DOOMSDAY || TREECH

Since returning home it has become clear to Treech that his life is now split in two: before the games and after them. They exist independently with no overlap. Worlds apart but still, Treech can't seem to place himself in one or the other.

Before he would have been woken at the crack of dawn by his weary father and together they would trudge into the forest. Between the monotonous hacking and pulling at tree stumps, he would catch a glimpse of his brothers meandering their way to school in a rowdy pack at the edge of the tree line, then again in the late afternoon. When his day of labor was done and his family's livelihood was secured Treech would be greeted by a home-cooked meal that his mother had lovingly slaved over all day long, a fact she would never let her many incredibly ravenous sons forget. Then he would sleep and do it all again the next day.

Now all he can do is lay in the same bed he has once woken in, excited for each new day, and rot. Occasionally Bentley would drop food at his bedside table which Treech never touched and his brothers would hover in the doorway.

Treech can only assume his parents had warned them not to cross the threshold into his little cave, likely out of fear he would snap and hurt them the same way he had done to his mother. Brooke hadn't been to see him but the boy had caught glimpses of her figure passing his open door, a large black and purple lump blooming across her temple.

After almost a week, when Brooke's bruising had been given time to fade into soft greens and yellows, Treech finds it in himself to rise and dress. Before all of his clothes had been teetering on the edge of being too small, the same shirts he had owned since school filled out by muscles from working in the lumber yards. Now they sag on him, the shoulders of his shirts slipping and the waist of his pants saggy.

There's a stain on his top, a small patch of blood down the side of his sleeve from the time he had elbowed Adler in the face while tackling. Treech changed the shirt as quickly as he could, throwing it into the small bin in the bottom of his closet. When he drags on his boots they too don't fit quite right, not moulded to the shape of his foot properly.

In the kitchen sit his two youngest brothers, practicing their handwriting with small scowls on their faces. Their mother hovering above them with her hands on her hips, "I don't care if you think you wont need it when you start work, you still have -" Her scolding dies in her throat as Treech's heavy boots hit the last step of the stairs.

"Hey." He mumbles eyes firmly planted on his feet, "I think I'm going to go for a walk."

Against his chest Treech clutches a small envelope, filled to the brim with cash. Honestly, He had completely forgotten about the little pouch handed to his by the strange man at the capitol train station, but when he had spotted it kicked half way under his bed curiosity got the better of him. In his hands is only half of what the man had given him, some kind of prize money Treech had assumed.

"Take Ridge with you?" Brooke's chewing at the quicks of her nails nervously, "And don't go to far."

Treech only nodded, gesturing for the nervous looking boy to follow him with a jerk of his head.

They trudged along in silence. The gravel paving the roads under their feet is new, before they had all been dirt paths paved out by the few vehicles that rumbled around  District Seven. Treech wonders where they had gotten the money to fix them.

Slowly, the younger boy reaches out a trembling hand and wraps his fingers around Treech's. Treech can't remember the last time he had held hands with his brothers, he's far too big and far too manly for such things.

"Ma told us not to ask you about it." Ridge mumbles not meeting his brother's eyes, "so I won't if you don't want me to."

Treech's breath catches in his throat and as his grip tightens he can't help but notice the way Ridge's eyes widen, "I'll tell you all about it one day, just not right now."

"That's okay. Where are we going?"

Honestly, Treech isn't completely sure if he's headed in the right direction. Laurel had spoken about living on the west side of town, near one of his old school friends, "I have to visit someone."

"That girl?" Ridge can see right through him, and it makes Treech even more nervous.

"Yeah. I have something I need to give her."

"Huck said she was dead." Ridge states, curiosity glimmering behind his eyes.

"She's not." Treech snaps, the sound of it makes Ridge jump slightly, "Sorry. She's not dead, she was just looked like it."

"Why do you need to see her?" The older brother is starting to get tired of Ridge's prying.

"I have something to give her." Rightfully, Treech cannot keep all of the prize money he's not the only victor and half will be more then enough for his family.

"What?"

"None of you business Ridge!" The boy jumps again, dropping Treech's hand and putting a few feet between them.

"Sorry." Treech mumbles, though the distance between them doesn't close, "Some prize money."

Ridge's eyes light up again, "Prize money? Did you win some too?"

"Yeah."

"How much?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Treech just shrugs, there's too much for him to count, "How about you help me count it when we get home." Ridge has always been the best in school, far more proficient with his reading and writing.

"Okay." The boy grins as his brother comes to a abrupt stop. Infront of them is a small two story cottage, with large windows scattered across its front. In the highest one sits a girl, with long sandy hair and ghostly pale skin. Her forehead is pressed to the glass as she gazes out with a blank stare, "Is that her?"

"Her name is Laurel." Treech gasps, clutching his small package to his chest. She's awake and breathing and well enough to find her way to a window. A perfect gift, worth more then any money the capitol could have given him.