A/N: The idea for this came after reading a fantastic story called "Five Loaves of Bread: Dark Toast" by Aimmyarrowshigh. If you can find that story on here, you must read it, because it is really great. I give full credit to Aimmyarrowshigh for the idea of contracted marriages. Enjoy and happy reading!
The breeze shakes the wheat in tumultuous waves, giving the low slope of the hill a rolling appearance. I gaze toward my home, perched on the hill beside my grandparent's farmhouse. My existence is the whole of those two small houses and a barn nestled between the fields of wheat. I am blessed to have grown with my paternal grandparents in my district, only one child per family unit is chosen to remain in a district. My father was the chosen child from his family, so I was able to grow up where he was raised.
I sigh as I watch the golden wheat billowing around me. My youngest sibling, Tomik is always terribly ill, so my sisters and I made the decision to let my parents choose him as the one child who will remain in our district to complete his contract.
My marriage contract will be made one month from now and that is why I have been spending so much time memorizing the view of my home, my surroundings, the faces of my family and friends. Once you have been contracted to another district you will never physically see your family again. I've heard of people though, who have been sent to the same district as an older sibling or another relative. I can only hope that maybe Brenna or Bronwyn would end up being near to me. The chances are not in my favor though, because there are eleven other districts in which my two sisters may be assigned.
The primary industry of my district is grain. I am accustomed to miles and miles of golden fields with sparse trees, gentle sloping plains, and deep warm breezes. My father, Landon, hails from this region, a sun-kissed man of the fields. The sandy tone of his hair matches the pure gold of the wheat just before harvest. He and my sisters have polished bronze-like skin that tans more in the summer months. Father's skin shines with sweat on working days and makes my mother smile in a heavenly way. He has a loud raucous personality and a pure loving heart. He only knows how to love big and with every inch of his soul.
My mother always murmurs to me that she feels blessed, grateful even that she was contracted to such a man. My mother, Faun, is a native of District 7 with its immense forests and large mountains. She always jokes that she couldn't have been sent to a more different place than the one she came from. Her stories and folk legends about her birthplace always filled me with delight as a child and still do when I hear her whispering them conspiratorially to Tomik as she tucks him into bed. My mother has milky cream colored skin and deep crimson hair, a long slender body and thin nimble fingers. Both Tomik and I look almost exactly like her, but for the eyes.
Mother's eyes are a dark emerald green that never replicated itself in any of her children. Though father's deep browns are identical in my twin sisters. Tomik and I share our own shade of light green that father says is like the color of young wheat sprouts, bursting to life in the spring.
Brenna and Bronwyn are like fair maidens of the field, with bronze skin and strawberry blond hair. If in the sun their hair alights a flaming yellow red, but if in the shade of the house it shines a fairer yellow.
When I think of my family now, all I can think about are the genetic markers that made us look the way we do. My life depends on it now. To Panem strong healthy genes are more important than practical skills.
Ever since the Dark Days, when a virus nearly killed the entire population, good genetics have become the most important thing about you. They called that virus the Black Death. In school we learn about how it swept the entire nation. The Black Death was an invisible murderer. It didn't differentiate between gender, skin color, or age. Everyone was susceptible to its silent and deadly grip. It took nearly ten years for the virus, a type of influenza to be banished from the nation of Panem. In order to revamp their floundering country, wrought with destruction and political unrest, the remaining leaders created a set of new laws that bind their citizens to bettering the entire nation.
When each citizen reaches adulthood they are contracted in marriage to an individual who will genetically benefit the growth of the country. Every paired couple must have at least four children. In the event that a family has more than four children, the Capitol will provide them with a larger more accommodating home as well as the privilege of keeping two of their children in their home district. Otherwise, each family must decide amongst themselves when their children come of age which child will stay to keep genetic lines in the district and which children will be sent off to help populate other districts.
In the event that a family does not meet quota, they may be punished or ridiculed by the Capitol. Punishment entails serving the Capitol in their areas of need. If a spouse dies, a new spouse may be assigned and the remaining family unit relocated, if their quota has not already been met. I have only met one woman who lost her husband and was reassigned a second man who had lost his wife. Between them they had three children from their previous contracts and were therefore told that they must provide a fourth child.
Sometimes, there are rumors about worse situations though. There was a young man named Geoffrey who was unable to bare children. This fact was discovered during his genetic testing when he was seventeen. Rumor states that Geoffrey was forced to move to the Capitol and no one has heard of him since. He never even finished the proper schooling.
The typical schooling of a child in Panem involves learning the various subjects such as mathematics, history, and science until the age of thirteen where you begin preparations for your contract. From the ages of thirteen to seventeen each child learns the various trades of Panem; however, here in District 9 fourteen to eighteen year olds are forced to work in the fields as free labor three days a week for the good of the nation. Labor assignments usually last the beginning of the school day; afterward each of us is then expected to return to our studies in the trades of Panem and to continue learning our school subjects.
