"I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. If we do, they'll have to face the reaping each year. And wouldn't it be something to see the child of not one but two victors chosen for the arena? Victors' children have been in the ring before. It always causes a lot of excitement and generates talk about how the odds are not in that family's favor. But it happens too frequently to just be about odds. Gale's convinced the Capitol does it on purpose, rigs the drawings to add extra drama. Given all the trouble I've caused, I've probably guaranteed any child of mine a spot in the Games."

-Hunger Games Catching Fire, Chapter 4

The room was empty, the other students having left promptly at the end of class. I sat at a bench near the door to the classroom, swinging my legs nervously as I waited in the silence. The clock on the wall read 3:28pm, almost half an hour after school was let out. I squirmed in my spot, unsure of what I was waiting for. As I waited, I tried to massage the soreness out of the knuckles on my right hand. After a few more minutes, Mrs. Grayand appeared from the hallway, beckoning me to follow her. As we approached the front doors, I recognized the figure standing outside. My father was leaning on the fence post, his face twisted in the expression he made when he'd rather be anywhere but here. Mrs. Grayand shot me a somber look as she reminded me that she didn't want to see "that kind of behavior" again at her school. "I hope you think about what you're going to say to Innis Ulee, tomorrow. You will give him a formal apology in the morning."

I was so mad I could spit. I'd rather take a good beating than apologize to that snot nosed brat. I could just imagine his smug face as I was forced to say I was sorry for what I'd done to him.

I wasn't sure if she caught the look of incredulity on my face before she continued. "You will also turn in a one page report on why you won't be fighting in my school again before you can return to class."

With that, she wished my father a good day and disappeared back into the school. I chanced a glance over at him, almost too scared to be within arms reach. Dad wordlessly turned to walk back to our house, hooking his finger and gesturing for me to follow him. I wasn't sure how he was going to react; I'd never been in this much trouble before. He'd never had to pick me up from school before and Mrs. Grayand called the house to tell him what happened and have him come get me. He'd looked pretty stern until she was out of sight. "So," he finally said after a few moments. "I hear you've been fighting".

I looked up briefly, surprised, but I said nothing. He didn't mean it as a question. Nor was it accusatory. In fact, he seemed almost… proud. He paused to look back at me. "What did he do?"

I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him why I'd really struck Innis Ulee in the face.

"Nothing," I replied.

He scoffed loudly at that. "Come on kid, I'm not stupid. I know you wouldn't go off on someone for no reason."

In reality, I was ashamed to tell him why. Innis was just repeating what the other kids always said. He told me that my dad was a drunk and was a shame to the whole district. But today he went too far. He'd dragged my mother into it, too. He said she was a tramp for choosing to be with my dad. "And you're nothing special yourself, Helmand," he continued. "You look just like the old drunk, and you can't fight neither. You're stupid, too. I guess you fit right in with your parents."

That was what drove me over the edge. I turned around and lunged at Innis, hitting him in the face and throwing punches everywhere else I could. I didn't know if he was taken by surprised or just scared, but he cowered on the ground, covering his head with his arms and begging me to stop. I saw red as I ignored his pleas and continued to whale on him until I felt a hand grab hold of my shirt and yank me up and off the boy. I was so caught up in my own adrenaline that I couldn't hear what Mrs. Grayand was yelling at me as she dragged me into the school, planting me on the bench in the classroom. It took a few minutes for me to cool down, my heart still pounding in my chest. As the other kids filed into the classroom for the afternoon, some shot furtive glances at me, others turned to whisper to their neighbor. Some kids looked scared and even impressed. I couldn't help but smile when I heard him blubbering in the hallway. I did feel a bit proud of myself for making a boy, one who was two years older than me at that, cry like a baby.

That pride melted away pretty quickly as I started to think about what dad would say, especially if he knew why I was fighting. I felt like kicking myself. I'd listened to kids say that stuff to me since I started school. It was nothing new. Why couldn't I just keep it to myself today?

I snapped back into the present when dad nudged my shoulder. "Did you hear me?"

