FAILURE TO COMPLY ┃ f. odair

2.1 letters from a dead friend's brother

There was a certain peace to be found in the monotony of her drawings. Every day since returning to District Five, Calypso had been in the office of her new home hard at work producing new art to appease the Capitol. So far, she'd created pieces that had been sold for thousands upon thousands, all for little more than an hour's work. Landscapes of Five were her favourites, but it was memories from the games that sold the best: her very own recreations of the cornucopia explosion or simply the faces of the fallen tributes, bought by Capitol citizens and idolised like long-dead saints.

Her fingers moved over the black and white surface of the paper, smudging the charcoal into a contour for Maisie's cheek. She could still remember the girl's features well, especially considering she'd drawn her almost every day. With the paper taped down to the table so that she didn't have to stabilise it with her other hand, it had become a habit to lean over the large desk and begin sketching random faces, eventually morphing them into whoever was in the forefront of her mind that day. Today, it was the little dead Odair.

Finishing it off was always the worst part, because she could never get the last few details right. Pulling back from her hunched position, Calypso observed her work silently. It wasn't bad. She'd done better. But this was for her and not the Capitol, so it didn't mean all that much. Pulling the tape off the corners, she stood and began to wander the edges of the room, searching for a place for it on the wall. Six months was long enough that the walls were nearly full now, dozens of Maisies, Poets and Groves staring back at her with no room for the new one she'd produced. It was the perfect physical state of her mind shown in reality. Ever since the games, these three faces were the ones she'd seen more than any other.

"Sorry, Maisie," she sighed, placing the drawing back down on the desk. "I'll have to make room another time."

Taking the drawing out of the room was not in the cards. The house was almost bare, no sign of the person she'd been before the games or even the person she'd become after. It was easier to be nothing at all. It seemed like a good idea at the time to completely abandon the Silva household in favour of her own private abode, and now she'd dug herself in too deep to go crawling home to her father. He hadn't been the same after Priya's untimely demise, and that was ultimately Calypso's fault. In her mind, things were... tense.

Downstairs, the sight of a new letter arriving at the door had her stomach churning. The handwriting was so nice, but it was wasted on someone like her. On the back of the envelope, the sender's name which had grown all too familiar was scrawled in the same font: Finnick Odair. It was heavier than his previous letter, something small and round hidden inside.

Today, her curiosity won out over her aching heart.

Calypso went to her kitchen and grabbed a knife to open the letter with, using her elbow to hold it down on the table while she sliced. Shaking the envelope, its contents fell onto the surface with a soft clink. A silver coin rolled on its edge, and then fell flat to reveal two fish swimming in a loop. Her breath hitched. She stumbled back from the table until making contact with the floor. Even then, she pushed herself away as far as she could go, as if the object were dangerous. It was free of Maisie's blood now, but the presence of her ghost remained with it.

Closing her eyes, Calypso tried to block out the sound of the girl's whimpering as she'd begged for death. She held the knife in her hand with an iron grip until her knuckles turned white, and only when her body was wracked with a sob did she let it go. No one was getting killed today. No one had died by her hand in six months. Things were ok.

Except they weren't, and they would never be ok again. It was near impossible to ignore the panic surging through her, but she reached back up to the table for the accompanying note. Five simple and big words were written boldly: 'Maybe this will get your attention'.