At the age of seventeen children are expected to begin taking a series of tests. Physical and mental health are assessed on a regular basis. Genetic testing using epithelial cells, eggs, sperm and blood are compiled in a database to use for cross examination. Skills tests are performed in which each person exhibits their abilities in the various industries of each district. Self-evaluations and formal assessments on personality and other characteristics are taken during written examinations.
I have taken the skills test on industries four times, yet a clear result has never been obtained. During my most recent skills test I managed to set the oven on fire in the testing lab, knock over a container of sewing supplies, and drop a bag of flour which burst everywhere in a white cloud. Previous attempts to showcase my best skills only ended in my immense nervousness ruining everything. My professors assure me that no one has ever taken the skills test more than five times. I sincerely hope that my last attempt at passing the skills test will be this week.
My final genetic testing was completed four weeks ago and I can expect the results of those assessments any day now. Since the completion of those tests my mind has been constantly cataloguing and memorizing the features of my family: the shape of their eyes, the tones of their skin, the color of their hair, and the curves of their smiles. Nearly every night I dream about the type of man that I will be bound to and what our children will look like.
In school we take a health course that prepares us in the matters of creating and caring for a family of our own. Both boys and girls learn the inner workings of each others bodies and why it is important that we populate our country. That course in particular caused more blushing and awkwardness than I thought possible. I learned a great deal about nursing and care giving though and I am grateful for that. My mother believes that when my skills results eventually come through I will be assigned to be a healer. My sisters and friends at school agree that my quiet disposition and quick mind will be great attributes for a healer.
I still cling to the notion that I will probably be assigned a job working in the fields of District 11, farming. I would have thought it as the lot of my life here in District 9, had I not given up the right to make roots here by letting my parents choose Tomik to stay.
When Tomik was born my mother was overjoyed to have met quota and finally had a son. As the years passed though, it became evident that he was frail and often ill. Tomik is a gentle child who looks and acts so similarly to me that people think we should have been born twins, rather than my sisters. Tomik sooths my nerves when I am distraught by simply being the kind and hopeful child that he is. He's only ten; he loves stories and is imaginative beyond belief.
Where Tomik and I are alike in every way, Brenna and Bronwyn couldn't be more different from each other. Though their appearance is identical, their personalities are in deep contrast. Brenna has a loud boisterous personality and a quick steady anger that is sharp like the blade of a sword. She cares for girly things like ribbon and flowers in her hair and kissing boys behind the barn. Bronwyn is a rowdy prankster who enjoys doing devilish things and making jokes at every turn. She is never angry, but rather carefree instead.
The twins are fifteen and work in the fields on the same day that I do. Bronwyn always enjoys driving the tractor and keeping pace with the local boys who hoot and holler at her antics. She's a tomboy through and through and so much like my father. Like the son that Tomik can never be. I can't imagine life without my siblings and dread each day that draws me nearer to leaving them.
"Hey space case, quit your daydreaming and come home for supper." Bronwyn's voice carries like a banshee on the wind.
I smile gently and shake myself from my thoughts. I rise, dusting myself off. A giggle escapes my lips as she runs quickly back toward the house. My approach is much slower as I stop at the water pump to cup a handful and splash it on my face. When I reach the porch Nana and Papa Southerland are walking from their farmhouse. I greet them with a wave and flash them a smile. Again, I feel the blessing of having them in my life. I always wonder how difficult it is for them to have let three children go off to other districts.
"Papa, let me help you up the steps," I say and grasp my grandfather's arm to support him as he climbs.
He shoots me a stern look, because he doesn't like to think he is frail and in need of help. He's getting fairly old and only quit working at the mill last spring. He has respiratory issues form the grain dust that permeates the mill when the wheat is stripped into its vital parts.
Nana sighs as Papa begins grumbling under his breath. My Nana and Papa fight constantly, but they love fiercely. I think I would prefer the relationship that my own parents have, but if my contracted partner is a fighting man I will just have to deal with it.
Tomik opens the screen door as the three of us cross the porch and smiles warmly at my Nana when she kisses his forehead and tousles his hair. His eyes catch mine for a brief moment and I see that strange look that he has been giving me all too frequently. I try to give him a reassuring smile as I squeeze his shoulder and follow him to the table.
My mother has her apron tied tightly round her waste and her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. I watch her as she stirs the large old pot on the stove, one hand on her hip and the other expertly twirling the ladle. My father should be home from work any minute. Mother likes for the food to be ready for him.
Brenna is perched on the counter, reading a note and giggling. It's probably a love note from another boy, she switches boys so fast it's hard to keep track sometimes. My mother sighs deeply as she eyes Brenna out of the corner of her eye.
