Impavid

Sitting on a chair made out of dried drift wood, I sat silently, hands working as I made hooks. I was good with my hands, able to fashion fishing hooks out of almost any form of wire or pliable material, especially making different knots to form nets. Being from district four had taught me all of that. We were the fishing district, on the coast of the capital.

Next to me, my younger brother began working on another hook, tossing his into the box. We didn’t have to work, not with my victors winnings. But we did it when we got bored, to keep us in the swing of things, and we took the boxes down to the markets and gave them to the fishermen and gave it to them so that they had plenty. It wasn’t much, but it helped.

Other days, we liked to make nets, or go fishing, or even swim in the ocean. I did anything I could to keep Cain active, to treat him like a normal kid who wasn’t on medication. Cain did everything with me to make me feel like everyone else thought I was a celebrity.

I looked at Cain. “Did you take your meds today?”

“Don’t I take them every day?”

“It makes me feel better to ask.”

Cain and I fell into a comfortable silence. We were on my back porch, both of us content to be quiet as we worked. We didn’t always have to talk, my brother and I. Sometimes we went days, working out there in our chairs with nets or hooks, and just remained silent. We could communicate through no utterance of words.

Looking up at the ocean, I could almost see it in front of me, I could almost relive the moment that I knew I would win the games for my brother. Because with winning came promised health, riches and supplies for the rest of your life. The winnings was worth it, for me. I could afford to get my brother medicine, my brother who had seizures plaguing him.

Since I had won, he had had only a single seizure. The doctors diagnosed him and prescribed him something. They had even said they could give him surgery, but my parents and I both refused to put him under the knife. There were few things we wanted from the capitol, after what had happened to me. We were very unforgiving.

After filling the box, we both walked into town. District four was mainly made up of driftwood homes with thatched roofs. We were a rich district, but extravagance wasn’t in our nature. It was a large distract space wise, covering the blue coast with tan skinned and sun-lightened hair. But we had an average amount of people.

People waved at us as we went, and I stopped in the market place to by salt water taffy for Cain. He chewed on it happily as we made it to the fish market on the other side of town, near the docks, approaching one of the women who were head of keeping the men stocked with hooks and fishing line.

“Hi, Mrs. Riley. Here with our small contribution.” The elderly women with silver hair looked up as we walked to her, gravel crunching. She smiled at us, shaking her head as she got up from behind her table where she worked on hooks. “Hope it helps.”

It was routine to say this, for some reason. We knew it helped, but we acted like it wasn’t much. And as routine, she said, “You two kids. You don’t need to be giving us this. Thank you, though. It’s much appreciated.”

So we walked home, shoving each other along the way before we reached my part of town. There were twenty houses in the beachy victors village, but only six of them were occupied. Out of the victors, I spoke to Finnick and Mags. I didn’t have a need for any of the others. They meant little to me.

Cain and I bid our good byes. I leaned over and grabbed him with a single arm, squeezing him into my side and placing a kiss on the top of his head. He looked up at me with the same blue eyes and the similar colored hair.

He made a face. “Do you have to be such a big sister?”

“That’s my job.”

“Do it less.” I gave him a stern look until he rolled his eyes and smiled, hugging me tightly around the middle. “I love you, Lana.”

“Love you too, Caindon. Tell mom and dad I said hello.”

“You could come and tell them yourself.”

I let go of him. “Be safe on your way home.”

Without another word, I walked home. My solitary place, the silence of my life.

As was my routine, I cooked dinner. Oil popped in the pan as I stared at my fish that was frying. I set the table for one, a single plate, knife and fork, one glass of wine. Sometimes I ate with Mags or Finnick. Most nights I remained alone. It was easier that way, to endure it alone. Other people got scared of you went you had flashbacks in the middle of mundane things.

