Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.
They sat in the meadow. It was a clear spring evening, the sky free of clouds and streaked with the pale hues of sunset. Birds circled overhead, whistling a tune. The girl picked an evening primrose swaying gently in the wind and twirled the flower in her fingers. The boy idly toyed with the long grass and watched her. They shared bits of conversation when it was convenient, otherwise relaxing in the green meadow and watching the sun go down. Then when the last of the sun gave way to the darkness, they got up. Their mother had instructed them not to stay too long when it was dark. He tucked a flower behind her ear and she took his hand. They walked out, passing by the intimidating-yet-luring forest, the very innocent picture of a nine-year-old brother with his seven-year-old sister, sauntering home hand in hand.
They stepped into the forest, where other adults were gathering plants and hunting. Finally, finally, they were allowed to set foot in the thick foliage,which had become some sort of a scare to the younger children. The adults smiled kindly as they passed, offering them a hand when they needed help with cutting branches away or digging up roots. The boy rejected their help though. He was eleven already, he reasoned, and it was time for him to try things on his own. But he knew they could not help it, watching the innocent children gather berries tediously. He saw them secretly slip handfuls into their basket from their own stash at convenient intervals. In some way he was grateful for their help, that they genuinely cared about them, but it still felt rather imposing on them.
They took home a large basket of blackberries that day, snacking on them their entire walk back.
The first sign of disturbance came much sooner than expected. It was known to them that sometime before, the new president had been elected. The people did not agree with his way of ruling. He knew both of them did not either. They were taught that at school; it was a ruling style called "totalitarianism". He didn't know how to spell it or pronounce it, but it did not really matter to him. She did not even know this word. And she was still alright. Not knowing how to spell would not kill them. But what the people were conspiring now would.
He was twelve. She was ten. And they were in trouble.
They had to flee immediately. Flee from the cruel terrors raining down on them. All around, people were screaming. Some were silenced off immediately by the bombs. Others were affected, but were still alive. The flying fire, as she called it, was approaching them. He wondered if they could be seen. When the first bomb fell to earth, they had grabbed each other's hands and taken refuge in the forest. It was safe there. But only just. Now, as they peered out from behind a ruined wall, they were glad to see the fire was being extinguished. No more came. They waited, five, ten minutes. Then they stepped out and into the ruins that was their home. The home that they were forced to leave at teenagers.
Unbeknownst to them, they were still in trouble. They just could not see it coming.
It was over. The fights and deaths were gone. It had taken years though, and they were now seventeen and fifteen, able to fend for themselves since their parents were gone in the war. There was that president, the winner of this war. He apologised for his poor ruling style and promised to make their lives better. He trusted the president and was relieved, relieved that there was a future for both of them.
Their home was rebuilt, but it never was the same. Now there were cruel fences surrounding the forest they knew so well. The meadow was not forbidden, but it was stripped of all its bright flowers. However, some refused to go away altogether. Within a few months, wild primrose and dandelions sprouted out of the cut grass. There was a new flower now, called rue, and the name literally meant "regret". It was very fitting, so he said, since the person who planted it was executed for doing so.
There were new guards called Peacekeepers, though it seemed to her that they destroyed peace rather than made it. There were also food shortages now more often than never, and they always seemed to hear their stomachs rumble. There was not even enough water, something they had taken for granted before. Each day was another chance to get killed.
Their new terror of a home was called District Twelve.
A year went by. The country was split into twelve districts and the Capitol. District Thirteen no longer existed, so it was said. The districts were more or less the same, only more distinctly separated this time. Travel between districts was not allowed, except for the purpose of a new game. An impactful game.
It was on that cold autumn night when the president announced the Hunger Games. They were cuddled in their tiny den of a home, pressed together for warmth. They knew they were both eligible. And if one was in the game, the other would be alone. They were both old enough now, of course, but they really only had each other for a long while. They did not know if it had been six months or six years. Or maybe more. But they knew their parents were long gone since the war. They had been fending for themselves ever since then. He had gone to work in the coal mines and she, being too young for the mines, did chores for a merchant household. They earned enough to live on, for the two of them. But just barely enough.
It was the day of the dreaded reaping, so it was called. They had both taken something called tesserae, but it seemed like giving more than taking. Giving yourself another chance to play in the deadly game. Taking a meagre supply of grain and oil to last a year. Her life was worth more than food, she thought. For it had been mentioned - but only mentioned - that twenty-three would die. And one would live.
He worried for both of them. He was in twenty-one times and she fifteen. He heard that others were in forty-two or even more. Yet he was still worried.