"He told me I can't fight," I muttered. Well, that was part of it, so I wasn't technically lying.

He stood still as he appraised me. I looked defiantly back at him, almost daring him to agree with Innis. I knew that he always felt I was too small for my age, and that I was non-confrontational to a fault.

"Huh," he said disbelievingly as he turned around and continued down the street.

I scowled at his back.

"Look, I don't care if you defend yourself. Just don't do it at your school anymore," dad grumbled over his shoulder. "Your teacher said she'd expel you the next time she catches you going at it."

"Yes sir," I murmured.

The streets were wet and the air was cold, though not bitterly so. Small lumps of gray ice lined the gutters where the snow had melted in the sunlight and frozen over after dark. It was still winter, but spring was almost here. We passed dilapidated shacks and shabby buildings as we made our way through town. Dad trudged along, his back hunched up and his eyes looking straight ahead. He didn't look at me very often. He looked at the people in town even less. The same people never looked at dad- not when they thought he'd notice, at least. I silently thanked him for being sober this afternoon, grateful that I wouldn't have to endure stifled laughter behind my back as I helped him get home. That didn't happen often to begin with, though. Dad rarely came down to the town, save to buy food and… stuff.

We lived on the edge of the district, removed from other neighborhoods. It was unnerving at night because we were the only ones who lived in victor's village. We'd get visitors staying in adjacent houses sometimes, but those times were few and far between.

When we got home, dad headed towards the kitchen to start dinner. He pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and put some bread in the oven. As he fried the eggs, he pulled a bottle of liquor from the cupboard and took a pull from it. I sat at the kitchen table, watching him cook. By the time he put the food on the table and started cutting the bread, he was in a better mood. In what I guessed was an effort to be more pleasant, he decided to talk to me while he cooked. "What did you learn today," he asked as he buttered up a warm slice of bread.

Really, of all the questions he could ask, he picks the one that has the same answer. Every. Day.

I sighed and thought up the most sarcastic response I could think of. "We learned all about the wonderful world of mining and how each and every one of us can contribute to society by fulfilling our purpose here in Panem."

He smirked as he handed me the bread. Like father, like son.

We finished our meal in silence. Dad didn't normally speak much; it wasn't his way. Ever since I could remember, he didn't often speak to me more than he felt was necessary. I took my plate to the sink when I was finished, rinsing it and putting it in the cupboard. I pulled a ball from the front closet and went back outside, kicking the ball down the gravel path. I thought back on the day as I dribbled the ball towards the fence that separated the village from the tributes graveyard. I felt satisfied when I saw Innis being led down the hall by his teacher after recess, a bloody rag pressed against his nose. He got what he deserved. I'd had to listen to taunts from the other kids almost everyday since I started school. I didn't get mad for the reasons they thought, though. I wasn't ashamed of my dad. He wasn't a bad guy. I got upset when they accused him of being a bad father to me. Sure, he was gruff and sarcastic. But he'd been through more than anyone else I knew.

My mom wasn't a tramp, either. She was one of the prettiest girls in district twelve, and dad said she had a "personality and a temper stronger than a bull in a china shop". Dad always said that she was exactly what he after grandma and uncle Foster died. He loved my mom more than anything in the world. "But, you never win," was his favorite saying.

Mom died when I was born. So he was stuck with me. Dad started drinking again. Since he'd been drinking as long as I could remember, it was normal to me. It was better than having nobody. Besides, he was nice enough. He rarely yelled at me and he wasn't abusive. For the most part, he left me to do as I pleased.

I coughed as I jogged along the fence, kicking the ball down the incline towards the woods. It was often hard to breathe when the wind kicked up the thin layer of coal that dusted almost everything within the limits of the district. I shielded my eyes as I turned from the wind, waiting for the matter to settle back on the ground.

When I returned to the house, dad was in the parlor. The lights were dimmed and I could barely make him out, sitting hunched over a desk in the corner, a pen clenched in his fist as he clumsily wrote on letterhead paper. I walked over to the couch beside him, collapsing in the middle of it with a huff and looking over the back to see what he was writing. After a few moments I gave up, unable to decipher his handwriting. "What are you doing," I asked.

