Victory Tour
Mal
"…thank you, District Eleven, thank you for your tributes. I know you are a proud people and your tributes represented that pride in the arena; their spirit was truly the spirit of the Games and of a united Panem. I know you all join me in thanking the Capitol for its generosity and for the stability and safety we have sorely missed. May the odds be ever in your favour." The District Four victor, Delta Alongshore, holds her speech cards in one hand and waves with her other; her smile is wide as she turns to leave the stage and return home to live in comfort.
I stretch my back and shuffle my feet; the mass peacekeeping force that invaded the town square begin to disperse.
"Mal!" I turn to see my sister, Cass; she was stood with my parents but now runs towards me. I'm struck for a moment how she always seems to be running, as if she might miss something if she walks or strolls.
"Pop said you need to walk me home, he's taking momma to the apothecary." Between Cass' breathy voice and small stature you would never guess she was turning twelve in only a few weeks. "Is everything okay?" I ask.
Cass shrugs and replies "Pains again, thinks it might be time."
I let out a sigh and beckon for Cass to walk beside me; our mother is due to give birth any day now and I can't say I'm looking forward to the noise of another hungry mouth to feed. We don't do too badly at the moment; my father is a groom in the horse stables and, between his wage and the additional work we all do during harvest, we can just about support ourselves. My mother was employed as a tiller but she hasn't worked for a couple of months, since her swollen belly prevents her from reaching the machinery controls. Money has been tight, too tight, but we've managed to keep away from tesserae. Even so, I can't deny it's tempting, each day I see at least two or three kids huffing under the weight of a cardboard box filled with grain, oil and preserved meat; and each day I wonder if I should go and sign up. I've only got three reapings left…but my parents would never forgive me if I did it. They insist we'll make it work and I want to believe them.
The Reaping
Cass
I wake early after a fitful night's sleep; the panic of my first reaping day is almost overwhelming and I have to choke down the glob of bile that burns the back of my throat. I notice the shadows pooling in Mal's bed and wonder where he is; dressing quickly in my linen trousers and shirt, I slip out of the bedroom and into the living space. Gentle snores come from my parent's bedroom and I hear the tiny moans of my new baby sister, Flo, as she stirs from her sleep. I decide to let myself in and pick her up, loving the weight of her in my arms and the tiny gurgles of her affection.
"Hey." A voice whispers quietly behind me; I turn to see Mal kicking his boots off at the door, he holds a small pail of eggs from our chicken coop.
"I was up so I thought I'd see to the chickens, there's tea in the pot if you want some?"
I nod and he pours me a cup, taking Flo so I can drink it. Soon enough our parents appear and we sit in a strange silence at the table, broken only by the eggs boiling on the stove and the happy murmurs of the baby.
Mal
At 10am we leave the house and join the long, winding queue to sign in at the reaping. Cass stays near to me and we experience boredom, fear and frustration in waves as we wind through the side-streets of the town square. Eventually we reach the sign in desk, where a canopy has been erected to protect the pale skin of the Capitol attendants from the sun; I give my blood sample and wait for Cass to give hers. Next we are separated, and I move to stand with the other fifteen year old boys, I keep my head still and try to create an image of nonchalance, whilst searching the crowd for my parents.
A man takes the stage, our Capitol liaison Henry Massallo; he wears a shiny, silver unitard and the top of his shaven head is dyed purple.
"Welcome to the third annual Hunger Games!" His strange clipped accent has a slight lisp, "I am so happy to see you all again. If you will turn your attention to the screens…we have an announcement from President Snow."
The screen plays the same film as last year; President Snow stands strong and reminds us that our rebellion brought the Games to us and that we must prove our trustworthiness to the Capitol that never failed us.
Cass
I've seen the film before, of course, but now I feel like President Snow is talking directly to me. His beady eyes look down the camera and tell me that my family failed me when they rebelled, and the death of their children is a just penance for their betrayal.
The film ends and Henry Massallo claps sycophantically on the stage "well…wasn't that wonderful?! Now, on with the business of the day..." he crosses to a glass bowl of name slips "our female tribute for District Eleven will be…Cassava Reed!"
No-one has addressed me by my full name in years and I don't respond straight away. The children around me move away and a path to the stage becomes clear. My face is huge on the television screens and I can't seem to moisten my suddenly dry mouth.
