red.

He had talked to her many times before, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Or rather she had talked and he had listened; he was never a boy of many words. What their conversations were about, he can no longer remember. In his mind he can only see snatches of her, like broken shards of a mirror that he'll never be able to put together again.

If you asked him what he loved most about her, he would tell you that it's the way she smelt. Like apples of the sweetest kind, even after the Capitol showered her with their artificial crap. She smelt of early mornings in the orchards, of a lilting melody on a summer morning, of something much deeper that tugged on his heartstrings. She was childhood and happiness, that girl. The girl with cheeks as rosy as the apples that she plucked so effortlessly.

She had a bracelet with a single bead, a red teardrop hanging delicately from her wrist. She had smiled and ducked her head as he asked her about it, on that one rare occasion when he finally grasped enough words to voice what he felt. She never told him about it, about that bracelet. He never got to see it again either. Perhaps she had purposefully left it behind. But he suspected the Capitol had something to do with this. Robbing a child of a much-loved token. How low could they possibly go?

He had never seen someone laugh like her. Like she'd been lit up from within, a softly glowing beacon of happiness. People smile, sure, but the joy never seemed to reach their eyes. With her, it's as though her delight is showing her a whole new world. Even though this was the Hunger Games. Even though the odds weren't in her favour. What wouldn't he give just to have a portion of her outlook. But he had to be content with letting her be his light in the darkness. His adopted little sister.

They had marked him out to be the strong one of the pair, the one with the huge chance of returning back home again. They had equated bulk to bravery, and it shamed him to deny that honour. He had ran, not looking back. Out of harm's way in his ocean of swaying stalks, he had told himself that she'll come. Yet minutes and hours and days passed, and even though her face is safe from the sky, his adopted little sister is nothing but a memory. It was not his fault that she hadn't come, that he couldn't protect her. Or was it?

The sky was a burning scarlet when the anthem started, the sun yet to disappear beneath the horizon. Vaguely familiar faces flash across the sky, a blond-haired boy and another with chocolate curls. If not for the district banner beneath their faces, he would've been at a lost as to who they were. He had never been good with faces. But he couldn't have mistaken the next person for the world, not even if he had to pick her out blindfolded.

Her sweet face hung in the sky, ghostly in front of the dying sunset. The heat in the field suddenly became too much for him. It was all his fault. If only he had done something. If only he had looked for her. If only he protected her, like a brother ought to protect his sister. In the eerie red light, it was as though he was drowning in her blood and his regret.

And all the while, the only thing he could smell was apples. Rosy, sweet apples like home, like childhood, like happiness.

Like her.