there. More people are around now. Most of them are Peacekeepers.

Preparing for the yearly slaughter, of course. It's a miracle Annie won the last. The poor girl snapped like a twig the minute Moor was beheaded. I don't blame her.

We were... not friends. Never friends. I knew her. It wouldn't be right to say that I know her. But we interacted, and I didn't hate her. She's how I knew him.

I remember how she trembled in the chair she looked too small in when her other friends rushed in to wish her luck and comfort her. He would have loved to, but mentors aren't allowed to.

I don't envy her. Or him. Nothing good came of their victories, aside from the food parcels for District Four. He's off in the Capitol being treated like an object, and Annie is... hopefully still breathing.

Perhaps I should visit her. There was far too much screaming coming from her house in Victor's Village for a woman who lives alone the last time I tried to check on her, though. It's best that I stay away.

Seth is about her age, I believe. They've never once held a conversation, but Seth has a way of speaking without his voice. He is very regular with his visits to her.

He looks almost identical to his sister. Messy blonde curls that spill easily into his eyes and tie themselves into knots around his ears, dulled-gold irises, a constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks, a solid, strong build. One of their very few physical differences is his facial hair, which isn't much more than some thicker patches of fuzz at the moment.

I'm told he's very handsome by his many fans. I don't see it. He's just a male version of Sera, so feasibly I should be able to see it, but it just doesn't appear to me. Perhaps it's his lack of everything that I find sweet about her. Sera's face in my vision every day for almost two decades could have warped my perception of what "good-looking" is...

Most people assume Seth is mute or deaf or both, but he turns when someone talks to him, and he responds with a mumble or vague noise if I ask him something.

Seth is... strange. He's oddly fascinated by seaweed and the like, wasting all his free time poking at samples of it pulled up of fishing trips. He doesn't feel anything until it's applied tenfold, and even then, it doesn't appear to bother him. He'll just stare at people if they talk to him.

He talks to his friends the most. They adore him. It's understandable, with his inexplicable odd charm. It was easy to assume at first that they were just acting like they liked him because they found it funny.

They're genuine, though. They gather, the five or so of them, without him occasionally. I once walked past them as they were talking, and he was mentioned many times.

They talked about how odd it was that he knew so much about seaweed, but changed it immediately by talking about what he knew and how interesting it was. They discussed if they should bring Seth along to an event, mainly debating if he would enjoy it. One of them mentioned a rock Seth had given him, holding it out and praising it.

I don't consider myself jealous. It made me wonder for a moment if that was how the people who knew me talked about me when I wasn't present. I felt relieved for a moment. I am not one to try to deny facts, however.

I'm not blind. I saw the glares Seth's friends gave me.

One of them was Otto's younger brother, Oswald. She had two, him and a boy named Fayrouz, who's now about thirteen. He hates me now, but I would sometimes see him when Otto came over to talk to Yumi.

I remember her fairly well, although I didn't know her as greatly.

Otto loved green and wore a lot of it. Mainly deep sages, but I'd occasionally see her wearing an almost blindingly lime shirt. She was one of the fishers and had the build to match. Her burnt umber skin was lined with scars, especially her hands, and her whole body rippled when she flexed.

She had distinctly sharp features, much like the Esthel twins. Unlike them, though, her caramel-colour gaze could easily cut diamond. Her face was also more square, drawing attention to her high, ever-bruised cheekbones. She would always wear her black, curling hair in a low ponytail.

Oswald and I talked a little then, while our sisters were busy with their schoolwork and their gossip. He's a nice enough guy. Or, he used to be, anyway. He has a lot of friends. Sera is one of them.

He's very fond of her. She's ushered me out of her house so she can talk to him before. It makes sense. He detests me, and Sera likes him for some reason, so she keeps us separate.

Mechi sometimes brings up how Ozzie being alone with Sera doesn't bother me, but them being alone does. I don't really have anything to address that. I can't really take him seriously, I guess. I know I'll never have to worry about Sera preferring him to me.

