Fxm (bio)

I tried to stay put.

I folded myself into the corners of the house,

into the smell of brine and polished wood,

into the rhythm of waves that used to mean comfort and safety.

But the walls would not hold me.

Could not offer me any solace,

when I saw him on that screen.

I saw the crimson swirl in the blue depths.

I saw the light leave his eyes.

My vision went white when it hit me,

like a wave crashing into my temple.

And somewhere in that endless brightness,

I buried my baby sister too.

I keep thinking if I close my eyes

I will hear her laugh from the top of the stairs,

feel her tug at my braid,

demanding that I watch her do something reckless.

But the house does not echo anymore.

It swallows everything whole.

There is a sound the ocean makes at night,

when it pulls away from the shore—

a hollow ache,

the sound of the water leaving.

That sound keeps me awake at night.

Lives deep in my skin.

I loved both of them in quiet ways.

Small acts of love that I wish showed how much I care.

In packed lunches.

In the mornings we shared.

Sitting in the sand while the sun rose.

In the intricate braids I weaved into her soft ginger hair,

right before our walk to school.

In promises of a life together that I foolishly believed the world would honor.

I love him in the calm that made me think:

Perhaps the world was not as cruel as it had always been.

And I love her in the way older sisters do—

half pride, half prayer,

never imagining the prayer would be needed.

Something inside of me cracked

when the echoing booms of the cannon faded into silence.

I didn’t break out loud.

Not enough for anyone to notice at first.

But grief is a current.

It does not ask permission.

It does not care how well you can swim.

If I walk toward the horizon,

it is only because I cannot breathe standing still.

Standing here.

If I follow the quiet

past where the gulls circle

and where the cliffs remember their names,

please forgive me for the shape my sorrow has taken.

I was built to care,

to mend,

to wait for their return.

I was not built

The early mornings are always humid, but today the air feels heavier. Seems even nature knows what day it is.

I dress in the dark, fingers fumbling with the thin ties of my shift dress as I creep around my shared bedroom. The house creaks every few seconds, settling against the salty breeze. Each sound makes my heart climb into my throat. If Kipper wakes up, I’ll have to make up an excuse—get water, check the nets, anything except the truth.

I braid my hair quickly, the sandy-blonde strands slipping between my fingers. I slid on my sandals. My nose stings with its usual sunburn, but I don’t bother with the cooling balm. I’m only going to be out for a little while. Just long enough to see him. Just long enough to pretend today isn’t what it is.

I slide down the staircase, silent on the wood. The smell of brine and smoked fish hangs in the air, homey, familiar, almost comforting. I wish it worked today.

The door groans faintly when I ease it open. I hold my breath, waiting. Nothing. The house stays silent.

Outside, the sky is still dark, painted with streaks of blue-black. The ocean, just past the end of our road, crashes in slow, sleepy waves. I head toward the cliffs, the route I’ve memorized in a way I shouldn’t have had to memorize anything. It’s Baylee’s route too; we chose it because no one else comes out here before sunrise.

The cobblestones are cool with the nighttime breeze. Richer part of town or not, the sea doesn’t care—it leaves salt crusting the houses, the fences, even the air.

I find him exactly where I knew he’d be: sitting on the edge of the rock shelf, elbows on his knees, tapping his thumb and index finger together in that quiet, thoughtful rhythm he always has when he’s nervous. Baylee never admits when he’s nervous. But I know.

His green eyes lift when he hears my steps, softening when they meet mine.

“Cori,” he says under his breath, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. He stands, brushing sand from his palms. When he steps close, his hand instinctively finds my shoulder—his habit. He needs that anchor even if he pretends he doesn’t.

“Hi,” I whisper, heart pounding harder than it should. “You’re early.”

“So are you.”

We both laugh quietly. The breeze pushes his hair back, leaving his freckles more visible in the dim blue light. For a moment, I just look at him, taking in the details like I might not get to again. I hate thinking that. I hate that the thought even exists.

“Well,” I murmur, “today’s the day.”

His jaw tenses for just a second. Anyone else wouldn’t notice.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” he assures, voice steady but eyes betraying him. “No Pike. No Burnham. We’ve been… lucky.” He tries to smile again, gentle and patient like always. It almost works.

I wrap my arms around myself. “I wish I believed you.”

He exhales slowly, then tilts his head. “Come here.”

When I step into him, his arm comes around me, warm and grounding—he never loves being touched, but I’m one of the exceptions. My cheek presses against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, which betrays him. I know he’s just as nervous as I am.

For a while, we just stand there, listening to the waves breathing against the rocks. The silence is almost comfortable, almost enough to make me forget what day it is. Almost.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” I say suddenly, my voice barely above the wind.

“About what?” Baylee asks, glancing down at me.

“Leaving,” I murmur. “Running off. Past the cliffs, past the District… just—going.” I shrug, embarrassed by how childish it sounds. “People say there’s nothing out there. The Capitol watches everything. But sometimes I wonder if that’s just what they want us to think.”

Baylee lets out a quiet breath, half a laugh, half disbelief. “Cori…”

“I know,” I whisper quickly. “I know it’s stupid. But sometimes I imagine it. Waking up somewhere the Reaping doesn’t exist. Somewhere where Kipper doesn’t have to train every day, where Marlo can grow up without being scared, where you…”

I pause, my throat tightening.

“…where you’re not risking your life every time you dive too deep.”

His expression softens, but there’s a gravity behind it. “It’s not stupid,” he says quietly. “It’s just dangerous. Especially today of all days.”

“I know.”

I look back out at the ocean—endless and dark and wide enough to swallow all our fears. “But sometimes I think drowning in open water would be kinder than living under this.”

He turns fully toward me then, his hand brushing my arm, not quite holding, but close. “If there was a way,” he says quietly, “I’d take you. You know that, right?” The hope in my chest pulses once. It’s almost painful.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I know.” I sigh and lean my head against him.

“I’m scared for Kipper,” I admit. But what I don’t say—is that I’m also terrified for him.

He sets his chin lightly on top of my head. “I’ll look out for her if anything happens. You know that.” A beat. “I’d keep her safe. I promise, Cori.” Guilt punches through me. Kipper likes him. Everyone sees it. I see it most of all. She trusts him.

I love him. And she doesn’t know.

“Baylee…” My throat tightens. He pulls back a little to look down at me. His eyes are soft despite the tension in them. “Hey. Don’t start that. Nothing’s happening today. You’ll see.” The sky is lightening now—lavender and rose creeping upward.

We’re running out of time.

He reaches up, brushing his thumb gently across the bridge of my sunburned nose. “You didn’t put balm on again.”

“I was… distracted.”

He smiles faintly. “By me?” I push his shoulder lightly, embarrassed. “By Reaping Day.”

But he knows. Of course he knows.

He steps closer again, forehead resting against mine for a brief, fragile moment. “After the ceremony,” he murmurs, “meet me here again. Got it?” That promise settles like a stone in my stomach.

“I will,” I whisper.

He nods, taps his thumb and forefinger together twice, and lets go of me slowly, like it hurts him. “You should get back before your father wakes up,” he says.

“I know.”

I take a few steps back, memorizing the way he looks in the pale morning light—brown hair mussed by the wind, freckles scattered like constellations, worry tucked into the corner of his mouth. “Baylee?”

“Yeah?” he replies.

“Be safe today.”

“You too.”

I turn and walk toward home, heart hammering, salty air stinging my eyes. The sun climbs higher behind me, bright and merciless. And all I can think—all I can feel—is a heavy, awful fear: