Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Game series. Full credit to Suzanne Collins.
"Fern, bring me the water bucket!" I heard Maria, my adoptive mother, call across the horse stable. The rough, furious of winds of District 12 complicated simple communication, making it impossible to speak in a normal tone.
"Coming, mother!" I tried to yell across the room, my voice resembling chalk scratching along an old, dry board. Having been sick for the last two weeks, my vocals were quite rough, along with a sore throat. At first, my condition did not seem too serious, giving me no accuse to avoid working on the ranch, but now, I was not too sure. The energy level in my body had been going down rapidly, leaving me in complete fatigue day after day. Each trip outside resulted in an episode of harsh, raspy coughs scraping at my throat. Yesterday, after I had attempted to visit a local doctor, he had refused to see me, and closed the door in my face. I was beginning to suspect the worst.
Kicking my way through the thick dirty snow littered with trash and dead leaves, I finally reached the water faucet at the back of the stable. Grabbing hold of the old, wooden bucket I began to fill it with ice cold water, only to be interrupted with another cough attack.
"Shit!" I cursed, unable to control my speech, having just spilled everything on my already frail body. Suddenly, I was on the ground, my muscles frozen in place. Everything was dark, not a sound.
"Fern! Fern! Wake up!" I heard through the firm shell of my sleep.
"Seth?" I muttered, wiping my hand sleepily across my face.
"You wish. It's me, Jake, your charming and favorite brother," he smirked down at me, his face switching between an expression of confident smugness and extreme worry.
Looking around, I realized I was in bed, my head propped up against a hard straw pillow in my tiny room. The freshly painted wall had already begun to peel off, the soft yellow color turning into a dull brown, reminding me of a slow, unpleasant sunset. The miniature window behind my bed was slightly open, chilling snow gradually gathering on my newly created pillow.
"Jake?" I asked, my voice hoarse. "Where is Mom?"
I could see my question made him anxious from the sudden shaking of his left arm. Ever since I could remember it had been a habit, giving him away in more cases than I could possibly remember.
"Well," he mumbled uncomfortably, scratching his head. "You, uh. You are very contagious, and we, uh, thought it would be best if only I visited."
"Do I stand a chance?" I asked quietly, bringing myself into a series of raspy coughs.
There was no reply.
"Jake, where are you?" A familiar voice rang from the kitchen, followed by soft steps coming up the stairs.
"Mom," I called excitedly, only to be silenced by her tired, wary expression.
"Jake, its time," she said brokenly, gathering up my little brother and swiping him out the room, shutting the door as tight as possible.
However what surprised me the most was her expression. A look of utter sadness and disbelief, the look of a person who's given up, left all hope behind.
Now, there could be no other options. I had a disease which could not be cured here in 10, no matter how talented, rich, or intelligent the doctor was. I had pneumonia.
A lovely cliffhanger for my lovely readers! To make this story unique, I decided to create a main character from an obscure district little known to Hunger Game fans. Please leave a review and thanks for reading!