Author: EtherealPhoenix
Title: Standstill
Rating: T
Summary: "One anguish-filled voice pierces the silence, resonating in the ears as well as the hearts of the crowd of onlookers. A girl so small should not be able to sound that tragic." A look into the past of one of my original characters, Salina Natori.
Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games, not me. But I do own my characters.
One of my first times writing in present tense, and my first fanfic! [After two years. Haha.]
Standstill
It is 6:30 in the evening. The work day in District 11 has long since ended; an orange-red glow lights the horizon as the late autumn sun begins to set. A mother and her two children sit in their customary places at the dinner table - a roughly carved, well-worn thing. Despite the years of use, and one particularly memorable instance in which a five year-old Cordel scrambled on top of it to prove he could touch the ceiling (he couldn't, of course), it remains as sturdy as the day it was built. And it happened to be built by the one person who was absent from the house.
The mother, Katia, runs her fingers along the edge of the table, taking pride in her husband's handiwork, though it is far from professional. Light brown eyes flicker to the doorway occasionally, fingers comb through lengthy dark brown tresses in concern.
"Mom, I'm hungry," Cordel complains, now twelve, and just as impulsive as in his youth. The Games were two months ago and he was not reaped. His parents held a feast (by his standards) that night. "Can we eat now? Please?" The boy is pleading now, his stomach growls audibly to further prove the point. His sister, two years younger, rolls her eyes.
Katia offers a tender smile to her eldest child and shakes her head, solemnly firm. I know you're hungry. We all are. These Peacekeepers give us rations barely fit for one child, much less our entire family. Aloud, she says, "We always wait for your father, you know that. We always eat together." Her gaze rests on the plate in the center of the table. It contains nothing more than two rolls of bread and pieces of dried pear. The bread is the usual - dark, crescent moon shaped loaves made from ration grain, with larger seeds spread throughout. The faintest hint of honey is present for added sweetness. The meal will be appetizing, but gone all too soon. A family of four will be underfed for yet another night.
Her attention snaps to the door as the knob twists, the wood creaking as it gives way to the force directing it.
A well-known man stands in the doorway, stepping inside as sunlight creeps in behind him. He is tall and muscular, unkempt brown hair nearly reaching his eyes. Cordel and Katia smile.
The little girl brightens immediately, her silence broken. She hops out of her chair, and runs to her father. "Dad!" she shouts, but stops short. There is something different about him. The fabric of his shirt is stretched, and the bottom is folded into itself. One arm is cradled underneath of the bulge, clearly securing something. The man's green eyes sparkle with amusement.
He closes the door carefully, then walks over to his family, smiling. "I have a surprise for you," he murmurs. He leans over the table, and untucks his shirt. Out falls one ripe, golden-yellow pear. Two apples follow soon after. The children's gazes fixate on the fruit, restraining themselves from lunging at it like savages.
A pair of thin arms wrap themselves around a strong waist, hazel eyes peeking out from a curtain of dark brown hair. "Thank you, Dad," is all she says, but her expression is filled with unspoken joy.
"You deserve it, Salina. My girl."
Cordel interrupts quickly. "So can we eat now?"
The childish innocence of his question causes the entire family to laugh, but the adults share a look, the humor fading from their features for that short-lived moment.
Salina returns to her seat, and her father gives his wife a brief kiss.
"You're late, Logan," Katia responds, concerned. But she knows why. She had known the moment he'd stepped into the house. But she says no more. The rolls are no longer warm. Her children are hungry. This is no time or place for such a conversation. She grabs a knife from the nearby rack and leans over the table, slicing the bread and fruit into pieces.
It is 6:45. The family finally eats. Logan and Katia pretend to be selective of their food, allowing their children's small hands more time to dart around, grabbing what they can and eagerly filling their stomachs. Only after Salina and Cordel claim a considerable part of the small meal do their parents begin eating.
Always after.
To them, the delight on the two young faces can keep them alive just as well as the bread ever could. They are at peace, for this one moment.