He looks just like Otto. His hair is curlier than hers, and he keeps it cut short, but very similar. His eyes used to have her same piercing quality, but now they smoulder when I look at him. He didn't use to try to look like her.

It's for the opposite of the reason I keep my hair long, I'd imagine.

When Yumi died, it was like his older sister had died all over again. But at least there was someone he could rightfully blame. He likes it when we're partnered together in training. Especially when weapons get involved. He never wins, but he doesn't care.

Yumi's swap was considered "a shock" and "a display of friendship." Mine was called "a tragedy" and "unjust" and "stealing."

Otto loved Yumi deeply. And then Yumi was called, and Otto couldn't imagine life without her. So Otto took Yumi's place without a moment's hesitation. Yumi was comforted and consoled, and Otto was mourned as a dead woman.

Yumi cared for me. And then I was called, and Yumi felt that I was her responsibility. So Yumi took my place without a moment's hesitation. I was scowled at and disregarded, and Yumi was mourned as a loss.

It's not unfair, not exactly. Yumi was all kinds of excellent, but Otto was different. Colder, but still as caring. Less patient, but still as willing to listen. She gave solutions when presented with problems.

I remember her voice being smooth and warm. Much like someone else's. I didn't cry at her funeral, either. Rumi Erudite doesn't cry.

There was so something so utterly tragic about Otto.

It doesn't matter, not anymore. She's dead.

Ah. So my destination was the beach. Logical. It's nice this time of year. Victors will often stop here on their tours.

I don't feel anything when I sit down in the sand, just ahead of where the waves lap at my feet. I don't want to get saltwater on these shoes. And I don't like the way the waves move. I don't like the way they're getting closer to me.

Some part of me laughs at that. They're waves. They can't be malicious. They can't be cunning. They can't be evil. They can't... hate...

I shake that away and shuffle further up the beach.

It would be nice if I could feel what I felt three hours or so ago. It would also be nice if I could describe that feeling. It's childish that all I know is that I feel it with Sera, childish that I know nothing of my own emotions.

I wish my appreciation of the sunsets and sunrises wasn't linked to Sera. I wish my best memories didn't involve her. I wish that I didn't feel short of breath when she laughs.

I wish, I wish, I wish...

How childish. How naïve. How old am I, really? That I'm stuck wishing and hoping and whining? I hate that. I hate it all. I hate Sera.

I stare out into the ocean. I normally try to identify the boats on the water, but it's all been put on hold for the Reaping. The ocean surface is empty. It's slightly odd. It's very much non-standard, but it isn't alien.

It's sort of like when the birds all fall silent and leave the skies when a storm is brewing. It's not like it isn't normal. It's just not a good sign.

No boats means a child of District Four dies.

I remember when Sera would come home from storms. If she was caught in one, it'd be because they blew in before they could react. I'd wrap a blanket around her shoulders as she laughed about how she had been thrown overboard and hauled back on more than once.

I've noticed a pattern with Sera. Every time something bad happens to her, she just... starts joking. It's like she can't take it seriously. She refuses to acknowledge her own injuries. I'll usually have to drag her over to Cod. The only time she's taken herself there was when she accidentally cut off part of her ring finger while chopping carrots, and even then, she still tried to deflect it as okay for about thirty seconds. She worries me sometimes.

One night after a storm, Sera didn't laugh. She knocked on my door and waited where she would normally just let herself in. Even when I answered, she just stood in front of the door, dripping wet from the pouring rain with her head hanging. I could barely hear her when she asked to come inside.

I wonder if it's possible to purge memories. The ones after Yumi's death are all blurred. Those aren't gone, though. I want them gone entirely, so I wouldn't even know that I was remembering them strangely.

Alas.

The ocean's calm, at least.

"Rumi." I jump slightly. The newcomer's soft voice surprised me, somehow so much louder than everything else. I glance at the sky instead of her. The light's changed. I have no idea how long I was staring out at the mostly-flat ocean.

I identify her by the stitching at the hem of her shirt as I turn to watch the ocean again.

"Figured I'd find you here," Mechi says vaguely.

"Yes, well..." I respond, equally non-specific.

There is more silence. I assume Mechi is admiring the sea.

