Even through it is 5 o'clock in the morning and my beautiful baby girl is bawling her tiny head off in the crudely carved cot at the end of my bed, I can still tell that it's the morning of the Reaping. Sabrina, my younger sister by four years, tosses restlessly in her nest made up of blankets in the corner nearest the door and my old teddy bear 'Mr Snugglepuff' is being held in a choke-hold by skinny tanned arms. Normally Brina is the most peaceful sleeper on the planet so if she has 'Mr Snugglepuff' in a choke-hold, something is most definitely wrong and I know what that wrong is. Only one day brings out this change in her: Reaping Day. Then there was my Don, who usually had a relaxed hold on me while we slept but now it was cage-like, trapping me next to him and making it impossible to go to Anna whose cries were getting steadily louder. The neighbours are going to come barging round any minute now – or at least the ones who had the luxury of sleeping in this late – if I can't get Anna to be quiet and I am not in the mood to deal with those idiots this early in the morning, especially not on Reaping Day.
"Don," Rolling over so that we're face-to- face I whisper in his ear, stroking the hair out of his eyes. This is the best way to wake him up without him cursing the house down. "Don you need to let go of me."
"No," He groans groggily, automatically drawing me closer to him. "They can't have you."
Yes, it's most definitely Reaping Day. Not that Don would ever let me be stolen by another man but he knows that I could never in a million years leave him. The "they" he's referring to are the insane citizens of the Capitol and their barbaric Hunger Games.
"No one's taking me anywhere Don but our baby needs me." And she does. Her bawls are getting louder and sending me on edge. What if she's ill? There could be only seconds between life and death and oh my god, my baby might be dying. Panic sets in. What's wrong with her?
"Anna?" His eyelids flutter signalling that he's awake now and can hear our baby's cries. Finally.
"Yes, Anna. Let me go to her." Kissing his forehead to persuade him to do my bidding, I wriggle around a bit for emphasis. I want to escape. I need to get to Anna now.
His arm retracts from around my waist, a small grunt from him signalling that he's not happy about it but I don't care. My baby needs me. Springing out of bed, I whisk Anna out of her cot and into my arms. Instantly she stops crying and I sigh with relief. Her sea green eyes – the exact same shade as her father's – lock onto mine and she visibly relaxes. Whenever she does this it makes me feel very special because I'm the only person she ever stops crying for straight away but then again, I'm her mother and that is how it should be. She's wrapped up in an old fraying green towel because of how cold it was last night. We couldn't find enough blankets to go around all of us so we gave most of them to Brina and wrapped my precious baby up in some old towels which had hopefully been as warm as if she was wrapped in blankets.
"Did someone have a bad dream?" I coo, planting her on my hip and picking out her yellow flannel fish from the cot. "Did the big sea monsters knock over Mr Fish?" As Anna snatches her fish from me, I jump to reposition her and take her into the kitchen.
Don might not go back to sleep but Brina's still out like a light and I'd rather it stay that way. Impulsively, I look over at the bed where my parents should be. Even though they've already gone out to work I can't help but think that they're there, still sleeping or whispering to each other. They aren't there though, just like I knew they wouldn't be but their absence reminds me that I have work this morning and so does Don. When I learnt that we had to work, even on Reaping Day, I was so shocked but then again, I should have expected it. Why would the Capitol want to waste precious time and labour? It brought them no benefit so they obviously wouldn't do it, the scumbags.
Smiling down at Anna, she nuzzles up against me and I allow myself to gently stroke her chocolate brown curls. It's time to make her a bottle so I do just that. It's a simple task that doesn't require thinking too much about the process so I let my mind wander. It turns to the dark place of realization that in eleven years it's going to be Anna in my place, not quite so literally but on this day she'll be getting ready for her first Reaping. What an idiot I am for having a baby, at sixteen too. I've produced another child ready for the Capitol's taking in their evil games. What have I done? But Anna is by no means a mistake or an accident, she is absolutely wonderful and I love every second I spend with her so despite the fact that she was unplanned, she will never be called that. Ever. Not if the person calling her that wants to live.