It isn't smart for a girl to be running around with a million suitors. Not when you will be contracted to one man someday for the rest of your life. Forming attachments with someone isn't wise. You may fall deeply in love and that won't suit the Capitol's needs. You must do as the Capitol desires for the good of the nation.
"Oh Orville would you stop it already," Nana snaps as Papa continues to grumble under his breath. He has taken his seat at the table and Nana is currently helping him push his chair in. Apparently this action makes him feel useless too. She bats at his shoulder and he finally ceases his protests.
"Pops you need to lose some weight," Bronwyn chimes as she slaps his round stomach jokingly. He has gained some weight since the end of his services at the mill. It isn't uncommon in this district to be on the heftier side. Grain makes bread and bread is fattening. Having a stagnant lifestyle now only adds to the issue. Nana smirks as Papa rolls his eyes.
"I'm carrying twins, can't you tell," Papa says as he pats his stomach with a large hand. Bronwyn laughs. It's a running joke between them that Papa's round stomach is reminiscent of a pregnant woman's protruding belly. I watch the antics as I pull dishes from the cupboard over Brenna's shoulder. She is completely enthralled in her love letter, smiling wolfishly. My mother sighs deeply again as she watches us.
"Brenna, put that letter down and help your sister set the table please," she intones sternly.
Brenna looks up at me as if in a daze, realizing I am standing right in front of her. She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes as if helping me is the most annoying thing on the entire face of the earth. Together with the aid of Tomik we completely set the long table in preparation for dinner. Bronwyn is regaling Papa with a why did the chicken cross the wheat field joke when we all finally take our seats, leaving the head chair open for my father.
We only wait two minutes before he comes barreling through the screen door, swinging his lunch pail and whistling a tune. He sniffs the aroma that is wafting around the kitchen before taking his seat. My mother grins as he winks at her and picks up the lid on the nearest pot. Coyote soup with bread. Father ladles a portion of the soup into the first bowl. We pass the bowls in a circle until everyone has a full one in front of them. Mother passes the bread and butter round the table, while we all stare at my father with expectant faces.
"Dig in!" My father laughs as we all begin to eat.
We always wait for father, because mother thinks it's rude to start before him when he is our provider. Father thinks it's silly for her to place him on a higher pedestal than everyone else. He grips her free hand on the tabletop as he happily devours his meal.
"You've done it again, magnificent," my father says as he serves himself a second helping.
I watch the look of content cross my mother's face as she observes him. Again, I wonder if I will ever look at my husband that way. What kind of man will he be? A man who enjoys my cooking and thanks me for it daily? A man who works hard and comes home whistling merrily? Or a man like Papa, who is quiet and steady, quick to anger, but slow to forget.
As the meal begins to dwindle down and my sisters start bickering about something that I didn't catch the beginning of, my mother raises her hands for silence. I blanch, because I know she is about to make a fuss over me. Her gaze hovers over my face for a moment before she looks around the table at the rest of my family.
"We are blessed to be as happy as we are and to have shared a life with Arwen. She has grown to be a wonderful young woman and on this day we need to thank her for everything she has done for us." She smiles as she rises to pull something from under the sink, a small dark box tied with a silky blue ribbon. She softly cups my face in her hands after she places the box in front of me.
"Arwen darling, we love you. Remember it always. Happy Birthday," I close my eyes as her chapped lips press a firm kiss to my cheek. Her proximity allows me to inhale the soft scent of her hair.
"Happy Birthday!" Everyone choruses around the table.
I thank them profusely and shakily open the package. Gifts are a big deal when you live in a poor district, which is every district really, except for the districts close to the Capitol. My hands quake as I remove the top and reveal a golden chain from within. My mother pulls it from the depths and dangles it in front of me. Now there is a small trinket visible, swaying on it softly. I carefully inspect it and see that it is in fact a circle encasing a golden bird. I sharply intake a breath and feel tears brimming my eyes. Mother gently clasps it around my neck.
"It's a mockingjay," Nana tells me as she admires it.
I read about them once in a textbook at school. The product of Capitol modified birds and Mockingbirds. The mockingjay can mimic tunes in a manner most unlike any other bird. It is beautiful in the gold setting of the necklace.
I hug each of my family members before taking my seat once more. A gift of this magnitude, something made of real gold, must have cost them a fortune. Tomik confirms my suspicions.
"We saved for months," he smiles broadly, "even I helped!" I pat his hand affectionately and let another tear slip down my cheek. Bronwyn wipes it away and calls me a spoil sport, because Birthdays are supposed to be happy occasions. I clear my throat and thank everyone again for good measure.
"There is something else too," my father says as I collect myself.
He places a large yellow envelope in my hands. One glance confirms that it is from the Capitol. The large emblem is stamped on the seal. It can only be one thing, my genetic testing results.
