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Well, if you didn't know, this is a prologue sub-story to the 'Girl Who Set the Spark'. I advise that you read the whole 'The Girl Who Set the Spark' series/sub-stories first, mainly because there may be a few things that are explained in that series that will probably not be explained in this sub-story. But of course, that is only my suggestion. Feel free to read what you want when you want to!
And if you didn't know, or if you forgot, most of the sub-story will be told from Enkol's point of view, for those of you who know who is from the other sub-stories (see what I mean by reading those ones first?). There probably will be a few chapters told in Finnick's point of view, but those will be coming later.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.
It's all a blur to me now.
The small things, the tiny details are so sharp, clear as day. But the surroundings, the large figures, they are all hazy. Unfocused. It is strange, seeing my life in this perspective.
Anxol's white-blonde tresses. Donnie's bright beam. My father's callused hands. My mother's almond-shaped eyes. They are all so clear as everything else darkens.
I pray that they will stay with me until the very end.
.
In the start, everything was white. A beautiful, brilliant, dazzling pure white.
How quickly our world darkens.
But in the beginning, everything was as pure as snow. As bright as heaven itself. And I let myself believe that yes, this is the place where I will grow up, and this is the place where I will die. I wouldn't have it any other way. This place was my home.
The narrow streets were all too familiar, knowing every single patch of ice. The woodsy scent of our home, logs burning in the fireplace as the candles flickered merrily. The crisp air that blew in a continual pattern, making our fair wisps of hair dance in the wind.
I knew it all.
And I thought that this was all I ever had to know. I was a woodcutter, and a good one at that. My father was a hunter, my mother a seamstress, my sister a cook. Our family worked in harmony; my father bringing meat and pelts to my sister to cook and for my mother to sew. I brought wood to fuel the ovens and to keep the house warm. My mother made coats, sweaters, jumpers, that kept us warm even on the coldest of nights. My sister made delicious food for us all to keep us going, to keep us fed. We kept each other alive.
No, we never minded hard work. Because hard work was essential in our little town, and without hard work, we would all be dead by the time the harsh winters blew over.
We knew everybody in the small town. There were only fifteen families, houses huddled together as if we could pass each other warmth through the cold stone walls. We all knew each other so well, all friends. We could laugh and joke and tease, and we provided for them while they provided for us.
We all had different jobs that kept us alive. Cobbler. Candle maker. Teacher. Medicine man. Farmer. Between the twenty-three of us living in that small town, we all had different jobs that kept our society alive. Kept each other alive. But no, we didn't think of it as that. We enjoyed what we did, and we took pleasure in sharing our talents with each other. No, it wasn't survival. It was life.
And things were okay.
But then, the great wave came.
.
It was barely noticeable at first. If it wasn't for Anxol, we might not have even noticed it at all.
"The ocean is coming, Enkol. The ocean is coming." She whispered, her pale grey eyes dreamy yet holding all the seriousness in the world.
I didn't believe her at first, I remember; we were kids at the time, only seven years old. I can't even imagine ever being seven years old. It seemed so long ago.
But she was right.
Anxol, who I knew so much, who shared the same face as me and knew me better than anybody else in the world, spoke the truth that later lead to our fate.
I learned to trust Anxol. I learned to believe her, because she saw things I didn't. She saw things that nobody else could see; we were all so busy with the things around us, seeing what was only in front of us. But no, Anxol, even at the age of seven, she saw past all of that. She was right, I knew, but I didn't want to believe her because then I knew the outcome of our fate.
"No, it's not. You're lying, Anxol." I remember yelling at her. "You're a liar and you're crazy!"
I ran away, not even courageous enough to stare back into the perceiving eyes that were identical to my own, yet saw all the things that I couldn't.
The ocean sounded louder that night.
.
Our parents always cautioned us to stay away from the roaring ocean waves. Only the fisher, whose name I am sorry that I cannot remember, was allowed to go to the unruly waves. Our small village was set a few hundred meters away from it; close enough to get the things the ocean provided but far enough to avoid the hazards of the untamed waters.
But Anxol somehow, could balance on the perilous rocks that lined the raging surf. She walked, barefoot, on the sharp rocks that fell into the unforgiving ocean.
She used to sleepwalk. I was the only one who knew, and even she did not know herself. She would walk out to the sea and I would follow her. Something was pulling her to the ocean, almost as if she was drawn by a magnet. I would hold her hand and guide her gently back to our house to sleep on our bed.
I never told my parents. I never even told her. I thought it was because I wished not to share this special secret that only I knew, but now, I know it was out of fear. I was afraid of admitting that every night, my twin sister saw something through her closed eyes that I could not see.
Anxol told our father about the coming ocean.
"Right you are, my little snowflake. I'll build a boat for all of us, and we'll sail away before the sea eats us up."
Anxol smiled her soft, distant smile and simply fluttered to the kitchen to make some fish stew.
"The ocean isn't really coming, is it papa? It won't swallow us up, now would it?" I asked my father, who stood twice my size, looming over me but as friendly and kind as can be.
"Now, now, little Enkol." He ruffled my white-blonde hair, down on one knee to look into my eyes. "We must listen to your sister."
"But she can't see the ocean coming! She's lying!" I shouted, even though the walls were thin and Anxol was just in the next room. "She sees all these fake things! The ocean isn't going to eat us up!"
My papa only looked at me with his pale blue eyes, so often twinkling with happiness - but in that moment, his eyes held something that I could never distinguish.
"Enkol, there are people who can see things that others cannot. And then there are people who can do what others cannot. Both must work in harmony to live well, yes?"
"Yes, papa."
And then my father smiled a sad little smile, ruffled my hair one last time and walked away without another word.
.
My papa stood true to his word.
He began building a boat the very next day.
We gathered more wood and hunted more animals. We burned ores and made metal scraps, and my father built a boat.
My mother sewed and sewed while my twin sister cooked, humming faintly as she did.
The other families laughed at us, calling us crazy. And every time they did, I would turn to Anxol pointedly and glare at her, because it was her that was crazy and she was making mama and papa crazy too.
It took my papa a good half a year to build a boat, just a small boat that had three rooms in it. Three small rooms that were stacked on top of each other, like the fish that we hauled in.
It wasn't very large, and barely even furnished. And though my father was not the builder in our little village, he worked quickly and swiftly, his every move sure and confidant. When I asked him how he learned how to make a boat, he would only smile his sad little smile and say that his own papa taught him how.
We never knew our grandmama and grandpapa. We had a few grandmamas and grandpapas in the town, but they were always in their beds, never moving. Quite dull, I thought back then. But my parents never spoke of their own parents - only that they were not here anymore.
So for the six months my papa built his boat, we lived like we normally did.
But I knew then, as soon as Anxol brought up the nearing ocean, that the days of normalcy were long over.
Thanks for reading!
I apologize in advance if a few future chapters are strange/awkward. It is really weird to be writing in Enkol's POV, after writing for so long in Anxol's POV. And it's strange as well, writing Anxol before all that happened to her. So if anything sounds off/strange, I'm sorry!
And it's strange to be writing a Hunger Games story that takes place not in Panem. But don't worry about that, it will be moved to Panem eventually.
So apart from all the weirdness, what did you think about the chapter? Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Suggestions? Feel free to leave it as a review!
Next chapter, as per usual, will be posted up tomorrow!