There had been many versions scrapped, balled up, tossed in the wastebasket just beneath the sleek desk as the night wore on. He often stared at a blank page, taunting him, tugging at his hair for the right things to say, and whenever he did write it didn’t feel like enough. The final letter was imperfect, barely legible through his impatient hand that could never keep up with his racing thoughts, but he wasn’t going to go into the Arena without writing it. He refused to not.
The final note was finished just as the sun broke over the horizon, spilling into the city below.
Satch,
I guess if you’re getting this, it’s because I died.
I’m sorry. I didn’t want to, I promise. I was going to make every effort to make it out alive and come back to you, really. Please don’t be angry at me. Or Abel, or Liz, or anyone. I wanted things to go differently, but it’s not anyone’s fault.
I’m writing this because I felt like I didn’t get to say everything I wanted before time ran out. I wanted to spend the rest of my life telling you this stuff, but this is the closest I’ll be able to come now.
You are perfect. You are good and intelligent and beautiful in every way. I love your smile. I love your passion for what you do. I love your courage. I wish just about everything that happened was different, because in any other universe, with any other circumstance, we would have had a chance.
But I don’t regret meeting you, I don’t regret the time I got with you. I’ve never met someone I saw some kind of future with before. It’s a stupid cliche, the type of stuff my mom harps about, but I really did feel like I’d known you my whole life. Like we were something meant to be. I wish we’d had more time to figure out what it was that was.
Satchel, you’re something special. You’re a miracle in a dark world like this. If there’s anyone who deserves the longest, happiest life in all of Panem, it’s you. Look out for Abel and Liz. Remind them sometimes they’re idiots. And that I love them.
I’ll tell the stars you said hello.
Love,
Eli
With reverence, he neatly folded the letter in half, then into quarters, and slid it carefully in front of the Tarot cards in their beautiful box. He carefully placed the deck at the center of the desk, then on another piece of paper wrote: Give to Satchel McQueen if I don’t come home.
A knock at his door startled him. “Coming!” he called, shrugging on a hoodie, then checked his pocket for his token.
On the way out, one hand on the doorknob, he cast one more glance to the violet box, lonely atop the empty desk in the empty room. Then closed the door.
the parties his parents threw weren’t too bad if he could only manage to stay out of their sights. and tonight, by the grace of the gods, it was crowded; easy to slip away in.
“i don’t remember seeing you on the guest list.” there were more than a few people here that rust was pretty sure hadn’t been invited, he had only singled him out because it was just nice to see someone his age. and it was weird, because he hadn’t seen satchel at the parties in a while, actually, now that he thought about it. “have you had a drink yet?? they’re letting me mix drinks tonight, i could get you something,” he offered. mother and father hadn’t exactly agreed to letting rust behind the bar, but the bartenders didn’t know that much.
What your muse’s name is in mine’s phone: Satchel 👛
What your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone: Whatever Satchel’s current profile picture is (Saiyyad saved it once they added each other on social media)
What your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone: Dress You Up by Madonna
My muse’s last text to your muse: “I’ve got the afternoon off, wanna hang out?”
