Happy.

I remember when I was younger, I had always crept to the edge of the false farm fields towards the towering rock wall dividing District 11 from District 12 and I chipped little crevices into it. I had done so since I was three, and one day, when I was eight, I had dug the hole all the way through the wall, and found a single, shimmering golden-brown eye staring back at me. I remember squealing a little, then clamping my hand over my mouth in an attempt to silence my rebelling vocal chords. A boy. It was just a boy. For two more years, I made the whole big enough to see more of what was beyond the wall, but small enough for my superiors to overlook, and on the eve of the Reaping, I saw who the boy was. He came back to that wall every day since we saw each other, and dug on the other side, in District 12. When the hole was almost big enough for my hand to fit through, I finally heard his voice, and he finally heard mine.

"Gale Hawthorne," he said, staring at me intently with his doe eyes.

"Sierra Lockewood," I say back. As we make a promise not to tell anyone about this, I hear Gale gasp.

"What?" I recall whispering back. I don't get an answer, though, because I am pulled to my feet and turned to meet the angry face of my landlord. He takes me to his beautiful plantation, somewhere where no bad things should happen, and tears my clothes off and beats me. He beats me till my face is swollen and my body bloodied and covered in dirt. His wife and son watch, motionless and emotionless, as if they could not do something to stop him. His daughter, on the other hand, is laughing. Her laughter is full of glee, and I remember wanting to watch her cry as her bare back is being slashed with a whip and as her face is cut with a glittering knife. I never went back to that hole in the wall until I was fifteen.

"Sierra," I hear a whisper as I plow the fields late at night, another price I had to pay after I was caught scraping the hole in the wall. I ignored it, thinking it was just the wind whispering to me. The voice repeated my name, this time a little louder. I turned around and saw Gale crawling through the hole. As he stands, he brushes the dirt off his stained brown work pants, and straightens to his full height. He is far above me. I look down, ashamed of my wrecked features. Gale remains silent as he puts a finger below my chin and pushes upward, forcing me to look up. I do not speak as he studies me.

"What did they do to you, Sierra?" He whispers to himself as I stare at him, my hard, unwavering eyes staring relentlessly at his, soft and golden and bottomless. I know what he sees. He sees a long, long scar running down my temple and disappearing below the collar of my shirt. A scar with harsh ridges that have badly healed and burns along the side of my neck. A girl, who may have once been beautiful, destroyed. He is running a finger down my scar now, and I flinch and my gaze falters.

"Gale," I whisper cautiously. His finger continues down my neck, following the path of the scar that has ruined me.

"Gale," I say once again, this time, more alarmingly. He unbuttons the top of my shirt, and I am tempted to push him off, but I am paralyzed. Once he is done unbuttoning, I am left in only a thin white undershirt, which Gale can see through, and a bra. I gulp as I watch his eyes trace the scar down my stomach to where it ends: my bellybutton. Then, he begins to see what the landlord really did to me. He sees bruises that have never healed, purple and green and blue blotches all over my stomach. I look up, and somehow, he can hear what I am thinking: my landlord didn't just beat me. Gale is still silent as his eyes just stare at my battered body in horror.

"Like what you see?" I ask him bitterly as I quickly fasten the buttons and turn to walk away. Before I could make my great escape, Gale grabs my arm and reels me back, and I feel as if I am about to cry.

"This is all because of a hole in the wall?" Gale asks, and I can tell that he is afraid of my answer. I nod, and Gale cradles my face in his big hands. He has grown so much since I was ten.

"How old were you then?" he continues.

"Ten," I say, trying to keep my voice from breaking and trying to hold myself together.

"So you're fifteen now," Gale says, more of a statement than a question. I nod once more as he runs a hand through his tousled hair.

"Wow," he muttered.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Seventeen," Gale replies. He looks up at me as I do the same. He opens his mouth to say something, but I will never know because I wrapped my arms around him, buried my head in the crook of his neck, and started weeping. Long, pained weeps which showed him how much my landlord affected me. Clearly, I took Gale by surprise, because he stiffens, then relaxes and wraps his arms around my frame. He guides me towards the wall of rock, that can't even divide Gale and me. We stay there all night, curled up in each others arms, and my sobs subside to whimpers, which merely melt away into soft snores. Even I am surprised that I could be this close to someone who is almost a stranger.

I am in the deepest sleep when I realize I am perfectly content, lying next to Gale, under a full moon in an empty field. I am in the deepest sleep when I realize I am happy.



Daylight breaks my sleep, and the next think I know, I am shaking Gale awake, who has his arm wrapped around me. He mumbles incoherent words before I finally hear something I can discern: "What?"

"Dawn," is all I say before he stumbles to his feet.

"I'll come back later tonight," is all he says before swiftly pressing his lips to my cheek. I am stunned, wide awake, as he climbs back through the hole and back to District 12.