"You made her cry, you know," she says after a few minutes.

"Okay." Mechi sighs.

"Showed up on our doorstep," she furthers.

"Okay." Mechi shifts next to me.

"She was bawling her eyes out about how she upset you. She blames herself for every little thing you do, you know."

"That seems like her problem."

"Gods, Rumi, don't you care? You're her best friend," Mechi says, irritated. I finally turn to her so I can glare at her.

She's exactly as she always is. Blank. Mechi does not show her emotions much. It's not deliberate, I don't think.

"Why should I care about what Sera blames herself for? Why should her issues be mine, too? When did I agree to that?" Mechi flexes her hands.

"When you became her friend, that's when," she says, maintaining her composure. I turn away from her. Mechi sighs again. "It's sort of difficult to calm her down when she gets like that, you know." I do know. I've known Sera for longer than she has. I hate it when people act like they know her better than me.

"She loves contact, yeah?" Mechi continues. "Likes having her hair fixed, likes being hugged, likes being held. She loves to have somebody wrap their arms around her." Mechi pauses for a moment. "Affection. From someone she trusts. That's all she really needs."

There's another long pause between the two of us.

"To make her feel safe again. You know how it is."

She's saying all that like she did it. That's all oddly intimate for someone who's just her friend. Mechi's not close to her like I am. I'm the only one who's allowed to do things like that. That's what I do with Sera, not her. That's ours, not hers. And I don't like what she's implying with that snarky little last comment. The sand crunches in my clenched fists.

"You're too cruel to her. You're on a good path to lose her, you realise." She really thinks she knows what she's talking about, doesn't she? "I can tell when she's upset. I can tell when she's scared. I know how she gets when you get angry."

Oh, of course. Because Mechi knows everything, apparently. She acts like this sometimes, like she's the smartest person in all of Panem. She acts like she's so much better than me.

Sera doesn't "get" anything when I'm angry. She knows it's not really her fault. It's not even directed at her most of the time. I always apologise to her afterwards, too. I hate to see her upset. Which I recognise better than Mechi.

Mechi doesn't have any right to assume things about me and Sera. She knows far less than I do. And she's making me angry. I bet she's doing it on purpose so she can lie some more and say that I'm always like this. Fine then. If she wants me to be angry, I'll get angry.

"Really?!" I snap at her. She doesn't flinch. "You really have the audacity to say that?! I've known Sera for fifteen years! You've known her for - for not even a third of that! Do you think you're even remotely capable of knowing her like I do?! Do you really think that you - "

"She says you scare her sometimes," Mechi says levelly, cutting me off. "She says you aren't really yourself."

I don't scare Sera. We're friends. She's not scared of me. She knows me. Maybe... maybe once, years ago, I did scare her, but we talked about that! And besides, she'd tell me if she was afraid of me. She wouldn't tell Mechi instead. She wouldn't hide her feelings from me. She wouldn't betray me like that.

I know Mechi's lying. She's doing it to make me angry. Sera would never betray me. Sera would never say that I'm not myself. She knows me. She knows who I am. She's the only one who does.

Mechi is a liar.

"You've got an excellent tactic right now, actually," she says, still daring to speak. "You're absolutely awful to her, then you tell her you care about her and act so sweet about it." How dare she. How dare she. I'm not. I'm not anything she says I am. I'm nothing she says I am. She's everything she says I am, if anything! She's the -

"What, are you just going to sit there and get redder?" Mechi prods. She's waiting for me to come to any kind of a conclusion on my own. I have a conclusion for her. I have so many conclusions for her, and right now, a lot of them end in her blood decorating the sand.

"You don't know anything about us!" I shout, going in the least violent direction. "I care about Sera! More than you ever could! And I -"

"You're doing such a great job manipulating Sera, Rumi."

She's so pretentious. She's so smug. She's so proud of herself. She thinks she knows me. She thinks she knows Sera. Sera is my friend, not hers. Sera spends the most time with me. Sera is mine.

She's mine, all mine. Mechi should give in. She's mine. She's not Mechi's, she's not Tyra's, she's not any of those stupid boys', she's definitely not Ozzie's. She's mine.

