Chapter 1- Smoke
AN: so I'm still writing 'the missing three' but I just wanted to get this one on the way. I have like two more chapters to write up and I'm really tired. Hope you enjoy! Oh I forgot to say,
The Old Memory
1pm, Deans old House
The tree of cracks transpired into an ornament of fractured splints and rimations creating an angelic image onto the bathroom sink. The light cigarette ash still scattered around the basin from when he was "taking a breather" or "getting away from life". The dried blood on the edges of the plug hole from when he either cut himself shaving or when he was cleaning his belt after beating us for not doing as asked.
Father had told me that it was my fault. My fault he beat us. My fault that he had to sell Sammy. After all these years, I'm starting to believe him. To believe that it was my fault, he needed the alcohol. Because we had driven him mad. My fault that he had sold my little brother to District 11 for money to buy alcohol. Just for alcohol, and nothing else. Before Sammy had gone, he had told me that he was still mourning over the loss of our mother, Mary. Since she had died my father had became strict and abusive. After what happened, what he saw, I could hardly blame him.
Around a year after he had taken my brother away from me, he had gotten really, really drunk. His body had swayed and his pulse had risen. He had turned aggressive and self-centred. The alcohol had turned him into a monster.
I reached up and placed my hand on the rugged scar just above my hairline. I can remember that day as if it was only yesterday.
The silent meals in front of the fire. The isolation. Hiding away in the bedroom until it was school or tea. The pain. The screams as he had whipped my bare back. I had tried to stop him that night. I had ran into the bathroom after the second whipping. He had kicked at the door until it fell. He had kicked me into the wall. He had smashed my head into the sink and whipped my while I was still unconscious.
The next thing I can remember was waking up, four months later, in the home of one of the miners. The mother of the family had adopted me. She was one of the friendliest people I would ever meet. She had told me that my father had committed suicide two months before. I had been- no, I had felt; forgiveness for what he had done to me. Like he was sorry. Like he thought he could redeem himself for what he had done.
I touched my cheek. Damp. I had been crying again. Just because of this damn sink. I checked my watch. 2:48. I had been hear almost two hours.
I stood. I wiped my cheek and started collecting my bag when I noticed the window in the kitchen. It was only small. I used to plan my escape staring out of it. The escape that would save me from my father. The floor creaked as I wandered across it. The small kitchen was just as how I remembered. Gloomy. Papers attached to the timber walls. The dark, almost black, rug just flung onto the floor. The hanging cupboard door of the alcohol cupboard. And the window. Reflections of bitter sweet memories embered in the condensed air of the window. Gleaming with tragic thoughts the outer coating seemed to hide. Hiding the sinister struck deep in the centre of the window like a red dot on a blank canvas.
A knock at the door stopped my depressing thought filling my head. Who would be knocking at a dead man's house? A quaint, petite figure stood, blurred out by the cloudiness of our old front doors window. It was Lisa. The only happy thought I have left. Immediately after the third knock, I answered, looking distorted and shamed.
Her bright smile fought with my frown only to make it even worse. How can I have a girl like Lisa? How, when all I have ever done is moan about "daddy problems" and how much my head throbbed.
"Hey!" she said joyful as ever, staring with beedie eyes as I stood silently, as if I was a soldier witnessing a friend's death. All I wanted to do was fall on top of her and cry, but I couldn't, I can't. "Are you okay?" she asked as I grabbed her into a big hug. She's mine; she and abbey are all I have left. A single tear rolled down my cheek as I placed my head in the crook of her neck. "Is this about tomorrow? Dean, you have nothing to worry about. We are more likely to run into an elephant than be picked and it's Abbeys first time and she defiantly won't be picked, it's just too hard for it to happen." She smiled; I lifted my head and kissed her lightly on her forehead. It will be all right.
"I love you." I whispered. I meant it.
"I know." She replied looking into my eyes. Her dark, puppy dog eyes. "Now, stop crying I need my blouse to look nice as I go into the bakery. Mums made friends with the baker there; I think the bakers names Lucy. She said see if Lucy can sew up the dresses for tomorrow. Plus, I have to pick Abbey up from school!" she kissed me lightly on the lips and started to walk down the road. "Oh and Dean, please don't make me feel bad about that stupid prank" I looked at her confused, "don't give me that look, I know you really aren't depressed!" she smiled and headed to the school at the end of the road.
I can still smell her chocolaty hair from all the times she's had to work in the bakery. She had to know I weren't joking. Didn't she?
Reaping day
12pm, Lisa's mother's house
The air was chill upon my bare neck as I stared at the familiar sink in my girlfriend's bathroom. My eyes slowly shifted to the small, circular mirror hanging upon the tiled wall.
I was wearing my father's old clothes, Natalie, Lisa's mom, thinks I look like him. His blue blouse tightened when I breathed in, its cuffs were burned with cigarette ash and splashes of red wine. The trousers, cheep polyester, were stained with dust from the mines, alcohol and food.
I tried to hide the scruffy shirt with his old hunting jacket. When he was sober enough he would take me hunting with his friend Bobby, a family friend who was more a father to me than John ever was. He had looked after me when my father couldn't be bothered or was too drunk to even try.
"Dean Hun, it's time to go," Natalie called, "Abbeys already set off and, for the first time ever, Lisa's dressed before you!" I grabbed my shoes, fixed my hair and walked out of the bathroom.
1:52, outside Justice Building
I had held Lisa's smooth, gentle hand, all the way to the Justice building.
My name will be in that bowl thirty times, how fun! I am adding my name in an extra three times for the girl's food and oil so they have a better chance of not getting picked. So they don't have to.
I look over to Lisa, she looked, worried. She met my eyes; no she didn't look worried, she looked terrified.
I looked through her crowd. There were only about seven blonde 12 year old girls there, but they all had their hair either tied back or too short. Where was Abbey?
I looked back to Lisa, and mouthed 'abbey'. She slowly nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek.
She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again, her mouth swallowing many tears.
I looked around. There was nothing on the ground. I looked up into the sky. There was a slight waver of dark powdery stuff in the sky hovering over one of the houses. There was only one thing that could mean. I gulped; there was only one thing that came to mind. No one should be using their fires; everyone should be at the reaping. That only meant one thing. There was a fire, and abbey was probably in it.