The day was hot and humid, my worst kind of day. I liked cool and rainy days, where you could dance and enjoy the pitter-pattering of the soft rain on your roof.
I was eight. Andrew was eight, too. We were walking along the beach, hand in hand, my long, brown hair blowing in his face.
"Kendra! Your hair!" He yelped and brushed my hair out of his face. I giggled and pushed him, maybe a little too hard, because he collapsed onto the sand. Andrew got up quickly, and me, with my slow reflexes, couldn't dodge fast enough. We rolled around, both fighting to be on top. Soon, we got up, hot and sweaty. The midday sun burned brightly above our heads.
"Let's head home," I panted.
"Yeah." He agreed.
Neither of us prepared for what we saw when we went back. You see, since we lived in District 4, we lived by the ocean. Sometimes, violent storms and occur clear on the other side of the beach without us noticing, unless, of course, we had excellent hunter vision and hearing. Our tiny little village, that used to be organized and clean, was now a complete mess. Everything was soaked with water, the dirt roads were flooded with water. And just then I realized- we were knee deep in the liquid.
Men and women emerged from the destruction. I recognized my own parents, shivering and clutching onto each other. I let go of the hand that was clutching Andrew's- I didn't even notice I was holding onto him- and ran, more like waded, to my two worn down parents. Little did I know, that that was the last time I'll see Andrew in a long while.
My mom's usually silky blue dress was sticking to her body, muddy and torn. My father's shirt was no where to be seen and his shorts were also tattered. "Kendra?" They called out. "Mom! Dad!" I yelled. "What happened?" They explained the flooding in detail. It wasn't that bad, they say. Judging from my surroundings, it wasn't bad, it was, at least, severe. While we were talking, the water magically washed away. Just a few puddles here and there.
During the next few months, we rebuilt our little village. The seashell decorations were hung up again, the seaweed covered doors. The Reaping for the Hunger Games wasn't postponed even if there was the Great Flood II(what we named it, there was already a 'Great Flood'). The Hunger Games was when one girl and one boy, tributes, they were called, were chosen to represent their district. There were twelve districts. They all were dumped into an arena, and had to fight to death until here was one tribute left. He or she was declared winner. I always thought that the Hunger Games were stupid. I was never reaped, thankfully.
I never heard about Andrew again. Where was he? I mourned him everyday. It has been 8 years, but that's about to change.