Sitting down, I ate silently. It was as I reached for my glass of wine that my vision blurred and I saw something else. I was reaching out for the girl from fives throat, my hand grabbing her fiercely and squeezing. She fought me but my hand constricted, crushing her wind pipe and making her gasp for air.

I watched as her green eyes flew wide, the light leaving them until her head rolled to the side, eyes going dark. It was like someone had flicked a switch and they were no longer home. She stopped struggling and the cannon went off. Her beautiful face, with high cheekbones and full lips weren’t going to get her a good looking man anymore. I had done that.

Blinking I realized my hand stung. i was in my kitchen again and I looked at my hand. Blood covered my hand as I squeezed the broken shards of my wine glass, the edges cutting into my skin and drawing blood. I hissed slightly, opening my palm to reveal several deep ruts in the skin; I had squeezed the glass so hard it burst, throwing wine on the table cloth as well as my own plasma.

Just like that, I was reminded once again how the ghosts of our pasts could become problems in our future.

*

My eyes focused on the hologram in front of me, watching as Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were portrayed on their victory tour. I sat on my couch, watching with quite contemplation. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire as everyone called her. She had caused quite a stir, her and the boy she claimed to be in love with.

Katniss looked at him on the screen. That was not the look of love. It was the look of survival, one that was a bare shade of what love could be defined as. I admired her for her rebellion and her refusal to become a pawn of the capitol when she had threatened suicide in her games.

This was not the Katniss that I was looking at. The one that I was looking at now, was one who was reading the cards, who was trying to play the part of a lovesick girl. And she was failing miserably.

Finnick let himself in my door, closing it behind him. I merely glanced at him as he removed his shoes before finding me watching the victory tour. He stood behind the back of the couch, watching over my head.

“They’ll be here in two days,” he commented. His voice was indifferent. “We’ll be expected to be on the stage, smiling as always.”

“You say that like smiling is a problem for you, capitol favorite.”

I could hear the smirk in his voice when he replied, “Look who is talking.”

Earlier that evening, Bellona Hopcut had stopped by to give me a run-down and a schedule. She was district fours tribute advisor, organizer, and represented us in the capitol. She managed me, she instructed me, she gave me the cards to read. That was where it ended.

After sighing, Finnick walked around the arm of the couch and sat. In two days the winners of the 74th annual hunger games would be expected to visit our district, give a eulogy for our fallen tributes, and words of celebration and happiness. I had no doubt in my mind that they would be welcome with open arms. In fact, I was supposed to welcome them, as were the other victors of my people.

“I hear talk that her performance has sparked a rebellion,” Finnick murmured quietly. I cut my eyes at him. There were many things Finnick knew. How he knew those things was something I knew, but did not discuss. Ever. “People see her as a beacon of hope. They’re… fighting.”

“They should.” He raised his brows in surprise, but not disagreement. “Make them pay for taking us and putting us through that all for a show.”

“It isn’t just for the show.”

“It doesn’t make me any less vengeful.” When Finnick didn’t reply, I sighed. The tension in the districts would be snuffed out by the capitol. It wouldn’t last long, or he would make an example out of one Katniss Everdeen. “Do they have you wearing something ridiculous tomorrow?”

“A white shirt that hangs open almost down to the naval.”

I laughed. “At least you get pants.”

“At least,” he agreed, “I get pants. Please tell me they’re dressing you up as girly and princess-like as usual?”

During my week in the capitol before the games, I had become the capitols princess. Finnick had presented me in a way that came off like I was a sweet heart, filled with kindness and sweet as sugar melting on one’s tongue. My entire team had played that I was cute and laughable, and when I got in the arena, I became a lethal weapon. I had an image; a flower with thorns.

“Yeah,” I sighed, shrugging. “It’s a beautiful dress. But yes, I will be playing the part of the princess. And you’ll be your cheeky, charming self as usual.”

Finnick’s eyes went back to the holoscreen. “A lot of parts will be played.”

I made a sound of agreement. “It is a stage, after all.”