I am already plowing the fields at six o'clock in the morning when I realize today is the reaping. A couple of hours pass, and it's already past noon. I walk past the fields, now empty, and into my little shack of a home, which is more towards District 10. My mother greets me with a quiet hello as I analyse the dress placed on my cot. It is a basic dress the colour of night, but the threads have touches of silver and gold which you can only see at an angle. I breathe out heavily, stunned at how my mother could find such a dress, much less afford one.

"How did you..." I trail off, but my mother is quick to respond.

"A little boy dropped it off," she says. I hold back a grin.

"Was it Ruby's boy?" I ask. "How can they afford such a beautiful dress?"

"No," Mother replies, knocking me into a stupor.

"Yes, Ruby's son did drop it off, but he said a young man gave it to him."

"A young man?" I reply. My mother is confusing me even more.

"He specifically said that this young man gave it to him through a hole," she said, which is when realization strikes me. Gale.



I am at the Reaping when I see a familiar face that I can't help but smile at. Why did he even come? I ask myself as I feel my feet taking me towards him.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, and I curse myself because my voice sounds breathless.

"Wanted to get to know the girl behind the wall better," he says with an easy grin, as if the things he saw last night did not affect him at all. We ignore Lucia Flint, the escort for the District 11 tributes until I hear my name called, loud and clear.

"Sierra Lockewood!" My name is amplified, and I freeze in Gale's warm embrace.

"Sierra," he whispers, and I know I am done for. I am in a daze as I walk towards the podium and Lucia Flint gives me an over friendly squeeze. The male tribute of District 11 is called up, a name I don't seem to know, so I don't bother to pay attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Sierra Lockewood and Ky Restamin, the District 11 tributes for the 76th Hunger Games!" The last thing I hear is my mother screaming for me, and my eight year old brother crying. The last thing I see is the Officials holding my father back from running to me.



When I step off the train, I realise I am no longer Sierra Lockewood. I am no longer the girl from District 11, nor am I the daughter of an unsuccessful farmer. I am the winner of the 76th Hunger Games. I am a champion.

Cameras and flashing lights greet me, heavily blinding my eyes, which are drooping from lack of sleep. I smile and offer half-hearted waves, which just drives the crowd wild. It's my birthday, but they don't know. I don't think they would care even if they knew, but I do know who cares. My family. Gale. I stumble home, desperately trying to avoid the public and just wanting to be with my mother. I run to my brother as soon as I see him and I cradle him in my arms. My parents are crying, and my father does not bother covering his tears. My father pulls a small box out of my mother's hands. She does not resist. He walks over, kisses me gently on the cheek, then gives the box to me.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he says, smiling. I open the box, and am in awe. The most beautiful ring is staring back at me. It is a simple gold band with moons and stars all over it.

"It was your grandmother's," my mother manages to say before her body collapses on mine and I am suddenly the centre of a group hug. As soon as my parents sit down, my brother hands me his gift: a music box.

"How did you find this?" I ask him as his big, blue eyes stare back at me. He motions for me to bend down, and I do so. His tiny hands cup around my ear.

"I stole some of the crops and traded them for this," he replies, giggling. I give him an extra squeeze before I stand up and walk towards the door.

"I'll only be a few minutes!" I shout before anyone can stop me. I break into a sprint, something I've improved on since the Games ended. I get to the wall, my breaths loud and long, the peer into the hole before I notice Gale, leaning coolly on it with his arms crossed, beside me. I open my mouth to ask who the District 12 tributes were, but he is already one step ahead of me.

"Jonai Fairwood and Callis Strinely," he says before wrapping me up in a bone-crunching embrace.

"God, I missed you," he said as he buried his head in my hair.

"You barely know me," I say, giggling.

"Oh, before I forget," Gale says, releasing me. "A little somebody told me it was your birthday," he continued as he reached into his jacket pocket.

"Gale, no, you didn't have to get me anything!" I exclaim.

He holds his hand up, silencing me.

And when Gale, the last to grant me birthday wishes, approaches me with a small package in his hand and has me open it, I am rendered speechless.

"The landlord threw this miles away," I say in awe.

"He threw my rock miles away," Gale replies, and I know Gale is glad it was his rock that was thrown into the endless field. Gale presses his forehead against mine, but I am the one who cannot control herself. When our lips touch, I am not kissing a stranger. I am kissing a boy from my childhood, a boy who hasn't abandoned me, a boy who I know is more than just a boy. Gale Hawthorne is the boy that saved the rock that brought us together. I smiled into the kiss as I realized it was Gale Hawthorne who makes me happy. He breaks away to add in three more words.

"Happy birthday, Sierra," his voice is low and throaty, but I don't care. I lean in to kiss him once more.

I never want him to leave.