The air is crisp, the smell of leaves and baking reminding us that winter is fast approaching. I walk calmly, with my hands in the pockets of my jacket, when on the inside I am a ball of anxiety. I made myself so sick with it that I had to take a medicine
so as to not empty the contents of my stomach into the sink this morning.

In almost any other district not even the wealthier shop owners could afford such a luxury as that medicine, only a victor or maybe a peacekeeper could afford it. This I do not take for granted. My only reason for using it was for Scarlet. The cause of my anxiety.

Five years ago, when she was ten and I sixteen, they took her away from us.
Our mother was screaming, begging, crying when they came. She lashed out at the peacekeepers who forced themselves into our home when it became clear what they wanted. Her nails gouged ragged lines down the face of Aldon, one of the younger recruits, he still has the scars.
She quit struggling after he slapped her, just long enough for them to drag her outside before the kicking and screaming resumed.

I sat huddled in the corner on the kitchen floor, holding Scarlet tightly to me, unwilling to answer the stark question in her doe like brown eyes; protecting her as long as I could from the cruelty of our district.

Both of our parents were dead now. Our mother taken by a terminal illness not even the Capital's medicine could cure; our father died shortly after from heartbreak. It took a lot of convincing for them to let Scarlet attend the funerals after she'd been taken to the galley. That's where all the defects go. The talentless.

That's where I was headed now.
Most of District 15 still sleeps as I walk the carefully polished streets, a few shopkeepers are getting ready for the busy workday, and to my luck the sweets shop has just opened.

The little brass bell above the door jingles as I enter. The walls are all painted bright Capital colors; aquamarine, neon green, hot pink. It's like one of District 3's genetically engineered rainbows threw up in here. But the owner is a sweet old lady who bakes the most beautiful pastries and crafts the most delicious candies I'd ever seen.

When we were little, Scarlet and I would come here every day after school to help the old woman carry out her creations from the kitchen and arrange them in the store window for her. She usually displayed her most expensive artistic confections there. My favorite was one from two falls ago, a pumpkin cake spread with butter cream icing, and detailed with what looked like edible pastry leaves blowing in the wind, each a warm fall shad of orange, red, or brown.

It's a shame Scarlet never got the chance to see it.

"Good morning Cassia," Greets the little old woman from the shop counter.
"Good morning Mrs. Hanson," I reply with a warm smile.

"Up at the crack a dawn as always I see," Her smile makes the creases around her face more noticeable though it only adds to her charm.

Most in my district regard those with her age as distasteful, lumped in the same category that they thrust the talentless into. But here I see wisdom and life, and a grandmotherly love I'd never had from my own small family.

"And you as well, I could smell your baking from the gate," I joke.

"Maybe I ought to find a new profession then, I fear it's my baking that draws all these capital folks here," She says with dark humor.

There is a lull in conversation as we stare down at the glass case containing different sweets somberly.

"So what can I get for ya dear? It's for Scarlet isn't it?"

"Yes, and for Tessa," My attention remains on the assortment of treats in front of me, I'm not composed enough to smile convincingly for the grandmotherly woman in front of me; she knows me well enough to know when it's forced.

"Here you are Cassia," She says, stepping out from around the counter, a white and pink striped bag in her hands. "Take care of yourself dear," She pulls me into a hug, smelling of flour and fruit.

"You too gran," I say. She pulls away and pushes the parcel into my hands, giving me a kindly smile before turning back to her shop.

Before stepping out I carefully tuck the bag inside my coat, the paper crinkling as I zip it back up. The bells sending me off just as they welcomed me in.

By now more people are rising from their beds and starting the day. The streets hold more people than when I entered the sweets shop, mostly peacekeepers and shop workers since this is the residential district.

I walk past the morning rush, further and further, past the mayor's residence and the heart of the district, getting closer to the tree line.

Just at the beginning of the small Forrest of our district is a divoted dirt path, worn deep by the countless generations of talentless brought through here. My sister being one of them.

Every time I make the trip down the trail I can't help but think of my sister when she took this same path. The image my brain had come up with the first time I came to this side of the district is forever burned in my memory.

I see Scarlet, her wavy red locks in disarray as she struggles in the strong grip of a peacekeeper, sometimes two; more than twice her tiny frame. Her eyes showing an almost animalistic terror, and a question. Why?
Her arms are streaked bright red where the men holding her grip too hard, nails scraping her skin raw as she continues to resist.

When I first went to see her she has purplish yellow bruising on the right side of her face. After my fifth visit I got her to tell me who did it. One of the peacekeepers during her transport. Aldon.

I want that bastard to burn. From the inside out. Until all that's left are embers and ashes.

I stumble off the path, leaning into a tree, my body forcing anything I'd eaten in the past twelve hours out. Tears sting my eyes as I think not of myself, but my sister. In the hands of those monsters.