"Writing a letter," he mumbled, not taking his focus away from the paper.

"To who," I persisted.

"A friend," he said firmly.

I let it be, knowing that was his way of telling me to stop bothering him. Writing letters was about all he did when he was sober enough. Since none of his friends lived in district twelve, it was the only way he could keep in contact with them. You couldn't call anywhere outside the district with a telephone. Not like it was much of any use- besides the mayor's family, and us no other family owned a telephone. Just the school and the Justice building.

After a few minutes, when I finally caught my breath and had grown bored of the silence, I headed up to my room. It was getting dark outside, no sign of the setting sun through the slate gray clouds. I sighed, grabbing a notebook from the bedside table and flopping onto my bed. I flipped to an empty page and started to write the paper I'd been assigned as punishment, but after several minutes I slammed the notebook shut. I couldn't go to school and apologize to Innis. I wouldn't.

My laid back in bed, trying to think of ways to get out of it. I contemplated skipping school altogether, but I knew that I would just be forced to apologize the next day. I could pretend to be sick. But then dad would bring a healer to see what was wrong. Mrs. Everdeen would probably know I was faking, and dad would tear me apart if he found out I was wasting her time. There were other people who actually needed her attention.

My eyelids started to grow heavy as I continued to think of excuses.

Black. No walls, no trees, nothing. Only black.

I was running as fast as I could through the blinding darkness, but no matter how hard I tried, I felt like I wasn't moving. Behind me I heard the sound of jackboots marching closer, closer, closer.

"Helmand"

I screamed for help, but it came out as a whisper. Nobody heard. Nobody was there. Only black.

I looked over my shoulder, panicking more than ever. A mass of gray came marching closer, black masks pointed towards me. Coming for me.

"Helmand"

I felt the hands grabbing me and pulling me backwards, away from the blackness. Hands covered me, gripping my arms and legs. I cried, but nothing came out. I was powerless. The mass of gray was wrapped around me; the black masks inches away from my face.

And as suddenly as they grabbed me, they let go. I squinted into a sudden blinding white light. I could make out the blurry shape of a person, towering over me.

The person kneeled in front of me, taking one of my hands and grasping it in his. "Helmand, my dear child. I've so been wanting to meet you."

The voice was sweet and kind, so welcoming. But something about the figure made me tremble.

The person gripped my hand tighter and pressed on, the face coming closer to mine; yet still too blurred. The person's words started to jumble together and I tried, and failed, to pull my hand away.

I opened my eyes in the darkness abruptly as I felt myself being shaken. I flung my arms out wildly, my right fist connecting with something hard.

The hands that gripped my shoulders promptly let go. "Ouch!"

I panted as I started to become oriented with my surroundings. I was in bed, having fallen asleep with the notebook under my head. Dad sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his head. "Easy there kid, I think you gave me a concussion."

I shivered, reaching to pull a blanket around my arms. I dropped the blanket when I realized that it was thoroughly damp from sweat. "Why'd you wake me up," I asked, my teeth chattering as my body trembled.

"You were screaming," he replied shortly, putting his hand on my forehead.

I tried to catch my breath, but I felt a sharp pain in my chest every time I tried to breathe in. I felt tears run down my cheeks and rubbed them away.

"Relax," dad said calmly after a minute. "Just try to breathe slowly. I'll be back in a minute."

He stood up before I could say anything, disappearing into the hallway. I could hear him stumble down the stairs and out the front door. I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, a woman was kneeling beside the bed. "Hey there, Helmand," she said soothingly, pressing a stethoscope to my chest as she held my wrist.

I couldn't keep my eyes open while she examined me, but I caught her words to my father as I began to slip from consciousness once more. "He's got pneumonia again. I have a little bit of the medicine, but I'll send for more in the morning if you can pay me tonight. Keep his body warm and his head cool for now," she said quietly as they left the room.

I fought the darkness, scared to return. But my body went anyways.