When your results have been compiled and cross checked with all the eligible partners of your age they are combined in a list. Each person is given a profile that tells you their name and level of compatibility to your personality and genetic code. I stare numbly at the envelope and feel a tightening in my stomach. The contents of this envelope will tell me who the most eligible men are that could be my contract partner.
"Picked it up at the postal service after work," father says as he takes his seat once more. I give my family a panicked glance. Brenna is already at my side eager to look at the contents.
"Open it sweetheart," my mother says with kind eyes. I notice that she is gripping my father's hand tightly under the table. Even Nana and Papa are holding each other.
I use my butter knife to slice across the seal. I peer inside and pull a rather thick looking packet out. The cover letter has the Capitol's emblem with a brief message explaining the contents. My mind briefly wanders toward the day that I took my very own picture for the packet that will be sent to my eligible partners. My mother curled my hair that day and let me borrow her nicest dress, she even dabbed my lips with red juice to make them more colorful.
I slowly turn the first page and am met with the smiling face of a blond haired blue eyed man. I scan his statistics quickly before squinting at his picture once more, trying to determine if his smile is fake. Everything about him looks too pristine and perfect. Cato Bartholomew, District 2, a 90% match in genetics, and 68% match in personality.
"Well he sure is handsome and from District 2 too!" Brenna squeals as she presses her shoulder into mine to get a better look at him. Bronwyn hovers over our connected shoulders and scoffs at the picture.
"He looks like he has a stick up his ass," she muses. Frankly, I agree with her, but I wouldn't exactly say it. Mother gives her a reproachful look that says; watch the language, because she doesn't want Tomik being subjected to it.
"Why don't we go to the couch so we can all see better," father says.
We all trudge toward the couch. I am given the center seat and everyone scatters around me, vying for a chance to see Cato Bartholomew, my first potential husband. The paper feels heavy in my hands as I turn the page to reveal the next match. A large boy with dark skin and eyes smirks back at me. My mother prompts me to read his statistics because she can't see them all too well.
"Thresh Jackson, District 11, a 79% match in genetics, and 84% match in personality," I murmur as I inspect his round face. His expression is pleasant and calming.
I turn the page once more and sigh dejectedly at the image I am presented with. Tomik giggles when he sees the man, who has purple hair and clear blue eyes. His entire ensemble looks ludicrous and flashy.
"Zander Nockturn, Capitol, a 97% match in genetics, and 81% match in personality," I murmur. Tomik is still giggling and Bronwyn makes a fishy face at him. Brenna, however, is intrigued by the fact that this man lives in the Capitol. I glance up and see that my mother is suppressing a laugh when Tomik asks a silly question.
"Will your babies have purple hair?" He seems genuinely concerned. Everyone finally exhales their laughs, unable to contain them.
"Of course not tumbleweed, it's obviously dyed!" Bronwyn scoffs as she fluffs our brother's crimson locks. He flushes slightly beneath the smattering of freckles on his cheeks.
"Those are really good percentages. He must be a nice boy," Papa muses as he scans the numbers below the Capitol citizen's name.
I blanch slightly, because I still don't feel one hundred percent confident that a series of assessments will properly match me with a man of good character. Brenna is gripping my arm, ready to see the next prospective contract partner. I appease her and flip the page.
I inhale deeply as my eyes scan the numbers below his face. He is rather handsome with olive tanned skin and inky colored hair that matches the darkness of night. It is his eyes that I am drawn to the most. Two orbs of molten silver that shine in what must've been the flash of the camera. He isn't smiling, but his rugged face seems gentle in some way.
"Gale Hawthorne, District 12, a 99% match in genetics, and 94% in personality," my voice comes out in one low breath.
All of the numbers in my packet were fairly high in compatibility, which is slightly unusual. Yet, these numbers are unfathomable. Father whistles long and deep. My parents exchange a meaningful glance and Nana pushes forward to get a better look. Her face is beaming as she looks the page over.
"That's the one," my mother murmurs softly as she places a hand on my knee.
I can't take my eyes off his face. When a couple has percentages that are so undeniably compatible the Capitol wastes no time assigning them. It seems almost silly really that these other men were included in my packet. There will be no drawn-out decision process where the pros and cons of each match are weighted, because the Capitol will surely think that we are the best choice for each other.
Brenna is sighing dreamily beside me, "He is undeniably handsome. You're so lucky Arwen."
"Appearance isn't everything," I mumble, though the Capitol wants us to believe it is. We are being bred for the best possible genetics to keep future strands of epidemic viruses at bay.
Bred like cattle to reproduce perfect replicas that will serve the Capitol's purpose. The marriage portion of the contract is just the Capitol's way of making their breeding stock feel more civil about it. I've thought the matter over greatly and discussed it with my closest friends, but I would never discuss it in public. It's treasonous to admit that our laws are dated and unfair.