I ball my fists, digging my fingernails into my hands, forcing myself to make the short walk up to the stage. Henry envelops me in a cloud of lavender scent and a strange side-hug, he shuffles me into position and I stare out at the gawping crowd.
Mal
I'm still focussed on Cass' little face, wrinkled with the effort of not crying, when I hear the scream. My mother is on her knees and my father is being held back by a peacekeeper; he struggles as two of them force him to the ground and stick him with an electric baton. Only then do I realise my name has been called; peacekeepers make their way towards me, but I won't let my parents see me escorted to the stage. I start walking, jamming my hands into my pockets so no-one can see them shake; I can't let my competitors see me tremble.
"Well! It seems we have a family affair this year!" Henry greets me and tries to take my arm, he must feel my tension because he lets go and steps to my right. Cass sidles beside me and Henry tells us to shake hands; her lips are clamped together tightly and her eyes are wide and unblinking, either with terror or a stubborn refusal to cry.
In our final moments on stage I see my father clutching his stomach in pain and struggling to stand, my mother has Flo swaddled on her back and a neighbour is trying to hold her hand and comfort her. It's strange to think that they could have at least one dead child in a few days.
Cass
My mother sits with me; she strokes my hair and holds my hand, shushing away my tears.
"I'm going to die…I'm going to die…" I whisper this phrase over and over into my mother's soft, dark hair and stroke the sleeping head of my baby sister.
When the peacekeeper calls for my mother I grasp her hand and refuse to let go; they can't do this, they can't take her from me.
"No! Please no! I'm going to die, please don't leave me!" he rips my mother's hand from mine, Flo wakes and cries, the noise mixes in with my mother's sobs and my own wails of panic. The cacophony is deafening and the peacekeeper bundles my mother out of the door as I fall to my knees and weep into the faded plush of the carpet.
My father enters next and picks me up from the floor.
"Come on now, come on…" he half carries me to the chair and sits me down; his strong, rough hands cover my own and his voice is measured, steady and comforting.
"Listen Cass, you run away and hide. Trust Mal, stay with him if you can, but don't trust anyone else. Ok?" He asks and, when I don't answer, he shakes my shoulders "Cass! Don't count yourself out, you hear? Don't give up." Then he takes me into his arms and tells me he loves me, holding me tight until my breathing steadies and the peacekeeper comes to take him away.
Mal
I stare out of the window, my mother's tears still wet on my shoulder and my father's words still ringing in my ears.
"Watch out for your sister," he told me. "Don't let her suffer."
I'd like to believe that he meant I should keep her sheltered, fed and safe; but, I saw the look in his eye when he pulled me to him for a final hug, he knew that a timid, twelve year old girl isn't likely to make it through the Games. Did he mean I should put her out of her misery? Perhaps slit her throat myself and spare her the suffering of the arena? Maybe it's not a bad idea…slit hers then slit my own so neither of us have to starve.
When the time comes to leave the room I see Cass stood, hovering on the tips of her toes outside my door, waiting for me to join her so we can board the train together. I know I have to ally with my sister, her wide eyes stare at me like a protector and I cannot let her down.
The train is beautiful and frightening. I see myself reflected in every polished surface; the effect is as if a sullen, ghost is following me, judging my every move. We are shown to our bedrooms and the shower leaves me feeling clean but smelling of some unnaturally strong flowers. I see Cass has changed into a yellow, cotton dress and her eyes light up when we are served thick pumpkin soup, pork steaks drizzled with gravy and then a mixture of fruits swimming in cream and sugar.
"Well, at least it's nice to have a friend. Isn't it?" Henry asks us, a vain attempt at sparking some light dinner conversation. "I saw a baby as well, is it a brother or sister?"
"Sister" Cass replies "Her name is Flo."
Henry smiles; the conversation could've comfortably ended here but these Captiol citizens don't seem to be raised with normal social graces "Must be a comfort for your mother, at least there's another child eh?"
Cass' fork drops to her plate and she runs to her bedroom, leaving her food unfinished. I don't even bother chastising Henry; I just chase after her and knock on her door.
"Cass let me in please." The door opens softly and I enter, expecting to find her sobbing but, instead, she is using a pair of silver handled scissors to cut the curtains to ribbons.
"I hate them all Mal," she tells me "they say they're here to be our liaisons, our helpers, our guides through the Games, but these Capitol people don't care about us."
