Aidan Sankowsky The Decennial Pardon
A Hunger Games Novel
30 days until reaping
"Three weeks and fourteen hours, it's a personal record," I boast, holding my head up with my hands. The dinner table is adorned with new china, napkins, and an elegant candle centerpiece. Around it is my immediate family and the extensions from them. Alcoholic uncles, prim aunts, crazy cousins, and senile grandparents.
"When are the Games?" asks my dad's sister, Aunt Jada, adjusting her necklace and scooting her chair closer to the table.
"One month from today, actually," I say, "I know I'm gonna win, and we have a plan after I win the money. We are going to finally be able to afford reconstruction for Grandpa Maco. You know, he needs a whole new lower body." My grandpa lost his legs as a peacekeeper at 20, and despite the riches in District 1, he could never afford the surgery. Our visitors seem satisfied with our incentive except for Aunt Twinkle who is genuinely scared for my life. I really would love to see Grandpa Maco walk. It would be so joyful and inspiring. I know he wants it too.
"I wish my Victoria was eligible for the Games, but she never volunteered. Now it's too late. What a shame." frowns Uncle Yasmine with enough slur to stir himself another mimosa.
The dinner continues with smaller conversations between people as I eat silently. My mom and dad issue about my dad's work. My little cousins giggle about who "Paris's new crush" is, and Paris shakes her head and denies it. My uncles and aunts hardee har about golf while sipping their hundred-dollar wine.
"Goodbye! You all can visit whenever you like!" calls Aunt Jada as her car pulls out of the driveway hauling a little Paris, Glow, Paisley and Uncle Yasmine. Grandmother, Aunt Twinkle, and Uncle Topaz are spending the night, but I want nothing to do with them.
"Goodnight, Margot," my mom mumbles as she has her foot up the staircase like she would rather be asleep than be here right now. I can sense the tiredness in her voice because we stayed at the table two hours past dinner.
"Night," I give her a small smile and she goes upstairs to her room. I think I should get some sleep, so I head upstairs too. At the top step, I hear someone behind me.
"Hey, darling," emits Grandmother Velvetra, awfully close. They are both light-footed, so I am not surprised they I didn't hear them and are now only two steps below me.
Aunt Twinkle gives me a look, one of apprehension, "You know, we could all save up for Grandpa Maco, and then we could all afford the surgery! No murder involved!" she says in a thin voice. She has fear in her eyes, but she pains to display positivity. Grandmother rolls her eyes at me and passes me on the steps into one of our guest bedrooms for the night.
"I promise you, we will have enough money and more for Grandpa once I win. I will be okay; I will win for you all." I whisper, trying not to disturb anyone. I want her to trust me. I am glad she worries for me, but her distrust will bring me down mentally. All hands on deck, no exceptions.
"Oh my…" she frowns. She goes up to a different bedroom and looks at me as she closes the door. Please don't, she is saying.
I can hear Uncle Topaz and dad talking in the kitchen downstairs. I can hear Uncle Topaz's beer and my dad's wine clinking on the counter.
I walk up to my room, exhausted from all of the talking that has occupied my evening. I get into my pajamas and crawl into bed. I stare at the ceiling. It's hot. I take off my pajamas. Underwear and tank top instead, I decide. I try to close my eyes. A knife. It's headed straight for my eye. I open my eyes only to see the dark walls of my room.
Ever since I have gone to the Academy for training I have been not able to sleep. I'm scared. I want my family to think I am confident, but inside I am crumbling from fear. Aunt Twinkle is the only one with a clue of what I am setting myself up for. She understands the degree to which The Hunger Games forces children. After all, her older brother volunteered for her 12-year-old self, 38 years ago. She watched the countdown, the brawl, and finally… the cannon. My mom said not to listen to her, for she would throw me from my A-game.
I want to hear what she has to say, but if my mom finds me talking to her about the Games she'll be mad at me.
Eyes closed. I can see the steady stream of water from a grotto. Peaceful, isn't it? My hand, so worn. I'm in the Games. My worn hand not only holds the weight of murdering innocent children but a bunch of eaten nightlock berries. My vision, it's turning white. Purple. Black. I can see the water as my vision disappears.
12:19 p.m. I fell asleep, that's new. Normally I am still awake right now, loathing that dreadful countdown where all of my training is forgotten. Where I begin to wish my home.
I stand up next to my bed and walk to the door.
"It's only natural!" my dad throws some odd punchline that my uncle finds funny.
"Right as ever, Mister Lavish!" my uncle snorts. Good, they're still awake. I can't sleep if no one is awake in the house. I feel unsafe. Even behind our thousand-dollar defense system to prevent robbery and intrusion.
I head back to my bed and pick Ernie from the ground. I lie down and cover myself in a cocoon of warmth, hugging Ernie, the plush toy.