"I can't wait to tell my friends about your percentages, everyone will be so jealous! You have to bring his picture and show the girls at school," Brenna breaths, completely ignoring my previous comment.
"I could still be contracted to someone else," I remind her.
She laughs harshly, "Don't be silly Arwen, you know what percentages like that mean." She stands to twirl in the middle of the room, before she retrieves her love letter from the counter. It seems that Bronwyn doesn't quite know what to think or say about my potential contract partner. She examines his face for something to poke fun at, but his only fault is the lack of smile.
"Maybe he hates having his picture taken," she assures me. I nod, hoping that his personality is not as bland as the picture would lead me to believe. Tomik shoulders his way onto the couch where Brenna and Bronwyn previously vacated their spot. He grips my palm tightly. I run my thumb across his soft skin. For a long silent minute he looks at the picture in my lap. I can't bear to set my eyes on it anymore. Instead I watch my brother's face, memorizing the soft features.
"He's strong. Like the lumberjacks in Mama's stories," Tomik appraises finally. I nod once more.
"Yes, I see it too," mother says as she lovingly smoothes her hand through Tomik's hair, "He'll protect Arwen from the Sasquatch." My mother always tells stories about a creature who lives in the deep forests of District 7, the Sasquatch. A fearsome beast with a ridiculous name, whose giant feet leave large prints on the forest floor.
Mother's nighttime folk legends always tell of adventurous run-ins with the beast, where people nearly escape with their lives. Tomik giggles as mother makes a silly face at him and growls low in her belly like the Sasquatch in her stories. She's cheering him up, because she doesn't want him to keep dwelling on the fact that I am leaving in only a month. These genetic results only serve to make my contract seem more real, a tangible reminder that my time here is finite.
"Come on tumbleweed it's time for bed," my father says as he rises and beckons to Tomik.
I watch them disappear into my parent's bedroom where Tomik has a cot that is pressed tightly against the far wall. I share the second bedroom with my sisters. My parents thought that three girls should have privacy and when Tomik is particularly sick they always like to have him as near as possible in the night.
Papa rises and bids us goodnight, pressing kisses into our cheeks before he goes. Nana and mother remain, both sitting closer to me. Nana tucks herself so close that the fleshy skin of her side presses hot warmth along the length of my body. For a moment, the three of us sit in silence. I hear my sisters giggling in our bedroom and then a loud noise followed by hysterical laughter. Their antics never cease.
Now that there is less pressure to appear pleased with my results I allow myself to fully feel the rumblings in my gut. It is overwhelming to be faced with your future, especially one that you don't get to choose freely.
My mother sighs deeply when I begin to softly cry. I let my head fall into the crook between her shoulder and neck. Once again I am overcome with the sheer scent of her. It causes me to cry more deeply. In only one month's time I will be struggling to remember how she smells like fresh air and hard work. Nana pats me affectionately with her soft palms, spreading my hair away from my tear-stained face.
"I still remember the first time I opened my envelope and saw your father's face. I knew immediately that he was the one that I would contract with. He was smiling so widely, the kind of smile he has right before he bursts into laughter," with my ear pressed against my mother's skin I can feel her voice vibrating through her.
Despite how soft and beautiful she is, her voice is a deep raspy quality that rattles in your chest when she sings old mountain songs. My mother knows so many stories and songs I feel it should be impossible for her to remember all the details.
"And I remember turning the page and peering down at your Papa. He looked so angry the old fool," Nana laughs harshly as she reminisces, "I was so afraid he would be an awful man. Beat me, or force me to do things I didn't want to do. Wasn't I pleasantly surprised to find out he had a gentle soul under that sour exterior." Nana smirks at the thought. Her eyes are dancing as she thinks about the past.
I try to imagine what it was like when my Nana, who hailed from District 11, officially met my Papa after his long journey from District 4. They were contracted here because this is where their skills were most needed.
I contemplate what it must have been like when my mother came here for the first time and joined my father at our farm. She must have felt so welcome having his family here to fill the void from those that she had left behind.
My mother's voice vibrates through my skull as she speaks up again, "Everything will be new and different, but there is nothing to be afraid of darling. I have faith that you will be loved and provided for in every way." I try to collect myself and quell the stream of silent tears. My mother always has a good sense of the world. If she believes that I will be fine, then I shall believe it too.
"Now, let's have a look at him again. A good hard look this time," Nana says. I gingerly sit up and let them hold the paper up between their two hands. Nana is right; I need a better look at him. With everyone expectantly watching me earlier I couldn't settle too deeply on his features. I remind myself that these two women have been through the exact same thing as me. I need to come to terms with my fate and accept the lot that I am given for the good of Panem.
