A/N: I had originally planned this to be fan fiction between a younger version of President Snow and OC, but now I think I'm leaning more towards Haymitch and OC ^-^ What do you think? I listened to lots of Nils Frahm and Library Tapes while writing this, so perhaps you might want to listen to a few pieces of theirs to get into the mood I was writing with. I'd recommend 'Them' by Nils Frahm and 'A summer by the sea (solo piano)' as well as 'Fragment VIII' by Library Tapes. Thank you for giving a shot :D
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my original characters.
Chapter 1:
I remembered that my mother used to have long dark hair that shimmered under the summer sun as she bent to pluck fresh fruits in our garden. It was small, but it gave us a lot, it kept us alive during our hardest times. Our stomachs were never full, but we survived.
This was when I was five years old, and to be honest, I felt older than five as I stared out into the black cinder streets as miners lugged in their dirty work clothes, the hopelessness in their eyes evident under the heavy grey sky. Their gloves were torn and beyond repair, their shirts rugged and worn. I came to a realisation -a very crushing one- that I would end up like them as well. Hope was just in another dimension. There was always an unsettling feeling in my chest as I thought about it at night when I went to sleep, and I would curl up against my mother's body for comfort. Most often with tear stains permanently etched into the back of her clothes.
Then, when my mother cooked, as I helped her, she said quietly. "Klara, we make the most out of what we have."
I almost cut a finger when I jolted out of my reverie. The carrots lay still, waiting to be chopped.
Then she didn't say anything afterwards. Damien noticed the odd silence during our dinner. He was older than me by four years and had strong shoulders and our father's chiseled jaws. Many girls giggled as he passed by, blushes painting their cheeks.
He paused for a moment, taking brief glances in each of our directions and continued eating.
I shifted in my seat uncomfortably then ate what was left of our half-rotten salad.
Her words were still playing in my head. Flash forwards ten years, and I thought of this as I squinted under the bright sun. Masses of children and teenagers lining up to the death row. Waiting to be picked up in this unfortunate Reaping. Hoping that the odds would go in their favour and save them another year.
I could see Damien in between the adults, squeezed tightly until his broad body shrunk. He was looking at me carefully, giving an imperceptible nod as I moved forward for registry.
The hiss of pain as the woman behind the makeshift desk clicked the needle into my skin, her monotonous gaze setting onto the next child, passing on a paper scribbled neatly with my name.
Klara Dermon.
Father deceased. Mother deceased. One brother, who was nineteen.
Suddenly, time moved too fast and I found myself in a position that even my brother couldn't help.
Effie Trinket's cheerful voice as she called out my name.
"Klara Dermon!"
The death silence that ensued and I pushed forward to the stage, meeting the gaze of the boy who had the same fate. He had pale complexion and sunken cheekbones. His wide blue eyes were shrieking with terror but his lips were sealed shut in acceptance of his future. I looked away, held my chin high, struggling to hold back the tears watering in my eyes. I saw Damien gaping in shock, bustling to get closer but being held by two Peacekeepers.
"Well, let's move on then shall we?" Effie said.
No, I thought in reply.
Klara, we make the most out of what we have.
••
"Stay focused," my brother says again, reiterating the two words. His hands are on my shoulders and they give a reassuring grip.
His green eyes look into mine with determination and sympathy.
I give him a small smile and he burst out a sob.
"Now it's you.." says Damien, wiping off a tear.
"I'll be alright, I promise," I say quickly, biting my lip to restrain myself from sobbing.
He pats me a few times on my back, gently rubs it then the Peacekeepers call out to signal time is up.
He gets up and looks at me for the final time, then exits the big doors.
I can taste blood in my mouth from biting too hard.
••
"My name's Kieran," the boy introduces, holding out a shaky hand. I look at it for a moment before giving a handshake.
We get on the train and the doors slide shut. Effie walks in her clacking high heels around the table, which is adorned with a basket of fruits and unlit candles. Both Kieran and I share a glance before dipping into the cushioned seats to dig into the food.
Effie's face wrinkles in disapprovement then sees me looking. She quickly hides it behind one of her fake smiles. "Perhaps we should wait for lunch? Should be out in a few minutes or so..."
I savour an apple and another one, paying no attention to Effie's obvious distress. If only she knew the hunger in District 12.
Two men in white suits enter the train car from the other side and one of them steps forward to take orders. Effie murmurs softly the name of the food, peeking occasionally as she picks from the lush menu for us.
As we eat, there is another man that comes in but he isn't one of the servants. His very presence infects the air around us with the unpleasant scent of alcohol. I have seen him from the Reaping, staggering to keep still in his own seat. Haymitch Abernathy closes himself home right next to Effie, who stiffens immediately.
His grey eyes gleam under the artificial light and a scruffy beard covers his jaws down to his neck. What is supposed to be a three piece suit is now downsized to shirtsleeves being rolled to the elbows and jacket strewn somewhere else. The vest is half-buttoned as well.
He gives me a jerk of a nod. "And what are you looking at?"
I stare pointedly at him for a moment then my gaze falls to watch myself cut the poor lamb into pieces. I hear him mutter some curse words and all of us bend into an unspoken mutual agreement to eat without words.
••
Evening falls and I head into my own room with the guide of a silent servant. He pushes the door close and I'm left all alone. The window glass ran from the ceiling to the floor, providing excellent view of thick forests blurring as the train speeds by. My fingers stick together uncomfortably from the fruit juices and I licked them. Memories of home and my mother flashed and I sucked on my index finger extra longer to simply end the image of grabbing an apple high up in the tree behind our house.
There is a chest of drawers in the centre of the wall opposite the big bed. Right next to it is a door I assume leads to the bathroom. I slide open a few drawers to reveal clothes differing in sizes, but accommodating mostly to mine, which is average. I spend the rest of my time under the hot spray of water thinking strategies on how to stay alive. I know that I can climb well, I can throw a few punches even though I'm not an expert, and at times I throw knives to prepare for the Games. The last part is illegal but hey, if you want to survive you have to do everything you can, right?
Damien never complains when he sees the holes I cause with the knives. Instead, he helps me to improve accuracy by adjusting a few limbs and my muscle position. And curls the lock of hair behind my ear when we're both satisfied with a smile. I ignore the thought and twist the shower knob. The water stops its assault and I dress in loose trousers and fitting shirt.
I climb under the covers, heart aching with shock and homesickness. My tears have long dried up in my mother's dress when we slept together, so nothing came out as I rocked myself to sleep. In the end, I motionlessly stare at the high ceiling above and watch shadows change shapes overtime.
..
That's it for Chapter 1 :) Tell me if you like it or hate it, any constructive criticism would be much appreciated. I don't write so much but I'm trying to because I'd like to improve my English literacy. Chances of this being continued is probably 50-50. I rarely continue my stories and I HOPE I can at least get some proper closure for this one if readers insist.
**A random fun fact: I took my OC's names subconsciously as Klara because i had watched a Danish film last night called 'Jagten' and Kieran because I had watched 'The GIrl With All the GIfts' few days ago. I didn't realise until I sat back and thought of the movies I had just watched...**