"How long until your shift?" I hear Don enter the room and I turn to look at him. He's framed in the bedroom doorway in nothing but boxers and I smirk at him, my previous dark thoughts temporarily forgotten. I swear if it were legal Don wouldn't wear any clothes at all. How he manages to get by wearing the bare minimum without freezing his balls off elude me but it doesn't matter really. I love him, with clothes or without.
"I have to be there in about an hour. What about you?" Wrapping a towel around my hand, I pluck Anna's bottle out of the warming pot over the fire and hand it to her.
Wordlessly Don hugs me and I know that while we're both trying to keep calm we're actually petrified. It's Don's last Reaping, my second to last and if one or even both of us get picked… I don't even want to entertain the thought but Anna is our life. Members of our family have died so that we could keep her and stay together. We can't be picked. We just can't.
"Hour and a half. Do you want me to take her so you can eat?" Don's smooth lips move against my forehead as he speaks.
"I'm not hungry." My stomach growls, betraying me but I don't feel hungry. It suddenly strikes me that I didn't eat last year and look what happened…
"Baby, please." Don begs me in a low voice. Is he thinking the same thing? That not eating will jinx my chances?
"No, I'm fine. Besides, it can't happen twice in a row anyway." I force a smile for him, pretending to believe my own lie but I don't, not even for a moment but from the look of it Don does.
"Of course it can't," He says reassuringly, kissing my forehead but who is he reassuring: himself or me?
Time isn't my side this morning and before I know it I have to leave for work. Outside the sun is shining in an irritatingly cheerful manner that doesn't reflect the mood of the district whatsoever. Peacekeepers infect this part of the district, patrolling the streets to make sure everyone is doing what they should be. It's not hard to guess why there are more of them than usual. They're here to make sure those of us invited to the Reaping go there while the rest of us are forced into work. Making my way down to the coastline, I keep my head bowed and avoid eye contact with others, just like everyone else is doing. It's very quiet despite the great number of people walking in each and every direction. They're all thinking the same thing, I can tell. They're wondering who's going to be picked as our districts tributes. Will it be someone they know? Will we actually get a champion this year? I don't want to think about it so I quicken my pace, keeping my head low and my ears shut. I wish I could shrug off all the looks I keep getting though. Just glances from people who probably remember me from last year's Reaping. Boy, wasn't that an event and a half…
No, I am not letting my mind go there. I need to focus on getting to work. The sooner I get there the sooner I can return to my loved ones.
About twenty metres back from the coast is a small shack made out of rotting wood that was painted a cheery blue about ten years ago. Needless to say it's falling apart but they don't care. The roof is still propped up so we can use it. There are huge holes in the walls though and no glass in the windows so when there's a particularly icy wind coming off of the sea, we all freeze due to our district wear. Young females have to wear short, ruffled blue skirts that come about half of the way down our thighs over a swimsuit in the same colour. We also have black coats that come down to our knees and stop at our elbows. My coat hangs off my shoulders as it's a bit big. All citizens have the same sturdy black rubber boots and I tend to wear long black socks with mine in an attempt to protect my legs from the cold. All weavers tend to wear fingerless black gloves made of cloth (mine are the same blue as my skirt and swimsuit) to stop our hands from being damaged by rope burns and we're allowed to wear a little jewellery, mainly wedding rings but I wear a little seashell on a thin string that Don got me when we found out I was pregnant with Anna. It's absolutely beautiful, even if the bottom is slightly chipped. I rarely take it off.
When I walk in the door the clock tells me I'm five minutes early, not that it matters really. I need to work. There's a pile of orange plastic buckets with weaving materials next to the door. I grab one and sit as close to the door as possible without being tripped on by my co-workers.
Four Peacekeepers and the Master Weaver watch over us, patrolling between the gaps separating each person from the next, making sure we're doing our job properly four the next four and a half hours. The work is mind-numbingly dull, especially for the amount of time we have to spend on it. Being as worried as I am, my hands are moving quickly and time is going oh so slowly. I've doubled my quota (all of the nets in perfect condition) in the time so far and I'm still going. I need to focus on something to keep my fear at bay and this is it. This is my escape. Weaving shall be my salvation.