"That's why she's afraid," Mechi says, so quietly. I must have said all that out loud. I don't care. It's true. She knows it's true. And she knows she's lying.

Something breaks. Some restraint I was keeping, it's gone. She thinks she can say all that. All that without consequence. She thinks that because she's just oh so important, she can do whatever she wants.

I wasn't raised to take disrespect like that. I wasn't trained to tolerate attitude like hers. And I won't.

I strike her, hard. It knocks her over, and she cries out. I stand. She rubs the side of her face. She looks up at me. Where have I seen that expression before..?

I don't care. I don't care.

"Stand up," I snarl. She's afraid. She's cowering at my feet. She didn't expect to be hit.

Something tugs at me, at the back of my mind. I ignore it. I demand that Mechi stands up again. This time, she obeys. I hit her again. It doesn't... do as much this time.

I hit her with just as much force. I think.

I punch out at her again, but she brings her guard up and blocks it. I am abruptly reminded that Mechi has had nearly identical training to me. She sends a violent blow into my cheekbone, causing me to tear up.

I punch her in the teeth on my rebound. Her hand instinctively flies to her mouth. I take my opportunity and kick her knee, knocking her down.

I bring my own knee violently into her face.

It doesn't occur. So I bring my own knee violently into her face.

Don't I? She's at the perfect angle for it. It would probably break her nose. So I bring my own knee violently into her face.

But I don't. I stand. Useless. Mechi looks up at me. She swipes the back of her hand across her mouth, stepping up and away from me. Her face softens.

"I can tell you aren't trying," she says quietly. She doesn't even have a lisp. "You don't really want to hurt me. You're just angry."

"Shut up," I hiss. There's a good, cold fury in my voice. Mechi's expression is one of pity.

"You only did that because you hate that what I said was true."

How many times do I have to tell her? How many times do I need to bruise her? How many times do I need to split her lip?

She is a liar. I love Sera. I don't hurt her. I hate hurting her. I don't mean to. I mean it every time, and I regret it so much more every time. Something in me always whispers that she deserves it. Something in me is wrong. Some part of me is broken.

I must be doing something stupid with my face.

"You need to go talk to her. She loves you, Rumi. And you keep on breaking her heart," Mechi says, her voice weak and wavering. I mishear what she says next. I must've.

Because otherwise, Mechi just said that Sera is going to die.

Mechi wipes one of her eyes.

"I tried to talk her out of it. She said she didn't have a choice." Something icy spreads in my chest.

"She's rigged the Reaping, Rumi. For you. It's going to be her. I don't know why. She could have done anything else." Mechi is lying. Again. She must be lying. She must be. The ice creeps up my spine.

"Does she have a death wish?" I demand, although it's more desperate and pathetic and on the verge of tears than actually demanding. Mechi laughs, cold and hollow.

"Same thing I asked her," she mutters. "She didn't tell me. She just gave me this sad smile." I grab her, seizing her by the collar. The ice reaches my arms. I will not let go of her until she tells me the truth. Mechi reaches up to try to free herself, her hands landing on my wrists.

"I don't believe you," I hiss, more strangled than I would have liked it to be. It's true. I don't believe her. I won't believe her. I don't want to. Mechi shakes her head.

"It's what she told me, Rumi," she says, voice low.

My veins freeze over.

"It's my fault that she knew," Mechi says, shame colouring her face. "I overheard a guy we know, I forgot his name, bribing Papa to rig it to be you." Mechi squeezes my arms tighter.

"He accepted. Because he's shameless," she mutters angrily. "So I told Sera, because what else was I supposed to do? Let her watch you die?" she spits. Her words boil with anger and resentment.

"She got him to make it all her name," she says, some of the hate leaving her voice to make room for defeat. "He wouldn't listen to me when I asked him to just drop the whole thing."

Tears drip down her face as her posture weakens.

"He hates the Kaishurrs. He was basically being paid to kill one of them," she says. "I don't know what she's planning to stop you from volunteering, but Sera's smart. She's going to be in the Games." I release her, staggering back. I am cold. I am unnaturally cold, on this nice, warm morning.