It's true. I saw Henry on screen last year, just after his male tribute had been torn apart by a pack of animals. Henry was animated, cheerful and a little disapproving of the tribute, as if the boy's death had been selfish because now the victory party would have to be cancelled.
"What are we going to do?" she asks quietly, collapsing to the floor and throwing the scissors across the room.
"We stick together," the answer comes naturally "It's gonna be me and you against them all. We're not so pathetic you know."
She scoffs disbelievingly "what can we do?"
I point out that we can light a fire, identify edible plants and fruits, use machetes and scythes. "We have useful skills, don't count us out…I haven't."
Cass snivels a little on my arm and I squeeze her shoulders; Henry knocks on the door and asks for us to join him in the lounge carriage for the recap of the reapings.
The tributes are mostly interchangeable but the red haired boy from District One sticks out, he easily clears six feet, and the boy from District Four looks scarily toned and muscular. District Six pulls two tiny twelve year olds and one of them has to be dragged on stage by a peacekeeper, kicking and screaming hysterically. Eventually the recaps end and we are told to go to bed.
The Capitol
Cass
I'm so tired. Sleep came fitfully and only when dawn streaked the horizon. I wonder what our parents are doing this morning; who collected the eggs? Will my father receive comfort from his friends at work? Will my mother feel lonely at home with Flo?
Mal knocks on my door and asks me to come for breakfast; I shower and dress in a soft grey sweater and trousers. I'm not sure where in Panem we are but the weather is certainly colder than the warm spring of District Eleven.
When I arrive at the table I see breakfast has already been served; I warm myself up with a cup of spiced tea and then stuff myself with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, roasted tomatoes and thick slices of toast with preserve. A rising urge to vomit hits me but I refuse to throw up, instead I take a glass of water to my room and lie down on the bed until the feeling subsides.
We reach the Capitol in the early afternoon and I am greeted by my stylist, Jeska; she is brusque and moves my face back and forth to look at my profile.
"You have lovely smooth skin, such a rich shade of brown." She tells me, and then proceeds to dress and style me without another word. I wear the same clothes as the tributes last year; overalls and work boots with a strange hat featuring grain and apples as a nod to my District's industry.
I want to ask questions about training and the Games but Jeska doesn't seem interested in talking to me; I wonder if she's given up on me already?
Once I'm dressed, Jeska leads me to a stable area and I can hear the roar of the crowd that lines the chariot procession to the President's mansion.
Mal is already stood with our horses, dressed exactly as I am, and he offers me his hand up onto the chariot platform.
"How're you doing?" He asks.
I shrug my shoulders "I don't like my stylist, Jeska; she doesn't seem to want to talk to me."
He raises his eyebrows "I saw her on screen last year, she seemed nice…never mind, mine wasn't really helpful either. Just told me stuff we already know; what we really need are sponsors."
I scoff. "Sponsors only care if you're strong…"
"Not always," he interrupts "sponsors care if you're smart, cunning, they want to back a survivor. Show them you're not afraid, learn some survival skills. We can do this Cass!"
Other tributes look around at us when Mal's voice rises. I put my hand on his arm and promise I'll try, but I know my odds are pitiful and I feel a deep sadness drag my shoulders down.
The chariot jolts a little as the horses move; I usually like horses, sometimes my father lets me ride the older ponies at the stable, but I feel no joy today.
Mal
I catch glimpses of tributes on the huge screens as we trot past; the older, stronger tributes from Districts One and Two look fierce, the red haired boy stands bare-chested and strong with silvery trousers that seem to be spray painted on to his body. Cass and I look small; our faded outfits wash us into the background until we are totally unnoticeable. Why would any sponsor take a chance on us?
The ceremony ends and we are taken to a huge suite of rooms; my sleeping quarters are larger than our entire house back home in Eleven. The bathtub is amazing; I add multi-coloured bubbles and lie back as tiny fish holograms swim around me.
Dinner that night is delicious and I stuff myself with lamb chops, pearly grain and tiny jellies flavoured with carrot, peas and peppers.
After dinner I change into warm, fleecy pyjamas; despite the heating I feel so cold compared to home. I lie in bed and try to sleep, knowing how much I'll need the energy in training, but hours pass and I can't seem to drift off. A tiny knock at my door reveals Cass in a long night gown and robe, she's clearly been crying and I order us both a hot, milky drink. We sit on the sofa, sipping in silence, until I hear a small snore. I cover her with a blanket and then put my head on a cushion, the familiar sound of her breathing reminds me of home and I am finally lulled to sleep.