"Ah, see here. He has the most beautiful eyes," Nana whispers. I smile and nod as the three of us examine the silvery hued orbs. They are oval shaped and rimmed with thick dark lashes.
"When things are troubling, just look into those eyes of his and remember that they show his soul," My mother whispers into my other ear, "and those full lips, I'm sure he smiles. He wouldn't have these laugh lines at the corners of his eyes if he didn't." My mother runs her fingertip along the lips and eyes of his face. I didn't notice how plump his lips were before, nor how those soft creases indicate that he laughs often.
"And here, the set of his neck and shoulders," Nana thumbs them as she speaks; "they're set from hard work. Strong and dependable." My mother hums her agreement. I allow myself to smile once more, because both of them have eased the tension in my core.
My mother's emerald eyes meet mine as she places the packet back on my lap, "Most important of all is his surname, Hawthorne. It's the same name as a majestic type of tree. You know how I love my trees." I smirk at her as she wiggles her eyebrows.
The clock on the mantelpiece chimes and we all hug before leaving each other. For the millionth time in my life I feel blessed for the family that I have been given. All I can do is pray that my future family will be just as wonderful.
I wake early and quickly dress for the day, donning my uniform for my mandatory labor assignment. I comb my locks into submission and plait them on the side of my head, so that I can easily fit my straw hat over my thick hair.
Mandatory labor days are dreaded by most of my friends, but Bronwyn and I have always enjoyed them. Being in the fields as the sun rises is akin to witnessing the earth being set ablaze. The wheat glows a multitude of shades as the rays of light spread across the land. My sisters both groan when I shake their shoulders to wake them.
Their assignment day is the same as mine, but we don't often work in the same blocked off sections. Bronwyn typically drives one of the giant tractors, while Brenna is slotted with jobs like cutting stray stalks and bundling them together. I typically work in the fields that need fertilizing, spreading the Capitol created nutrients. On more than one occasion I have been subject to being on the pesticide team, the only job that I haven't enjoyed.
My favorite labor assignment was in the actual mill itself, where my father works daily. In the mill they grind the raw wheat into flour, or use germinated wheat and dry it to create malt, when the raw wheat is broken into parts the outer husk called the bran can be used in a number of ways. Even the dried stalks from the fields can be utilized. My mother weaves baskets and other items from the dry wheat stalks. Her long slender fingers always make quick work of the task.
Today I have been assigned to the storage rooms. There are large metal rooms where the wheat is stored for long periods of time until it is determined what should be done with it. Once the wheat has been given a purpose, workers sweep it into square shoots in the middle of the floor where it travels to be ground into flour. My job today will be to inspect the stores of wheat for insects and moisture. Moisture breeds mold, which can ruin an entire room of wheat in a very short time. Insects are just as bothersome.
My sisters and I walk with our school bags over our shoulders. Our day clothes and books packed tightly inside with our lunches. After our mandatory labor assignments are complete for the morning we will be allowed to go back to school during the lunch period.
"I've got field C-22 today, what about you?" Bronwyn asks as we trudge along the two mile stretch of dirt road between our home and village. Brenna groans before she kicks a pebble roughly with the toe of her boot.
"I've got pesticide team, field L-54. My partner is that awful brute Kolger." She throws her hands up in frustration as we continue onward.
"They put me in the storage rooms today," I inform them. My schoolbag feels heavy, weighted down by the genetic results that are folded neatly inside. My heart feels lighter at least. The feelings from last night have subsided somewhat. For the better half of the night I laid awake thinking about my contract. When I finally drifted to sleep I dreamt of silver eyes.
"Lucky! I've never gotten storage rooms," Brenna bemoans. I laugh lightly at my fortune and stay silent for the rest of the walk as my sisters talk about an assignment for their health course.
When my mandatory labor assignment is complete I walk back to school with some classmates and immediately enter the locker room to change into my regular attire. Lunch seems to be the social event of the year today. Everyone is loudly discussing their results and comparing pictures, statistics, and districts. Brenna was right, nearly all the girls think that my best match is the most handsome man they have seen. They giggle and whisper to each other as they peer at his face.
Poppy Warren, one of the most beautiful girls in the district, nearly shreds his picture when she sees how high my percentages are with him. Her highest match only reaches the 80s. Brenna is proud of me and wants to show my results off to anyone willing to look. More than once I try to snatch my packet back from her tight grip as we sit at a long lunch table with a number of her friends.
My closest friend, Sophia, has two matches who have nearly identical numbers. So that means the Capitol will have to weigh all the aspects before making their decision on who shall be her best match. I smile reassuringly at her as we walk to our history course with our packets. Our professor has requested that we all bring them so that she can discuss the districts that each of our matches hail from.