I wipe my mouth off on the back of my hand, spitting into the grass to get rid of the taste. My hand finds the zippered pocket of my jacket, pulling out a small tin of mints. Another luxury, all for Scarlet.

I allow myself another minute to pull myself together, wiping the tears from my face and erasing the smell of vomit before I get back on the path.

It takes ten minutes of walking to get to the galley, the walled up area that holds its own small town. It's like a jigsaw puzzle, multiple unrelated pieces and buildings are what make it up. The old, the broken, the outdated; just like the people they trap here.

The amount of peacekeepers they have stationed here is minimal. Visitors are allowed but very few. People let them take away their siblings, mothers, grandmothers without a care; some even report them themselves. How anyone could be so heartless I haven't a clue.

I flash my citizenship badge and the tall gates open just a fraction enough for me to slip through.

I walk quickly through the damaged dirt and cobble streets toward the children's section of the Galley, most at the entrance ignore me; I've been coming here long enough though that most of them know me and the less hopeless exchange greetings with me.

The children's sector is the most well maintained part of the Galley. Most of the women who help run it were young mothers themselves, separated from their own children or in most cases turned in by them.

The sound of gravel skipping across the cobblestone and quick footsteps echoes lowly behind me so I move to my right to let the runner pass.

"Cassia! Cassia!" Two voices call. I stop, turning around just in time to catch the two runners in my arms.

I hold them close to me so were cheek to cheek. "My lovely girls," I smile, pulling away to get a better look at them.

Doe brown eyes and bright green eyes like my own stare back at me, shining brightly with glee. "I've missed you so much,"

"You saw us just yesterday sis," The crimson haired girl laughs.

"And I missed you every minute I was away," I say tickling her sides.

"S- sis! Sta- stop!" She tries protesting between laughs. "You're embarrassing me-"

"I'm allowed to embarrass either of you as much as I want," I say, relenting and letting the girl breathe. "It's my job," I grin.

My previous victim turns to whisper in the other's ear and they both look back at me innocently, though the gleam in their eyes speaks of mischief.

"Oh no, do not-" But I am cut off as the two attack, tickling me relentlessly as I try, and fail, to push the two back. "You're g-gonna ruin your s-surprises- in my jacket-" I gasp.

"You have a surprise for us?" They ask, pausing.

"Maybe, I'm not sure if it survived the attack thanks to you," I joke, pulling out the striped bag.

"You went to Gran's," Scarlet says with a smile.

"Yes I did," I say handing the bag to Tessa, who immediately tries to open it with Scarlet leaning over her shoulder. "Not yet little kit," I say, taking a hold of each of their hands.

"Where are we going?" Tessa asks as I lead them away.

"I thought it would be nice to go to the clearing today,"

/-/-/-/-/-/

The clearing is a small plot of grass and wildflowers where you can usually spot a deer or two if you wait long enough. It was just a short five minute hike to the south of the Galley and had a few boulders around the edges big enough to serve as benches or small tables; everyone assumed someone moved them there long ago for the same reason we use them today.

I take a seat on one of the makeshift benches, leaving room for Tessa and Scarlet next to me. They take a seat and stare at me expectantly. "Go ahead," I say with a laugh.

Tessa immediately opens the bag, pulling out a smaller pink bag containing the usual mini cinnamon rolls. Setting those aside for the moment she reaches in and takes out a bag of chocolate wafers covered in rainbow sprinkles.

"Sparklers!" Scarlet exclaims as Tessa hands her the candies. "Thank you sis," She says, holding the candy to her chest.

"You're welcome little kit,"

The next bag Tessa takes out is filled with coils of red shoestring licorice. A small smile takes over her lips as she looks at the candy. "Thank you Cassia," She says, hugging me.

"You're welcome Tessa," I return the hug. "But, you can each have two pieces of candy for now, we still have breakfast to eat," I say pulling away.

"Yes ma'm,"

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

We spend much of the afternoon in the clearing, talking about things that don't really matter like the flowers growing in the beds outside of the children's sector and what we'd had for dinner last night. And because they like it so much I sing to the mockingjays nesting in the branches above our heads just to see the girl's smiles.

Though I sing low; softly, quietly, out here in the open where it's not so safe; like the caged bird I am.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

"Can I help?" Tessa asks after watching me cook for a few minutes.

"Of course," I move the sauce I'd been stirring off the flame, offering the girl a warm smile. "You can brush the rolls with garlic butter and put crosses in them for me,"

"Okay," She says, happily accepting the task.

I show her what to do on the first roll, carefully crossing the dough with a dull butter knife and using a pastry brush to butter the tops of the rolls. I warn her once more about being careful with the knife before I leave her to it.

By the time Scarlet comes back with the herbs from the small garden I helped them start out back the rolls are in the oven and the noodles are boiling.