The next morning I find Cass at the dining table eating her way through a plate of fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, smoked ham and toasted bread rolls. I fill up my own plate and join her, an attendant appears to pour tea and fruit juice, but it's at least another hour until Henry and our stylists sit down at the table.
My stylist, Dillon, asks about our strategy but Jeska is quiet.
"We'll train together, we're a team."
The training outfits are simple; tight leggings and a cotton tunic, a badge with the number eleven is pinned to the back of our shoulders. The lead instructor is giving an introductory talk but I'm not paying attention, my focus is fixed on the instructors setting up their stations around the vast, airy space. When we are told we can start, Cass and I hover for a second, unsure of where to begin; lots of tributes rush to start fires but we have to light the hearth at home each day so we're not too worried about that.
"Shall we start with finding water?" Cass asks.
I nod; it's a good place to begin, tributes in both previous Games have struggled to find water in the arena and one or two have dehydrated to death.
After this station we try camouflage and making weapons out of rocks, sticks and animal teeth.
When we break for lunch I tell Cass I'd like to split up in the afternoon, she won't get a good training score if she's constantly chasing after me.
"But what stations should I choose?" she asks in a small voice.
"Just see what feels right. Maybe shelter or fishing?"
Cass pouts at my suggestion but agrees to spend some time away from me and, in the afternoon, I attempt the hand-to-hand combat station with disastrous results. The attendant throws me to the ground, hard, and my shoulder feels wrenched and sore. A giggle alerts me to the red-haired District One boy and his partner, Ondine, she whispers something and he smirks at my pain. My cheeks burn hot with shame and I push away the first-aid attendant who is trying to apply an ice-pack to my shoulder.
Despite my pain I know I can't slither away to make fishing nets or to construct a shelter, I have to show the watching Game makers that I can pick myself up and try again. I queue until the attendant is free for another match and try my best to stay upright; I'm eventually thrown but I manage to get a few strong punches to the attendants gut and I don't feel too bad about my performance.
Cass
The next morning I awake and dress for training. Mal is nowhere to be seen and I decide to head down to the training floor without him; he was right about my score, I need to prove that I can be independent and survive without protection.
I wait for the lead instructor to tell us to begin and head straight to the climbing wall. It's huge and there's a lever for the attendant to set the wall moving or to create sudden crevasses. I'm used to climbing and I'm expected to help harvest the fruit from the tops of the trees, so this wall both excites and terrifies me. I'm nervous at first, the surface ripples as the attendant controls it, but soon I find it almost enjoyable; climbing to twenty, thirty feet in the air and swinging easily between handholds. When the wall suddenly ripples into a vast crevasse I realise I can't hang on any longer; I slide and slip down to the ground but keep my balance and land firmly on my feet.
I feel good and strangely proud of myself.
Suddenly a voice is gruff next to me "You've got some moves there kid."
I turn and see the male tribute from District Seven, I think his name was Bates, he's waiting for his turn on the climbing wall. I resent being called a kid, especially by someone only two or three years older than me, but I don't want to cause an argument so I shoot him what I hope is a withering look and remain quiet.
"Hey kid…tell me how you climb that way…I'll trade you." He flicks his dark hair out of his eyes and his face crinkles into a mischievous grin.
"What can you trade me?" I ask.
"I can show you snares?" he offers.
I shrug, "the instructors can show me snares."
Bates scoffs "true…but they've not been using them to feed themselves for years. My snares are tried and tested in the woods back in Seven."
I suppose he's right, what harm can come of helping someone climb a wall?
Mal
I can't believe Cass' naivety and I struggle to keep my temper at lunch when she tells me of her deal with the District Seven boy.
"What if he was luring you into a dangerous situation? What if you've just taught him the skill he needs to win?"
Cass picks a chicken bone clean and helps herself to another leg "Don't be ridiculous Mal, I only gave him a few tips on choosing handholds, he barely cleared ten feet of the wall before he fell in a heap. Besides, you should see the snares he showed me, if we can get our hands on wire or tough vine I can recreate it…it could be the skill we need to win."