Master Weaver Adele seems to be very impressed with all of my work when she comes to inspect it. The clock reads that I still have half an hour left to walk but after a quick and quiet conversation with our supervising Peacekeepers she beams over at me and tells me I can leave early. I can't quite understand… no one ever gets to leave early but I do. Wow, that's a first but I want to get home to Brina and Anna who are waiting all alone in the house.
While I run, I can't shrug the feeling that I'm fleeing for my life through the familiar streets. Blood thirsty tributes from Districts 1 and 2 lurk in the shadows, faceless and non-existent – I know this but in my mind they're still there and I want to do nothing but run from them.
"Oceana, you look like you've seen a ghost." Brina is standing there in front of me.
Where did she come from and where's Anna? Oh god, they haven't taken her have they? If they have I'll rip their tongues out and removed their spines through their arseholes and- Wait, Anna's just there, sitting on the floor just in front of you. She's fine. They haven't gotten her. She's safe. She's in the house with you and Brina and oh god, I'm going to throw up.
"I need Anna," I'm panting from how quickly I ran through the streets but I don't care about how weak I feel right now. I need my baby girl in my arms. I have to know she's safe.
Wordlessly, Brina picks up my lovely baby girl, dressed in a little white cloth dress that both Brina and I wore as infants and passes her into my arms. I hold Anna close, despite her squirms and wordless protests. No way am I letting go yet. The feeling that she's there, that the Capitol can't hurt her yet, it hasn't… clicked.
"I'm sorry baby." I murmur an apology into Anna's ear, relinquishing my hold to give her more breathing room.
"She's been good." Brina pipes up, shifting from foot to foot. I recognise her nervous look and realise that it's due to my odd behaviour.
"Thanks Brina," I smile, breezing over the whole weird moment. "Let's get you prettied up."
In the living room a large metal tub stands ready for us. While Brina washes in the fire-warmed water I go into the bedroom with Anna on my hip and lay our Brina's nicest dress which is a long, sunshine yellow dress that used to be mother's. My dress was actually my grandmother's who was the daughter of a merchant. It's a chocolate brown colour and made of a shimmery brown material that matches my hair perfectly. It rests just off my shoulders and the folds of the skirt fall just below me knees. I absolutely adore this dress. I'd rather wear this to my wedding than a second hand white thing any day and I'm sure Don would agree with me if he ever decides to pop the question. He better ask me or I will kill him. If I can't have him then no one can. End of story. He's mine.
I hear the front door open and close. Is it Don or my parents? Two familiar voices fill the house so I know it's my parents. Relaxation ebbs away at me, slowly breaking my defences down as their presence warms the house. Mum will take care of Brina from now on and Dad will take Anna for me while I bathe and do other stuff. I can't completely relax though, despite the presence of my parents. No, I can't relax completely. Not on Reaping Day.
"Do you need me to take her?" My dad asks, slowly walking into the room.
His thinning, straight hair is almost all grey now. When did that happen? And why is there a small ginger patch right on the top of his head? It looks so odd.
"Yes please Daddy," I smile, ignoring the arch oh his back and the purple bruises under his eyes. He doesn't like us mentioning them or trying to help him. The idiot old man is too proud for his daughters' help.
He reaches out for Anna so I place her gently in his arms. I don't want to let her go, especially as she starts to whimper when I removed my hands but I must get ready. The Capitol hasn't given me a choice.
The bath water has gone cold because mother and Brina have taken so long but I don't mind. I'd rather Brina had warm water than cold anyway and I ought not spend too long in here as time is now flying by and the Reaping is less than an hour away.
Don walks in as I get out of the bath and it strikes me how late he is. Before I can say a simple hello to him Dad whisks me off to the bedroom so that I can change. My mother helps me into it and remains quiet as she zips me in.
"Your hair looks so lovely down. We should leave it that way." She tells me stiffly after a long silent pause.
