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The hunger was overwhelming. Usually, I would shrug it off, knowing that my stomache would never be filled but now, I knew I nedded to eat. It was the kind of hunger that felt identical to pain. The kind of pain you would receive, if you suddenly had a charlie horse.
For the past three days, I had eaten nothing but a small serving of seaweed stew. The seaweed had turned out to be more slimy than usual, and rotten. Almost everyone who had eaten the soup had gotten a bit sick.
Now at the shore, where the usual work was, I was so very tempted to reach out, and eat a shellfish that lay in my neatly woven net of rope. Surely I would be punished if I was caught, which would most likely be the case_ but I was willing to take the risk. Ever so slowly, I untied the knot that kept the shellfish tied up. I reached my hand into the net and grasped a shell, filled with the salty flesh.
To my great joy, everyone else by the shore and on the dock were minding their own business. They were busy trying to haul in fish to feed their own bellies as well as their families.
I brought the shell closer to rip out the meat, and peel it, but felt a sudden pang in my heart. I remembered how if I ate now, how guilty I would feel later when my family was starving. The looks of betrayal that they would surely direct towards me, once they realized that I wasn't starving amongst them. The unsaid questions of why I hadn't attempted to help them eat too.
Reluctantly, I lowered the fish down. But, I still, slipped it into my pocket of my pants for later, if it really come to guilt or starvation. When the time came for that, I just might choose guilt.
The day had been long, and hot. The sun's rays beat down relentlessly. Sweat covered me from head to toe as I worked. I felt nasty. I resolved, that when Paul and I went swimming in the pond later today, or tomorrow morning, I would bring soap to clean myself. I might even stay after so that I can be thoroughly scrubbed down.
Knotting up the net, tossing it into the shallow pools to the reel in the oysters and shellfish, and finally having them back on the beach. This was the only thing I did all afternoon.
I never really worked before. In truth, I was usually absorbed in school but for the past few days, had skipped my lessons to add the wages to the family's earnings_ not that it actually changed much.
By the end of the afternoon, I had hauled about three buckets full of meaty oysters and shellfish. This wasn't much, considering the amount of time that I took slaving, to reel in my catch, but it was understandable, seeing how small the nets were. (Only about a yard or two in length.)
I hurried to the town square, fearing that the shops would close before I was able to sell the fish. I always kept half a bucket of the food to help feed the family, but that never lasted long. I would have just brought all three of the buckets back home, but it was actually illegal to even bring back any. The Capitol had reffered to it as poaching.
By the time I had sold the fish, I had already spent the money on the necessities. Bandages, greens, thyme, rosemary, and pepper. Half-way home, I could smell bread rising in a stone oven. Could smell the dill, and cinnamon. Even the nuts and fruits that graced the more expensive breads. The bakery.
The bread was special for everyone of the districts. In District 4, the bread was tinted green with seaweed, but it was still heavenly. The bakery on the other hand, was almost identical to every other bakery there was. A small brick building with chimneys to let the steam and smoke from the ovens air out. Sometimes, I even thought that the chimneys were to torture the hungry, on the Capitol's demands. To make them wish that they could have something, that they knew they couldn't. To taunt them.
With the intention of feeding my family, before I fed herself, I took flight on the streets towards the outer ring of houses. The poorest of the poor lived here, and I was poor. In other districts, I had heard that they refer to this place as the Seam. Instead, as a kind of pun in our district, we called it the Bottom Feeders. Maybe it was because it was so lame it was funny, but whatever the reason, I always grinned when I thought of the name.
My house was small and old. The floorboards were rickety, and the hinges were rusty. Whenever a foot was set down forcefully, you could hear the hinges from underneath the foundation creak, and threaten to fall over. Either way, it was actually better than some of the other Bottom Feeder Houses. The one room house was much too small for the family of six that lived there.
The door swung open, creaking all the while. The inside of the house was saddening. The sink and oven, as well as the cabinets, lay in the corner. A small table sat in the middle of the room. By the hearth, were the make-shift beds; mainly mattresses with torn and worn down sheets. And in the other corner, sat Nana's rocker and basket full of yarn. The fishing gear was piled carelessly beside my parent's bed. The clothes were all stored in the tiny doored-closet built into the wall. Despite these things being placed here specifically, it was cluttered.