I snort derisively and stomp off, taking a spiced roll to eat as I make my way back to the gym floor. Unfortunately, in the pit of my stomach, I suspect she's right. Cass is an amazing climber because of her small frame and years of practice; there's no way someone can climb like her after a short lesson, but a good snare could feed us every day of the Games.
So why am I so angry? Is it because Cass made a smart decision, that she could be more intelligent than me? Perhaps I don't want to believe she can make it through the Games without me…that she could be a competitor.
In the afternoon I often find myself looking over at Cass; she's not spoken to the District Seven boy again and has busied herself at edible plants and insects, even so, I mess up my shelter and the instructor tuts with irritation at my distracted air.
By evening I have sores on my hands from throwing knives, it took at least an hour to even hit the target and I got nowhere near the centre. I take a shower and an attendant smothers my hands with a soothing balm that seems to leech the pain straight out of my sores. I don't want to eat with everyone else, so I order a mountain of food and eat it lay on my bed, staring at the twinkly lights on my ceiling. A tiny knock on my door comes at 9pm and I know Cass is stood on the other side, waiting for me to let her in and tell her I am still the brother she needs me to be…but I don't. I lie on my bed until she gives up, then I climb into my food spattered sheets and pray for sleep.
Cass
Henry raps loudly on my door "Come on! Up, up!"
Eugh…my throat is scratchy and my eyes are dry; I only fell asleep a couple of hours ago, my frustration with Mal kept me tossing and turning through most of the night. Why is he being this way with me? I need us to be a team, our parents need to see us as a team…they need to know we haven't given up on each other.
When I see him at breakfast he looks sullen, lost and tired. I take a seat beside him and reach out my hand, placing it on top of his.
"I'm sorry about yesterday, if you think it's best not to speak to the other tributes then I promise I won't do it again."
He shakes his head and squeezes my fingers muttering, "I'm sorry too, it's stupid to fight."
I breathe a sigh of relief, I'm already anxious that today is our final chance to pick up any skills we might need for the Games. I can't bear the thought that I might have to go through it all alone.
"Shall we split up or stay together today?" I ask.
"Lets split up again." Mal suggests "I think we need to hit as many stations as we can…seeing as it's our last day."
I catch Mal's eye at the end of his sentence and I feel like the words 'our last day' mean more than just our training schedule. I breathe a heavy sigh and squeeze his hand again.
The air in the training centre is tense with fear; the female tribute from District Twelve misses the target three times and throws her knife straight up in the air, screaming in frustration. I turn my attention to the false wound my instructor is stitching, trying to soak up as much first aid knowledge as I can.
Mal
At lunch they call us out for our private session with the game makers; I'm not entirely sure what to show them but, in the end, I decide to keep it simple. I go to the fire-lighting station and use the flint and steel to light a small fire, next I take a rope and canvas, then knot them together and create a makeshift shelter. The game makers aren't paying much attention, a few are swaying as if they've had too much to drink, but I see one or two nod politely when I'm done. I still have a few minutes left so I take a dead fish from the fishing station, gut it, wrap it in a wide leaf and then place it to cook over the fire.
"Thank you Mr Reed, you may go," one of the few game makers paying attention dismisses me and I am escorted out of the door, back to our living quarters.
Cass
I'm trembling when I enter the training hall but I try hard to keep my nerves under wraps, I've been planning to demonstrate my climbing skills since day one and I'm confident in what I can do. An attendant is on hand to help and he begins manipulating the climbing wall, I shout down that he should make it harder and sweat drips down my back from exertion. A few of the game makers are looking at me…but the rest are eating and drinking. I have to get their attention. Looking up into the rafters above the training floor I can see huge steel bars that stretch across the ceiling; with my heart in my mouth I swing my right leg upwards and hook it around one of the bars. A gasp from the viewing box tells me I've accomplished my task, the game makers must be watching me, but then my sweaty hands slip before my left leg is secure. My head hits the bar and my ears ring. Cursing my lapse in concentration, I wipe my hands on my shirt and ignore the sudden headache; my next move will need all my focus. A quick glance towards the game makers confirms they are watching me closely…this is it! I swing myself upside down, holding on to the bar with the muscles in my thighs and then reaching up to grip it with my hands, letting my legs dangle below. I stay that way for a little under a minute before swinging my way back onto the bar and beginning the climb down the wall to the ground, landing a little shakily but without falling.
