Author's Note:Hello All! This is the second installment to District Drowning. I hope Swans of Innocence will make up and succeed your prior expectations that you had in District Drowning. Enjoy!


Part I: Marco, Polo

1

When I was about seven, Mom got really sick. Daddy wasn't even sure if she would get well, but he didn't want me to get the sickness either so I stayed with Uncle Wallace. It was just me and him for three weeks. The best three weeks of my childhood.

He told me stories. Carried me piggy-back. But the best of all was that he took me on his boat the Wanderer. She was beautiful. And that's when I first fell in love with sailing. But more importantly, I found I wanted to sail across the world and explore the twenty seas and seven oceans even more.

But that dream will never come true. If a boat is found to be outside of the one hundred fifty mile range, well, I've never seen it happen. The threat is worse than attempting such a feat.

My dreams are all locked in yesterday. And maybe yesterday was a horrible dream. Maybe yesterday wasn't real at all. But I know that to be false. The water licking at my skin, the setting sun, and the weight on my hip tell me otherwise.

Yesterday, I had my interview with Caesar Flickerman.

Yesterday, I took a metal train back to District Four.

Yesterday, I was cradled in Finnick Odair's arms like a child.

Yesterday, my parents died.

Lucy's dried tears on my shoulder tell me all too well that yesterday was real. But today, today may as well be the dream.

I'm wearing Mollie Logan's reaping dress for the funeral of a century. The Capitol cameras were given permission to film the ceremony. Something never done before. I wonder what everyone thinks of all our white.

White is for weddings. Whites is for purity. But here in District Four, white is reserved for our funerals. For our dead. To know that even in death, you can still maintain some of your innocence.

The setting sun is what rouses me from my sleep. Not the deadweight Lucy has become in her slumber. Her hand is held by her friend Nate's. He looks at her with a sympathy he shouldn't know. No five-year-old should know.

Finnick Odair gently pulls Nate's hand away and slowly moves away from the rising tide. I should move too before Lucy becomes wet. I don't need her sick. Not that I can't afford to get her well again. It seems I'm an heiress after all. Winning the Seventieth Hunger Games and inheriting the Chelsea Tavern within days. I'm almost as famous as Odair. My mouth tilts up a bit at that thought. But they won't think me beautiful, I'll be sad, poor, and insane before pretty.

The cold pains of standing in the water too long finally seep in, so I turn to leave too only to see Mayor Neptune off in the distance. He must be as sad and depleted as I am. Losing an only son will do that to you. And he probably hates me for getting Percy killed.

I turn slightly away from him as I walk up the beach, but it's like he doesn't see me. And maybe he doesn't. We're all ghosts now, and ghosts are invisible.

At the lane intersecting Victor's Beach, Connor is talking to Odair. It seems heated and for my best friend, that is alarming. Connor has never been the one to argue or raise his voice. As I get closer, I see Connor thrust something small and gleaming in Odair's palm. Is it coin? But whatever for?

Connor notices me out of the corner of his eye and leaves Odair behind. He takes the slumbering Lucy from me without a word. And I'm glad because I don't think I could deal with his pity.

Odair is several feet in front of us as we continue to walk when I make my decision. "Connor," I say, "if I'm not back before dark, make sure the Logan's have Lucy."

And he stops in his tracks. "Annie where are you going?"

I just shake my head. "You know exactly where I'm going." I begin stepping away from him. "And just because you're bigger than me and a boy for that matter, I won't let you stop me." And I run. "Annie!" I hear Connor call. But he's too late. I know I can't face all those people no doubt at the house in Victor's Beach for multiple reasons.

Mainly, I need to see the remains for myself. The tavern. The house. My former life. So, I continue to run. Mollie's dress is probably ruined but I doubt she wants it back. That's why it doesn't bother me when the soot lands on the white. Ash as light as snow or so I've heard. It's rare for it to snow in District Four. It's only been once since I've been alive and I hardly remember it.

I try to be careful not to step on anything sharp since I never put on shoes. There are bottles of spirits everywhere broken and whole. I gasp as a shard of glass cuts the side of my foot. It's a hazard, but I couldn't stay away. I need something here. And suddenly, I see it. A framed photo of our entire family just before Uncle Wallace set off for sea the last time. Daddy kept it behind the bar. Always.

I tiptoe across the rest to my house. It hasn't fallen, but that doesn't mean that it won't. But there are things I need here too. I test the stairs to make sure they'll hold me then I make my way up slowly. I find a large sail—one of the many I patched—in the closet. It should hold everything I need it to.

I strip Lucy's bed and yank all of the clothing she has out of the drawers. And I pull off all of the pictures along the walls as I go. There's so much more for me to take, but I'll have to come back with help.

My room is next, and it's probably the most time I've ever spent in here. I stuff all my clothes and trinkets in the makeshift sack then head back down stairs to my parents room. But the living room catches my eye first. A floor board is out of place. My eyes widen in alarm. I rip up the board and sigh with relief. They're still there. Mary's books are still hidden. But I pull those out anyway. And I can only hope no one found the Homer, Shakespeare, or Twain when the fire was put out.

I hurry into my parents' room before I can forget what it was I wanted. My Dad's camera is on the nightstand and the photo box is open on the bed. I pick them all up with care and place them in the sail. Then, I go back to the living room.

The floor is charred reaching all the way to the chimney, which strikes me as odd. But I have no time for thinking about it. I lean down and stick my arm up the chimney and find the hidden compartment no one used but me. My wooden box of about a foot in length is still there. Still safe. Heavily burned but safe. I open it and find the contents are in better condition than I ever hoped for. It's the last thing to go into my sack then I'm out the door.

I take a detour on the way to Victor's Beach. I have to go to the tree near the pond.

It's the place I should've gone first. It's the place that I know something is there. Something just for me and no one else knows about.

A letter. My Boo Radley letter as I like to think of it.

The sun has almost dipped into the sky as I reach the tree. I peer inside the hole that's just high up enough for me to see on my toes, and I discover nothing is there. I reach in hoping the letter is to the back. Surely Hummer would have placed one in here. Maybe a squirrel pushed it farther away. But I come up with nothing. It's not there.

And the one thing that I thought could make me happy on a day like today is spoiled. He must hate me. I hate myself. He knows...he knows who I am! I'm excited for a moment, but only a moment because he must not care for me like I do for him. And he doesn't like the real me. A fake, a coward, a broken doll.

At least I'll be able to wallow in my misery. Alone and—I hear a whistle in the distance. They're too close not to see me. I wipe the few tears from my face before I can see the intruder. I peek around the tree and realize I was never alone. Not really.