She closed her eyes when the name was called. But she knew there was no point. The name had been called. She was now officially a player in this game. Unsure of the standard protocol, she slowly walked up on stage. There were no tears in her eyes. There was no reason to cry. What had her life become? There was nothing left to live for. She did not know if she was even alive any more, after all they had gone through.
She thought she heard him screaming her name. Or maybe it was her screaming his name. Nothing was clear anymore.
A one-hour goodbye was allowed. He came in. She breathed heavily and took his hand in hers. None of them were crying. After all, there was no point in life any more. But he had one wish for her. Since she was a player in this game, he wanted her to play it well. He wanted her to play her best. Then he sang to her, something they had never done since the war. All those years of bitter tragedy and frugal living was bottled up inside them, and all came out in one song. When he sang, he realised exactly how much he had wanted to ever since music left their lives.
Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open, the sun will rise.
Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
She joined him on the second verse, singing this old mountain air their parents had sung to them years before. They had forgotten the words, but all of a sudden they just returned.
Deep in the meadow, hidden far away
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay
And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.
Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
The last lines were just audible enough, the last strains of the notes dragged out. For a moment, they looked into each other's eyes, so much resembling their own. And they embraced. They had gone through so much together. They were all they had in this cruel world. The only reason to keep living.
He left soon after, dragged out by the Peacekeepers. Maybe they did live up to their name this time. There was certainly no peace then, only the dampness of sorrow that had never really evaporated away. It had always been there since the war. Etched in her mind forever.
He watched as she fought the tough dangers coming her way. He watched, unfeeling, yet willing her to come back. She had to come back. Or he would be lost forever.
Throughout the game and before it, the very last song they sang together played in her head. She whistled it whenever she was alone, and it lulled her to sleep. She longed for him to be there as well, so they could be together for the last time. The song brought back memories of their childhood, playing in the meadow, the world peaceful. Such a contrast from now, she thought. She wanted to go home, to see him again. She knew he wanted her to return as well.
He had requested for her to play this game well. She remembered that, no doubt, and she tried. There were times when she was weary and bleeding, and it was always this promise that brought her back onto her feet. She held out against all the fighting and injuries for weeks. She had promised to play well. But when the weapon caught her, she fell for the last time.
He watched with tenderness in his heart, knowing she had played her best. He wanted to be there in her last moments as the life bled out of her, but there was no way. She was silently picked up by the hovercraft, the weapon still enbedded in her. Gone. There was nothing left to live for.
He thought he heard her sing. Softly, he started as well, letting the melody fill the air. The birds outside picked it up, mockingjays he thought they were called. Deep in the meadow, under the willow...
He went to the meadow and picked three flowers. One was a dandelion that could be so easily blown away, like her. The second was a rue flower. The name means regret, he remembered telling her. The third was the evening primrose she loved.
She did return eventually. She took a couple of days or maybe a week to reach him, but she was still there. He opened the lid ever so slightly so as not to wake her, and was taken aback at how pure she looked. He had expected a bloodied body, full of scars and cuts to lie there, but instead she was clean of any blemish, even the scars they had accumulated together in the forest and the war. A long white cloth wrapped her from neck to ankles, covering the fatal wound. Her eyes were shut, her expresion calm and composed. In some way he did not like it. But it was her nonetheless, his sister, whom he had gone through all those tough times with. His sister, who had been taken by the Capitol and returned to him, vacant and gone.
He gently placed the three symbolic flowers, now slightly withered, in order on her chest. The dandelion, the rue flower, the evening primrose. On second thought, he took the primrose and tucked it behind her ear. Then he softly sang to her.
Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open, the sun will rise.
Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
Deep in the meadow, hidden far away
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay
And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.
Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
The tears that he had been holding back for eternity finally fell. He pressed the three middle fingers of his left hand against his lips and held it out to her, the goodbye sign their parents had taught them. Then he closed and sealed the lid.
When the explosion came, the lifts broke and there was no escape. The families of the miners stood by apprehensively, watching for a sign of their loved ones emerging from the dark shaft. There were a few. But they were all shaking their heads when asked about any more survivors. None left. The families broke down, weeping for their dead. Except for one, alone and forgotten. He had no one to weep for him. No one really knew his name. All they knew about him was that his sister had died in the Hunger Games and he had no family left.
As he looked up at the ceiling that was caving in, he was certain she was above, way above all the families, watching him. Safe from harm. Reaching out a hand, waiting for him to join her.
"I'm coming."
The mine exploded.