It is 7:10. A harsh knock sounds at the door. Logan gets up to answer. As his hand reaches for the doorknob, the door flies open, splintering at the hinges. The impact with his forehead has broken the skin, and a thin line of blood travels between his eyes, down his nose.
"Logan!" Katia shouts, standing up. Salina and Cordel rush from their seats to stand near their mother.
Two stern-looking men dressed in white stand in the doorway. Peacekeepers. Their gazes sweep over the household, locking onto the cherished table. The bread is completely gone, but fruit cores litter the serving platter.
One of the Peacekeepers smirks, as if he has found the long-awaited answer to a pressing question. He grips Logan's arm tightly. "You're coming with us," he sneers.
Katia steps forward, contempt and panic lacing her words. "Where are you taking my husband?" she asks the other man through gritted teeth. She knows of these men. Brothers from District 2 who joined the same line of work, and were both assigned to District 11. The man she spoke to was named Travis. The other, she wasn't sure of.
Travis looks at Katia with indifference. "Logan Natori is charged with theft and destruction of District 11 property. He is sentenced to execution. Immediately."
Katia covers her mouth in horror and releases a shaking gasp.
Logan resists. The brother of Travis punches him, breaking his nose. Children's whimpers are heard.
"What's execu-?" Salina begins to ask, but is quickly silenced by her brother. Cordel inhales deeply, eyes watering, staring at his battered father.
Logan is pulled to his feet, and forcibly dragged outside. The roads are mostly empty, as the citizens of District 11 sit in their houses, savoring the limited amount of food they were allotted. Anyone who dared to steal from the day's harvest was lucky. They were not caught.
Logan Natori - a diligent worker, a loving father, an extraordinarily kind man - was.
He is forced through the streets. Faces watch from windows. Those who are more daring exit their homes and follow, confused. Soon, a crowd forms.
Katia watches from the doorway, suddenly turning to her children. "Stay here. Cordel, watch your sister. I love you." With those words, she runs out into the street, chasing after her captured husband. She pushes relentlessly through the crowd. People make a path for her. They know who she is.
Salina runs to join her mother, frantic. "Mom! What's happening?" she cries, her bare feet tapping along the street in earnest. Cordel follows. They make their way to the front of the crowd, hand in hand.
Katia hugs them desperately, knowing it is too late to send them home. Tears fall from her eyes. She blocks out the murmuring crowd. There is nothing but her, her children, and the scene in front of her eyes.
The Peacekeepers shove Logan onto a raised platform. Travis binds the older man's hands behind his back, pale skin contrasting with tan as the rope is knotted. Travis walks over to his brother silently. The other man speaks.
"Logan Natori, we have found evidence of stolen produce in your home. We have reason to believe that this has been going on for quite some time. As you well know, theft of District 11 property is punishable by death."
This is all a formality. The Peacekeepers want to make an example of him. They have done so before, and they will do so again. Why else commit murder over stolen fruit?
The unnamed Peacekeeper places a gun to Logan's right temple. The cold metal on his skin is foreboding. It is mocking him, counting down the seconds.
Logan looks up, broken and smeared with blood. He seeks out his family, dark green eyes staring directly at his wife. He silently prays that they will survive without him. So does she. A ghost of a smile emerges on his face as he shares one final moment with his children. He mouths the words, "I love you."
The crowd gradually grows still. The Peacekeeper tightens his grip on the gun, wrapping his finger around the piece of metal that will end one man's life today. One anguish-filled voice pierces the silence, resonating in the ears as well as the hearts of the crowd of onlookers. A girl so small should not be able to sound that tragic.
"DADDY!"
That single word lingers in the air.
It is 7:30. He pulls the trigger.
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed! I would love reviews, constructive criticism, etc. Please? :D And Salina will be featured in a major Hunger Games fanfic. I just like giving you insight on her backstory. Haha.
And I do realize that the majority of the story didn't focus on her, but that's how I meant it to be. -compels you to click the 'review' button-
Edit: This will be turning into a multichapter fic. And I made an edit - I accidentally switched the names of her mother and best friend. You'll see later. Haha, sorry for any confusion.
-EtherealPhoenix. ^-^