The room is so invitingly warm from the flame and the oven that we decide to eat in the small kitchen instead of starting a new fire in the living area. We move the small table and chairs near the oven and set out plates and utensils.

I say grace as I do every night. Something dangerous, something against the rules; just as the book I learned it from is. The book I found years ago, with a note from people long dead, the book now buried in the ground below the garden out back. But still I say it every morning and every night as I'd been doing for years.

I've made sure the girls know they are never to say grace in the presence of anyone but myself; for fear of accusations of treason or of rebellion.

After dinner Tessa and Scarlet get ready for bed and come sit with me by the fire on the rug. We sit there silent and content as I run a brush through Tessa's long pale blond hair. Scarlet has long since refused my help with her hair even when it manages itself into mangled knots between the bristles.

It used to be something mom would do. Even after I'd grown old enough not to need her help with it she still insisted on brushing my hair or crafting it into intricate braids and waves; she did this until the day she died and the braids she'd weaved that morning I'd worn to her parting ceremony.

"All right, time for bed little ones,"

"You'll sing us a song, right?" asks Tessa, holding the silver brush carefully in her hands.

"Yes, but you must be in bed first," I say.

She smiles and pulls Scarlet with her down the hall as I follow behind with the lantern.

Once they're under the covers and the lantern is set on the table I take a seat by the small bed. They eye me expectantly as I come up with the song I will sing them.

I hum a few random notes just to tease them, laughing at their complaints before I begin the real song.

"Halfway around the world
Lies the one thing that you want
Buried in the ground, hundreds of miles down
First thing that arises in your mind while you awake
Is bending you til you break
Let me hold you now

Just close your eyes
Don't open til the morning light
Just don't forget
You haven't lost it all yet

Don't know what you're made of
Til the one thing that you want
To come in with the dawn and suddenly changes
Monday, syndicate meets everyone the same
But all we've lost to the flame
Listen to me now

Just close your eyes
Don't open til the morning light
Don't ever forget
We haven't lost it all yet
All we know for sure
Is all that we are fighting for
Just don't forget
We haven't lost it all yet

Someday when this is over
We may still have no answer
For now it's when I hold you
We are closer, we are closer

Just close your eyes
Don't open til the morning light
Don't ever forget
We haven't lost it all yet,"

Before the last note they're out like candlelight; I place a kiss on each of their cheeks before leaving with the lantern, the door closing silently behind me.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

The thing about District 15 is there's nothing to do. I'm not complaining or dramatizing anything, there is literally nothing to do. With our only export being our citizens there's not much work required here other than to look pretty. Which is necessary for the district to run, after all we are the Talent District.

The beautiful talented and popular thrive here, the whole place is meant for cultivating these people who someday, if they're lucky and successful enough, will be taken to the capital to live on the lap of luxury; adored and idolized by Capital citizens.

Those that aren't pretty or talented or popular are considered worthless in the society of my district. Those people are sent to the Galley.
Scarlet was sent because according to the recruiters she had no talent poise or beauty, and Tessa because she was forgetful and clumsy; not that those two were exactly disdainful, but the bruises that always bloomed on her pale skin were unsightly and her forgetfulness caused her to mess up her lines constantly even though her acting was movingly beautiful even at such a young age.

Me, they told me I was lucky I was pretty because I was otherwise talentless; and here beauty always got you everything. This was why no one could ever hear me sing, only the birds and my girls would know.

"Cassia Vindette," A voice calls from not too far ahead of me, breaking me from my thoughts.

My eyes search the darkness ahead of me before a large figure clad in peacekeeper white steps into view.

Immediately my posture turns rigid as he continues to walk toward me. "Aldon," I greet frigidly.

"The mayor wishes to have an audience with you at dawn," He stops in front of me, his face twisting into a bitter scowl as he looks down on me. "I came by earlier but these wastes told me you went off into the woods."

My heartbeat quickens at the mention of the clearing, at him possibly being so near to Scarlet and Tessa. I do not even feel my nails digging into my palms, or how tightly the skin is stretched over my knuckles.

"I wouldn't dare step near that tick infested marsh," He goes on. "Only you and your retarded sister could stand it there, you and that mute,"

I pull back my hand, slapping him across the face, my nails leaving shallow trails across it; opposite my mother's scars.

"You bitch!" He growls, kicking his boot into my gut.

A gasp of breath leaves through gritted teeth but I will myself to stay standing, I stumble but my feet stay on the ground. I glare back at him, refusing tears that want to surface, instead feeling my eyes burn painfully.

"Worthless whore, you'll pay for that, I swear it. The first time will be a warning; maybe make an example of that grizzled old woman you care for so much. The next, well, I'll wait and see what one I pick then." He spits, turning and walking away, barking orders at the gatekeepers.

I stumble forward, the tears now coming to my eyes; my mouth opens but no words come. I've ruined everything.