Ever since I had Anna she's always acted slightly off with me. When it first started happening I thought it was because I didn't name my daughter after her but now I'm not so sure. I do know though that she doesn't fully understand the events of last year but I do and because of it, even now I'm still in debt to Anna's namesake. Anna is my baby's name because I owe her the girl she was named after more than my life, I owe her my everything and I just wish my mother could understand that and just tell me why she treats me the way she does.
We don't have a mirror at all so I can't confirm or dispute my mother's statement. Automatically I run my fingers through my curly dark brown hair. It feels so silky after being washed and I love the feel of it. Anna loves the feel of it too and I can hear her cooing as she runs her chubby baby fingers through it from behind me.
"Doesn't mummy look beautiful Anna?" Don asks. He's holding her up then. It's odd that I didn't hear them coming. Usually I do.
Anna gurgles happily in response, still playing with my hair so I take it as a yes. I can feel the smile spreading on my face and I have no control over it. Moments like these are so precious to me, they make life worthwhile.
A short, sharp wail signals from outside, telling us that it's time to head to the Justice Building as I open my mouth to say something to Don but I've already forgotten what it was I was going to tell him. Don pulls me off the bed to hold me tightly. His head rests on mine and I can tell he's smelling my hair. I try not to let that distract me though by kissing Anna' forehead instead and stroking her soft baby curls. In this light they look almost red but in the sunlight you can tell her hair is the same colour as mine.
Right here, right now I feel same. In Don's arms nothing can touch me and no one can make me leave them. Panic seeps through me as he lets go through and I'm not sure why. My name is in the bowl twice, unlike Don's whose is in there ten times. There's no way I will be picked this year so its Don I really ought to worry about and I am worried about him – I may never see him again but I feel like it's because I'm going to be sent into the arena, not him. It's a stupid and next to impossible feat (my getting sent into the arena) but I just can't help but think it's going to happen.
"No, Oceana, don't you dare start panicking now." Don orders me harshly, sensing my fear. "It won't happen again. There's no way your name can be called out two years in a row."
"But what-?" Don cuts me off with a sharp look as he catches the tears in my eyes.
"Oceana, it's not going to happen so get it out of your head." He's angry and it's my fault. I hate myself. I'm only making things worse but I can't stop feeling scared.
"Okay," Nodding shakily I swallow the lump in my throat.
"Now go give Anna to your mother or Dad and come back here." He instructs me, never breaking eye contact.
Unable to say no, I do as I'm told. I don't dare look at my mother as I pass my precious baby to her, nor do I look into Brina or Dad's eyes as I kiss their cheeks goodbye. Looking at Anna I almost lose my crumbling composure but I keep it together to kiss her forehead again and make a whispered promise to see her later. Watching them leave is a waste of time so I rush back to Don who immediately takes me into his arms and holds me close.
"Oceana?" He asks nervously, holding me at arm's length. I don't like this break in contact. I want more hugs.
"Yes Don?" I ask quietly, trying to remain focused.
"You know I'm not very good at expressing my feelings, right?" He keeps eye contact with me but I can't see much behind his eyes, which have fogged over, blocking my access to his brain.
I nod in reply.
"But you know that I'll love you no matter what, right?" He clarified. Was that desperation in his tone?
"Don, where is this going?" I voice my thoughts. I'm confused. Of course I know he'll love me no matter what.
"Well it's just – it's just-" he bites his lip and looks at the floor for a moment before getting down onto one knee.
He's not.
"Oceana, I want you to marry me."
He is.
"Oceana, please, say something."
"Oh." My voice sounds so small and distant.
I'm trying to kick my brain back into gear. Isn't this what I wanted?
But it happened so soon. I wasn't ready for it.
What am I talking about? Of course I am. This is what I want and I can finally have it. I can have Don all to myself.
"Oh?" Don sounds disappointed. That won't do at all.
"Yes. Yes I want to marry you." I nod, slowly at first but then more enthusiastically.
