"Maybe it's been years
since I genuinely smiled.
Maybe it's been years
since I wanted to be apart of anything."
Dexter Lowhill, District Elevens sixth winner of the 69th Hunger Games at the ripe age of eighteen years old.
It was his last reaping for...
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"Pure as the driven..."
6 years before the Quarter Quell
Part of Archer was glad that he wasn't allowed to watch the 69th Hunger Games.
At first, the twelve-year-old argued with his parents all day to be allowed to watch it. He watched all the interviews and behind the scenes, and he wanted to make sure his brother would be okay. If Archer was watching it, then nothing bad could happen to Dexter.
It's not like Archer couldn't hear it. It played on a constant loop in the living room, partly because his parents didn't want it off, and partly because they couldn't turn it off at all. It was mandatory for every house in the districts to watch the Hunger Games every year. His parents wouldn't have turned it off, anyway, wanting to keep an eye on their eldest son. One of them was always in front of the TV, being allowed to take a couple of days off from work as their son was selected. One of them was home every other day just to keep an eye on the boy, while the other worked longer hours to make up for the other not working. Archer worked longer hours, too, but there was only so much he could do at eleven years old.
Archer wouldn't say it out loud, but he felt like his parents blamed him for Dexter's fate. They looked at him funny now that Dexter was gone, and it was no secret Dexter was the favorite of the two. He was hard-working, did all the housework, and worked day and night to keep their family stable. It's not that they didn't love Archer, as he was their youngest son, but they didn't necessarily like him. Especially now that Dexter was gone, with a very good chance of him never coming home, Archer was easy to blame. His name was the one that was called, not Dexters. Dexter was just a good person.
Archer sat at the dining room table, waiting patiently for his parents to leave. They were out to go get some food, as they've been fairly low since Dexter left. Archer never realized how much Dexter did for them until he was gone.
"We'll be back in a couple of hours," his mom kissed him on the forehead, eyes still glossy and full of tears. She held his face in her hands, practically squeezing the life out of his cheeks. "Do not watch the TV, okay? You can listen all you want, but don't... don't watch," she whispered, voice cracking a bit as she spoke.
Archer just nodded numbly, feeling his own eyes gloss over. She patted his cheek and took her husband's hand, and the two were out the door just as quickly. His dad didn't look at him once.
Archer wiped his eyes, looking down at the small table before over at the living room area. He a small "They can't tell me what to do" and got up. He wasn't keen on watching his brother fight for his life, but he just missed him so badly, that was better than not seeing him at all.
He brushed his hands on his pants, slowly stalking over to the small projector in their room that faced the blank wall. He poked his head out, curly hair in all different directions. He brushed the hair from his eyes and focused them on the games. Archer didn't step into the room, just a little too scared to commit to disobeying his parent's direct orders.
