"Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink."

Water? They gave us enough. Food, on the other hand, was in short supply. Kind of odd for a District based in agriculture, wouldn't you think?

I inspected the juicy, red apple I had just plucked from one of the top branches of the ancient apple tree I was perched in. Perfect shape. No bruises. Not a single flaw, except, maybe, for the fact that it would do absolutely nothing to satiate the gnawing in my stomach. I sang to myself quietly,

"Apples, apples every where,

All the worker's hands do pick;

Apples, apples everywhere

But you'll be whipped for just a lick."

I heard a giggle from a nearby tree. Poking my head through the leaves, I saw my friend Ella laughing from her post picking fruit. I forced a smile, but couldn't help wonder how her mother could let her work so young, being only seven years old.

It wasn't that I didn't understand the need. Ever since my sister was murdered in the Hunger Games last year, food and money were even more scarce at home than ever. And who was I to judge Ella's family, anyway? I, myself, was only going to be nine next month. But I was now the oldest child, and it was my responsibility to be sure my younger siblings had something to eat at night. This was the only way there was to do it.

I'd heard rumors that it wasn't like this in other districts. Not in the Capitol-favorited Districts, of course. That's not what I meant. People said that even just one district away, in District 12, some of the brave citizens would venture outside the fences. And the Peacekeepers knew about it! If that happened here, it would mean a certain death. Heck! Nibbling at a bruised apple up in a tree would probably be grounds for murder.

There was nothing I could do about it, and I knew it. So here I was balancing dangerously high in a tree, picking fruit in places the older workers didn't dare go.

Even knowing that one strong gust could send me flying and take me out of commission for a month like had happened to Bernea last week, I still loved being up in the trees. When I was up here, I almost felt like I could fly like the birds that nested all around me.

My sister loved these birds. Every day at quitting time, she would sing out to the birds, who would then spread her words. Though not everyone down below knew why the birds sang when they did, all knew what their song meant.

One day the song didn't come. The sun began to set and the quitting signal was raised at the edge of the field. But without Rue, there was no song. And without the song, the people didn't know what to do.

I do my best to carry Rue's spirit on. I sing her song like she did when I see the sign, but it isn't the same. The message gets around, but mine doesn't set the same fire that hers did. Though our tune might be the same, behind my sister's song was life and spirit. Mine is filled is sorrow and mourning.

Honestly, I knew I would never be able to replace Rue, no matter how hard I tried. I knew it was pointless to think this way. But I couldn't help it.

Shaking away the thought, I reached out for another apple, but it was a few inches out of my reach from where I was sitting. Pulling myself up to the branch, I paused as I saw the field manager, an impatient, bossy Capitol import, raise the end-of-day signal. After ripping a last apple from the tree, I slowly sang out the short line of notes. Within seconds, a young Mockingjay opened its mouth, sang back my tune, and flew off.

With that, I worked my way down the tree, off to finish another day my sister never would.