A grin breaks out over Don's face as he stands up again. He pulls a small wooden box out of his black trouser pocket and hands it to me. Inside was a ring made up of three copper bands woven together. Wedding rings are so uncommon in the district… It's beautiful but what on earth did he have to go through to get this? The ring glints in the sunlight streaming through the window as Don slides the ring onto my finger.
"Don…" My voice has gone all hushed again.
"Yes?" He looks up at me, grinning.
"I love you."
I bend my head to kiss him lightly on the lips but it quickly turns into something hotter and more passionate. It's too easy to forget who I am and where we are when Don kisses me like this. If it were humanly possible I'm sure I would melt in his arms. Right now I can feel my knees buckling beneath me.
"We. Have. To. Go." Don tells me between kisses.
No we don't. The only place we're going is into bed.
"Don't shake your head at me miss. We have to go." He breaks away for breath but I just drag his face back to mine.
"I don't want to go out there." I whine against his lips.
"Peacekeepers," He responds but he doesn't stop kissing me – he wants me as much as I want him.
"Screw Peacekeepers," It's a dangerous thing to say but it's how I feel and I always tell Don how I feel.
"Oceana. Oceana later. I promise later." His kisses trail down to the base of my neck, leaving little tingling spots where each one was placed.
The small action meant he was being truthful to what he was saying. Disappointed, I allow Don to give me a final lingering kiss before I fix both our hair. Holding hands we join the final trickle of people heading towards the Justice Building. When we finally join the lines of people signing in Don literally has to prise his hand out of mine when we separate into boys and girls. I don't want to let him go. He can't protect me from all the way over there. He needs to stay with me.
"I love you." He whispers in my ear, reminding me before joining his fellow eighteen year old males.
My mind feels numb without his presence. I stumble through the endless see of girls, unable to find where I stand. They all look the same, sun-kissed skin, light brown/blonde hair, brown eyes and blue frocks. Finally I see where I'm meant to be and stand there, swaying on the spots. The mindless murmurs of other victims around me dim into an irritating background humming noise that is easily ignored. I focus my gaze on the stage and to our living victors.
Only five out of the seven of them have showed up: There's Mags, our oldest living victor, in the wooden chair on the far left, whispering to Finnick, the youngest sane victor we have and our district's mentor. He's discreetly holding the hand of Annie, the girl driven insane when she saw the head of the other tribute from our district chopped off in front of her. I was too young to remember that year but I know that it was the Games the year after Finnick won and I've heard the stories – we all have. Next to Annie (who is rocking in her chair and staring at the few clouds drifting across the sky) is River who won the 55th Hunger Games and on his left is Pearl. I can't remember anything about Pearl at all but I can tell she's a morphling addict from her sagging yellow skin which isn't very helpful. Our other two victors, Seaweed and Articula, are a married alcoholic couple so I guess they're probably at home ripping each other's throats out or something…
Silence falls around me as Maybel Prince, District 4's Capitol Escort, takes to the stage. She's green. Literally. Her skin is a dark olive green and her eyes and hair are a matching shade of emerald green that fades towards the bottom. Just from the look of her you can tell Maybel's never been starved in her life. She has large hips and a waist that's not much smaller, thick arms and legs and a pair of boobs that are practically spilling out of her puffy pinky-purple top, not to mention the fact that her black pencil skirt looks like it's going to rip at the seams.
"Hello, hello ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Welcome to the Reaping for the 73rd annual Hunger Games! Good luck to all our potential tributes and may the odds be ever in your favour," Maybel talks in a sickly sweet girly voice that doesn't belong to a woman of her size and sounds very odd tainted in her thick Capitol accent.
"Ladies first." She beams at us all, waddling over to the giant glass bowl that contains the names of girls between 12 and 18 from District 4 because her skirt is too tight to allow her to walk properly. A preliminary drawing last week got rid of at least two thirds of children in the district but there are still probably at least two thousand names in our bowl anyway. I can't remember how I know this, I just do and my stomach shreds itself as Maybel sticks her chubby fist straight into the bowl an pulls out a name.
Maybel doesn't have the patience for suspense as she practically runs back to the microphone and reads the name aloud.
"Oceana Weaver-Smith."
I knew it.
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