Several people have matches from District 12. When the discussion turns to the mountainous region I listen intently. Of course we learned about the districts when we were growing up, but the textbooks are only filled with factual information. My classmates and professor have the non-textbook information, the true look and feel of the actual place. Sophia's mother was a native of the district and she explains what she knows to the class in a clear soft voice.
"My mother always sings me beautiful mountain songs. She tells me about the forest that surrounds everything for miles, farther than the eyes can see. The mountains are big and sprinkled in trees of many kinds. And there are two halves to the district. The people who work in the mine generally live in the half called the Seam, while the people who work in town live in the Merchant Quarter. My mother lived in the Seam. Her father was a coal miner and her mother was a seamstress. She says that coal dust permeates everything, coating the district in never ending blackness. It isn't all bad though. She knows a lot of dances that you do with a fiddle and banjo," Sophia smiles at me as she ends her explanation of the district.
I fight the faint blush that threatens to appear across my face. Will Gale Hawthorne teach me how to do the dances of his district? I feel as though I would embarrass myself profusely by attempting to dance. My mind sifts through all the information I know about my future district. Just the thought of seeing the surrounding forest is enough to send a jolt through me.
Someday I will tell my children the same thing my mother tells me, 'I couldn't have been sent to a more different place than the one I came from'.
It has been nearly two weeks since I completed my skills assessment for the final time and three weeks since I learned about my potential contract partners. As I walk home with my siblings we are greeted by the sight of my mother waving at us from the wide porch.
She is beaming broadly, clasping a large yellow envelope in her right hand. My stomach plummets at the sight of it. When he sets eyes on it, Tomik immediately grasps by hand and squeezes it lightly. Brenna and Bronwyn race toward our mother, laughing. With Tomik at my side I take my time, savoring the soft pressure of his small hand. Whenever I feel fearful or distressed all I need is Tomik's presence to sooth me.
"Are you scared?" He asks me as we cross the yard.
I squeeze his hand more firmly and shake my head no, even though in reality I am truly scared. This is the moment that will seal my fate forever. I don't want to frighten my gentle little brother. I drop my bag softly into the grass when my mother hands the envelope to me. Tomik grips the sleeve of my shirt as I slowly break the seal on the envelope. My mother and sisters sit on the steps of the porch, watching my expression with unblinking eyes. With one deep breath I finally pull my fate from within.
Again the cover letter bears the Capitol seal. This time however, the accompanying note is rather long. It details what is expected of me and the procedures I will take in order to fill my contract. I skim the descriptions quickly and swallow thickly.
"Well?" Brenna demands impatiently. I feel so unbelievably frightened. Tomik's small frame is quivering beside me. I wrap my free arm around him, pressing his body against mine.
"Help me turn the page?" I ask him in the gentlest tone I can muster. He nods and slips his small hand under the flap. His pale fingers push the parchment aside and reveal the fate that I am destined to.
Gale Hawthorne's face is plastered on the top right corner of the page. On the left corner, my own smiling face appears. For a moment I feel a wave of shock and then immediate relief. I had expected this outcome and now I know that it is true. I examine my picture for a moment. It is probably the best I have ever looked. Beneath our pictures is the surname Hawthorne in bold black letters. The column on my side of the page details my status. Arwen Briony Hawthorne, 18 years, Healer – District 12, House #45 The Seam.
I smile deeply and squeeze Tomik more tightly to me. I didn't think I could dare to dream about becoming a healer. Here it is on paper, official. I have been deemed an asset to the Capitol and given the opportunity to help in the greatest of ways. Somehow the two of us fall to our knees in the grass. Brenna and Bronwyn rush forward to peer over our shoulders as I lay the papers in my lap. The second column details my husband's status. Gale Aspen Hawthorne, 18 years 4 months, Coal Miner: Explosives Expert – District 12, House #45 The Seam.
"A healer, oh Arwen that's amazing!" Bronwyn exclaims as she hugs me from behind.
"I knew he was the one, the moment I saw him, I just knew it. Arwen your children will be so beautiful. Mama look!" Brenna squeals with excitement as she grasps my free hand. She presses a kiss to the back of my hand before she clutches it to her chest.
"It's a lovely match and I am proud of your vocation too, your father will be so pleased. He was really rooting for you to get it," mother coos as she presses my face between her palms and kisses my forehead.
The loud fuss summons Nana and Papa from their house. Both are pleased with the results. Nana talks about Gale's eyes for what feels like the thousandth time. She will never meet the man, but someday I will have to tell him that he has made a lasting impression on her. Papa pretends that it makes him jealous.
Through my families encouraging smiles and heightened excitement I nearly feel faint, but Tomik brings me back to a steady place. "What if he blows himself up?" Tomik asks quietly, his eyebrows knit together with concern.
"He'll learn how to properly do his job, don't worry tumbleweed," I assure him. He bites his bottom lip and stares off for a moment over the wide expanse of waving wheat.