The ocean laughs at me.

The ice does not release its horrible grip as my body starts to move. Mechi moves out of the way as the beach rushes past, the sand giving way to earth and the earth giving way to concrete.

My chest tightens. I can't breathe.

My feet carry me forward. I can't see. All I can hear is my heart hammering in my ears. And Mechi's awful words, echoing over and over again.

She's going to die. She's going to die. She's going to die. She's going to die, and it's my fault.

I can't go fast enough. My top speed is not fast enough. I am not strong enough. I can't save her. We're both going to drown.

Blood is spreading through the water like a grim plume. Rain is cutting into us like knives. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't. I can't. I can't. I can't. I can'tIcan't. Ican'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan't.

WhyisnobodyherewhyisnobodyhelpinguswhyisshenotbreathingwhyamIuselesswhyamIworthlesswhycan'tIsaveherwhywhywhywhywhypleasepleasepleaseI'msorryI'msosorrypleaseopenyoureyespleaseplease -

A scream tears at my throat, but it comes out as a stream of bubbles, and comes back in as suffocating, surrounding water. Every desperate, sprinted step hurts. Everything hurts. My clothes feel heavy. Seawater burns my eyes and nose.

We will drown. We will drown, and it is my fault. She hadn't insisted. I had a choice. We will die. I am drowning. I am drowning. I am drowning.

I can't breathe. I can hear the ocean. Crashing waves. Dragging me down with no remorse. No mercy. No care.

Water roars in my ears. It hates me. It's always hated me. It let me feel safe for a long time, so I'd let my guard down. So it could kill me. It's docile when I see it, when the sun shines.

It shows me its true nature when it storms. It shouts at me, comes for me, hungers for me.

I fear it. Not when I am not alone. It doesn't dare touch me when I am not alone. But I know how cruel it truly is. It hates.

It consumes me. It swallows me whole and does not notice. It does not care what it is doing to me. It does not care how it seeps the life from me.

I can't move fast enough.

She comes into focus. Her face. Her head. Her mouth. The blood around her. The blood on the docks.

She turns to face me. I see her eyes widen. Through my pain and my rain and my desperation, I see her.

My arms come around her body. We fall to the ground. The solid, dry ground. I fall into blood-spoiled blonde curls and the forever poisoned scent of petrichor and saltwater and rotting wood and blood and exposed bone and desperate screaming and tear stained cheeks and regret and pain and lasting injuries and warm nights and happy embraces and death and love and loss.

I'm sorry, I tell her. I'm so sorry.

AUAUAUAGSHIFIFITUSHSIOIIIAHAHAHAHAHHAHGUUEGWHEHHAHAIIIIAUAUAUAUUA <3<<3<3<3<3<3<<3<3<<<<3<3<3<3&&3&3&3&3&3^÷&&##;×&@&×;×&&×,÷;=;$;<3<_3_<3<3<3<3<3<3<3💛🖤💛🖤🖤🖤💛🖤💜🖤🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜💛💜✨️💜💜💜💜✨️💅💅🖤✨️🖤🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤✨️🖤✨️

I had wanted to actually do the scene of Rumi tackling Sera on the dock from the most recent chapter, however I can't actually draw people that good in this style, so instead feel sad whilst looking at a neutral sunset >:]

@organised-disaster

The girlies but 🤏

I like this combination. For a song I'd never even conceptualised of it pairs surprisingly well with this unfinished drawing

@randosfandos DARED to suggest drawing the girlies with musical accompaniment so now I'm FORCING them to view this muahaha >:]

I DID MY BEST OKAY

Jokes aside, I'm actually pretty proud of this. Ignoring the legs (please anybody who knows how to draw legs help me), it's mostly fixed from the original. I even put a little watermark on it (although it'd be weird if anyone thought this was good enough to steal lol)

The horns are little bit eeeehhhh but they're okay I think

@randosfandos THIS IS THE LAST TIME I TAG YOU ON THIS DRAWING I PROMISE