Disclaimer: I own nothing, Suzanne Collins does. Unfortunately.
This was just a random idea that popped into my head, so it's kinda weird. Please review!
What kind of mother wants her child to die? This is the dilemma I face. I hope this for the best of reasons, but I am ashamed. However, my wishes aside, one of my two children will die. And it breaks my heart.
The only fear we experience fear in District 1 is reaping day. All those years sets our hearts aflutter. But there is something worse than being reaped: having your child taken away from you. And for it to happen not once, but twice was unendurable. Just when you thought the worst was over, another thing happens.
I remember the day Cashmere was reaped. She was only 14. It was a miracle she survived. But she was strong and not afraid. My daughter got in with the Career pack, and killed effortlessly in the desert arena. Knowing that your child will never come home is horrible. But against the odds, Cashmere came back. All over Panem, 23 other mothers had their children come home. In a coffin.
The next year Gloss volunteered at 18. I was hysterical. I had almost lost one child, and he had to tempt fate in that way? He was a young man, and they thirst for honor and blood. Gloss was even more deadly than Cashmere and vicious. No one stood a chance. That Hunger Games was finished in 3 days, a record time. Thank heaven for small mercies.
We lived in the Victor's Village, where our lives were that of luxury. Gloss and Cashmere had the occasional nightmare, but they were there for each other. I loved to see the new, unbreakable bond between them, but it hurt me in a small way. I mourned that I was not the first person they turned to for help. What kind of mother was I?
Soon it was time for the Quarter Quell. I dreaded it, because I knew Gloss and Cashmere would have a hard time mentoring. The challenges were harder, the deaths more horrific. The 75th hunger Games was much worse than I had anticipated.
When it was announced that the tributes were to be previous victors, I had a heart attack. How could this be? Victors are out of reapings for life. Or they were. Now because of the star crossed lovers of district 12, they would pay. But there was still hope. District 1 had other victors. It didn't have to be them.
I made sure their prep teams came down from the capitol. Gloss and Cashmere looked their best. It was a pitiful reaping, with only 4 female tributes and 6 male. The excitement was taken away, replaced by a cloud of morbidity. "Hello, and welcome to the annual reaping of District 1. Today we will start with ladies first," Devon Carbrauge announced.
Most people despised the man, me included. He had this nonchalant attitude, like this was a conversation that he barely paid attention to. "And our lucky winner of the drawing is," he paused as he pulled a name out with a flourish, "the lovely and ever charming Cashmere Conde!"
No. Not my darling. Not my child. It was, and I knew it would happen. Call it the voice of fate, or a mother's intuition. There was still hope for Gloss. I would not give up yet. I would draw on my strength, hoping I had some left.
Cashmere got up on the stage and smiled for the cameras. She knew hat game she played. "And our male tribute is," Devon sneered as he read the name, "Palin Ugon."
There was an audible mumble throughout the crowd. Palin was weak. He had barely won his games. He hid in a cave while a meotor shower killed everyone else. He wouldn't survive. A lazy, relaxed voice came from the crowd. "I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute."
It was Gloss. Of course it was Gloss, it was always Gloss. Wanting the fame and glory. He is not a god, there are limits to anyone's accomplishments. He walked to the stage, and pulled Cashmere into a tight hug. Stupid boy. Only one could survive. Surely he knew that. Did he plan to kill his own sister?
Later that day, I said my goodbyes. "Gloss, what were you thinking? Only one can win. Don't kill Cashmere. Please," I begged.
"That was never the plan," he admitted, "I would protect her, and both us would win. Just like last year with Peeta and Katniss.'
"That can never happen. It was a mistake, and The Capitol will make them pay. Only one of you can win," I yell.
I look into his eyes. He wants her to win, mentally. But in the arena, will he remember? Cashmere might kill him. How well do I really know my children? They turned to each other, and away from me.
Now I just hope one of them dies quickly in the cornucopia and the other wins. What kind of mother am I?