I set down the bucket on the table, causing my parents, Nana, and younger brothers, Sherman & Herman (twins) to look up from the show of seeing Nana crochet. This really was the most entertaining thing we had to do, other than our work.
"I brought home some food," I say. The others look up hungrily. I know they want to eat, and are grateful for the food, but are hesitant. Probably because of that rancid seaweed. They don't want to end up throwing up food, again.
Since no one else is moving, I set the table. I start peeling the shellfish, and placing the meats in a bowl. I'll stew them, or grill them with the rosemary I bought at the market. I can't decide. After what seems like an eternity, delicate fingers start to help me peel the fish. Nana, of course. My parents finally start moving; placing the things I bought in the cupboards. The twins shift to the floor in positions so that they lie on their stomaches to complete their homework.
As we work, Nana is silent. For weeks now, she has been worrying about the next Hunger Games. It is so close now. They will call the names in 3 days, and she is anxious. We all know that we have only slight chances in being reaped, but the anxiety sets in on the day of the reaping. Before that day, we try to look beyond those horrific events, in order to survive from day to day. But now, with Nana's silence, anxiety grows in me.
My hands are raw from the salt of the sea, but I continue peeling until I have separated all the meat. Nana finally speaks, as I decide on grilling the shellfish, and stewing the oysters later.
"Pearlynn, you have worked hard," she says, drawing out my name carefully.
I love my name, Pearlynn, but everyone else calls me Pearl. That's one of the reasons I love my grandma, Paul, and my teacher, Mr. Palmer. Pearl was not my name. If I wanted to be called 'Pearl', I would be named Pearl, not Pearlynn. Nobody but these three people understands this. Not even my parents.
"I appreciate that and you. I just wish that you would spend time on yourself and be happy too." My Nana never did, and never will understand that, I already did spend enough time on myself. If I had more time, I wouldn't know what to spend it on. Go fishing with Paul more? Play on the beach? Study more? I don't think that she realizes, that I already do all of this. I probably spend more time with Paul than anybody else, even her… Was the amount of time I spent with hime even appropriate? I have tried explaining this to her every time she started this conversation, but now, I say nothing. "You know that life is short, so you should make the best of it. Don't just worry about food. We'll manage, we always do."
"Yes Nana," I reply in my most polite voice. I love my grandma, and we are close, so I try my best not to disrespect her. I am closer to her than anybody, except maybe Paul. I smile reassuringly. If she thinks that I will take her advice, then that's that. I won't have to fight her for a while.
The shellfish were becoming a golden-light brown. Spiced with the herbs, they were mouth watering. The smell of them even made the saliva in my mouth run wild. The greens were thrown into a kind of cold salad. This meal was hearty, and filling. We rationed it into certain sized servings though, because it would only last the family about 2 days before it ran out.
Nana had just dried the last dish when the banging on the door made everyone jump. Through the screen, I could see Paul's face full of happiness, looking for me. After only a few seconds, he takes sight of me and gestures with his hand for me to come with him. I look over to my parents who nod. Then Nana nods, and tells me to go. They try to give me some freedom, since I am 15, and the average age that most people die, is between 34-54. Right before I leave with my jacket halfway on, Nana whispers in my ear.
" Don't get home to late, Pearlynn." For some reason this makes me blush. Probably the fact that, I'm going out to hang out with Paul so late. The fact that we've known each other since we were 5,and we met on the first day of school. The fact that I have feelings for him, kinda. When it comes to stuff like this, I get lost so easily. It may even be that fact that Paul told me in the second grade that I was pretty, and that he liked me. I wonder if he even remembers that day, so many years ago.
Nana hands me a bar of soap the size of my thumb. She must know that I want to wash up after today's work. I kiss her cheek, and rush out the door. The wind feels good, compared to my skin still hot from cooking. I jog to meet Paul still waiting at the end of the row of houses. He grabs my hand, and we start running.