"Thank you Miss Reed" one of the game makers says, he nods towards the door and I leave.
That evening we sit and watch the scores; both tributes from District One pull a ten, the girl from District Two only pulls a six but her partner is given an eight.
"Silver won't like that" Henry murmurs.
The screaming twelve year old from District Six only gets a three and Bates, the boy I helped from Seven, gets a nine.
The announcer displays Mal's picture, "And now, Mal Reed from District Eleven….six!"
Phew, that's not a bad score. Not enough to make him a target but not totally weak either.
"Cassava Reed, also from District Eleven…eight!"
Henry jumps up and hugs me; even Jeska, my stylist, cracks a brief smile, but Mal looks downcast.
"Well done" he puts a hand on my shoulder.
"All I did was climb; I just got their attention that's all." I try to reassure him; he told me earlier that hardly anyone even watched him. "You showed them real survival skills, if they were decent human beings they would've watched you and seen them."
"I know…thanks." We stand awkwardly for a moment "well, goodnight."
I shake off Henry's fawning and excuse myself as well, for a moment I consider knocking on Mal's door and sleeping in his room but things are already different. The Games have already taken what we were.
Mal
Sleep comes a little easier this time but my dreams are filled with Cass; she grows to fifty feet, chases me through caves and, finally devours me.
It's not hard to unpick my feelings when I awake, Cass eclipsed me in training, and now this little girl I was ordered to protect seems to have better odds than I do.
Resentment gnaws at me throughout breakfast and I finish my food quickly; wolfing down my pancakes, mixed berries and fresh squeezed orange juice. I don't want to be on my own with Cass, not with Henry cooing at her training score and 'hidden talents,' so I ask my stylist, Dillon, what would be the most helpful way to spend my time.
"Eat and rest" he answers me seriously "there are copies of the first and second Hunger Games in the viewing room if you want to do some more research."
I nod, of course I've seen them before but I can't say I was watching them for hints when I was back in Eleven.
Somewhere during my viewing of the first Games, Cass enters the room and walks softly to join me on the sofa. Together we watch the tributes as they are torn apart by wolves, bears, storms and, of course, each other. In less than a day we will be there, in the arena, and we will have a choice. We will be a team or we will be competitors.
I look over at Cass' face and I see that her fear mirrors my own; putting my arm around her shoulders I place a kiss on the top of her head. Of course we will be a team; Cass can never be anything other than my ally.
That evening we dress for our interviews. I am wearing a beautifully tailored suit and sweating a little under the lights.
Cass sits, shifting a little in her flouncy, green dress, and answers questions about her favourite fashions and food.
"I have to ask Cass," the interviewer leans in conspiratorially, "where did your amazing training score come from?"
She smiles "I suppose you'll have to wait and see."
The audience thunders with applause and I take my place in the plush, purple chair. Despite my nerves, I find the questions surprisingly easy to answer; they are mostly vacuous compliments and superficial statements.
Then he asks "How does it feel to be here with your sister?"
What a ridiculous question! What does he want me to say? That it's horrible? Every tribute's worst nightmare?
In then end all I want is to show the sponsors we are a pair. "We are a formidable family, she's got my back and I've got hers. Let them come at us, they'll soon see."
When the lights dim we are escorted back to the living quarters. I shower, luxuriating in the warmth of the water and wishing I could take it with me into the arena, before changing into fleece pyjamas and a quilted dressing gown.
I didn't even know I was waiting for the knock at my door but, when it comes, a tense knot in my stomach unwinds. I open the door to find Cass, tears streaming down her face and panting heavily. There are no words, I simply drop to my knees and hug her tightly until Henry appears and orders us to bed.
That night I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting and hoping for sleep, terrified it will never come. A little voice carries through my bedroom wall and I press my ear to the door.
Cass is singing; it's a little song I've heard our mother sing to Flo when she isn't sleeping, not all the words are audible but I know the tune so well that my memory fills in the gaps.
Cass
"The acorn grows, grows, grows,
The river flows, flows, flows.
But tonight, my darling, sleep is what she knows, knows, knows,
The moon watches you dear, lay your head,
Softly now, upon your bed,
You're safe now, angels watch you tread,
Until morning comes, you're safe with me
Beneath the oak, beneath the tree.."
I can't carry on, it hurts so much to think of home that I climb into bed, wrap my arms around my legs and pray for oblivion.