"Tell him he can't leave you. He's got to protect you for me, I don't want the Sasquatch to get you in that big forest," Tomik's words are so soft I barely hear them. I fold both of my arms around him, crushing his frame against me. He hugs me back just as tightly. I rock him in the breeze and pet his hair down with my hand. I let one single tear slide down my cheek.
"Tomik, I'll be safe from the Sasquatch. Don't worry about me. I need you to promise me something instead. I need you to watch over the farm and do as Mama and Daddy say. Always be a good boy. Help Nana around the house and keep Papa company," my voice comes out more strangled than I intend it to as several more tears flow from my eyes.
"Can you do that for me?" I pull back and peer into his glassy green eyes, "I love you, don't ever forget that." Tomik nods furiously through his tears. My mother places her arms around both of us, followed by Nana. Then Brenna and Bronwyn both engulf us, their bronze faces wet with shimmering tears. Papa stands to the side watching us with a solemn face. I smile at him softly as I shed one last tear.
On September 1st my mother rises early to help me pack a small suitcase with my belongings. After I slip into the nicest dress I own and step into new soft leather shoes, my mother hugs me fiercely. She thumbs the golden mockingjay necklace before pressing a kiss to my cheek. I am using the same luggage that my mother used when she moved here from District 7 so many years ago. I watch her sadly when she runs her thin fingers along the edges of it and sighs deeply.
My sisters sit silently on their bed, watching me meticulously fold my dresses, pants, shirts, and undergarments. Mother begins to softly sing a mountain tune as she gingerly folds my items into the suitcase. She places a little framed picture of my family between the layers of clothing to protect it. In a small box she places a set of pearl earrings, a white kerchief, and a few coins. I try to protest the monetary gift, but my mother silences me. She stuffs the box inside the suitcase along with my boots. When the clasp is finally shut Brenna stands and embraces me.
"Let me fix this up for you," she says, combing her fingers through my long hair. I nod my consent and sit patiently on the bed as she intricately braids my hair. She slides her favorite hairpin into the side of her creation to keep some of the tendrils in place. Again, I want to protest the gift, but the loving expression on her face placates me. Bronwyn holds my hands in hers while Brenna finishes her design.
My mother dabs vanilla on her finger and spreads it behind my ears lightly. Bronwyn, my devilish prankster of a sister succumbs to tears as the finishing touches are made on my appearance. My heart feels heavy and torn. Brenna soon follows suit, crying lightly as she slides her arms around her twin.
A brief fear overcomes me as I realize that in three years time my sisters will have to be separated from each other forever. My beautiful identical sisters who have never slept apart, nor gone a single day without each other. They have a deeper sibling bond that I can't fathom being torn apart.
Father clears his throat in the doorway. I silently rise and allow him to fold me tightly in his arms. When father's youngest brother was sent out on his contract I was only an infant. I don't remember what it was like to tell someone goodbye forever. Father and Mother remember it all too clearly. They've both done it a number of times.
"You look beautiful," Father says as he holds me at arm's length, "I wish we could capture you in this moment forever." The heavy sensation in my heart only seems to grow more burdensome.
The four of us leave the house and find Tomik sitting with my grandparents in the shade of their porch. My Papa isn't well enough to make the two mile trip to town, so Nana will stay with him. It was decided just last night that they should watch over my brother as well. My mother thinks that the final goodbye at the train station will be too painful for him.
"Beautiful," Papa says as we approach. I smile graciously at him and allow him to kiss my hands. Nana smiles warmly, though I see the fear in her eyes.
"We love you," Nana says as she hugs me tightly, "Watching you grow has been a blessing." I nod and kiss her cheeks.
"Being able to have you both in my life is something that I will forever be grateful for," my voice cracks as the words spill forth. Finally, my eyes fall on Tomik. His tousled hair and freckled face are so boyish and pure. I gently caress his face and smile at him with all that I am.
"My little tumbleweed. I love you more than anything in the world. I will see you again someday, in the clouds," I kneel beside him and gesture toward the clear blue sky. On cloudy days Tomik and I would play a game where we designed shapes in the fluffy white clouds. A time that we spent, just the two of us. I press a kiss to his forehead and join my parents and sisters at the edge of the dirt road. They give me a moment to soak in my surroundings for the last time.
I let my eyes wander slowly over the land, the barn, and the farmhouses. With a curt nod I turn to my parents and wave one last time to Tomik.
On this day, I vow that I will honor my country, provide children for whom I will devote my life, support my district, and cherish the gifts that the Capitol has provided. I will do everything I can for the good of Panem.
A/N: As stated in the note above, I originally read "Five Loaves of Bread: Dark Toast" by Aimmyarrowshigh, a Hunger Games story that spurred me to write this story. All due credit for the idea of contracted government marriages are due to that author.