Empty Stomachs
The only thing on my mind is my empty stomach. I haven't eaten in days. The sharp pain of hunger that has always slightly been there has only been getting worse since my father died a couple months ago. Katniss doesn't want me to know what's happening, but at seven I'm old enough to understand.
I see the way my mother sits and stares blankly at the walls, how she doesn't work or talk anymore. She barely eats and won't even look at me. Katniss's frustration with her is obvious, and though she says nothing, you can tell she's angry with her, angry with my father, angry with the mines that had to explode.
Katniss says everything will be all right, that she'll find a way out of this. A year ago I would've believed her, but now I realize that even she can't fix everything. We're starving to death. It's fairly obvious, what with our all-too-prominent bones, baggy clothes, and pained stomachs. No matter how much reassurance I get that things will turn out okay, I've accepted that we're probably going to die.
I wonder where Katniss is now. She left several hours ago, clutching a fistful of fabric with a determined look on her face. I know she's doing all she can to provide for us, but she's only eleven years old. Far too young to become the family caretaker.
I glance at my mother, sitting in her chair, being just as sullen as ever. I sigh and go into our kitchen. After much useless searching, I finally come across some mint tea. I prepare it and bring a glass to my mother. When she doesn't look up, I tilt her head back and force her to drink it. I have some myself and save the rest for Katniss. I lie back down on our worn couch and wait, trying to ignore my aching belly.
I don't know how much time goes by before Katniss bursts in the front door, looking much more hopeful than she did this morning. I look at her in confusion for a moment before I see she's holding something in her hands. I gasp.
It's bread. Bread. And not the thin, tasteless stuff my mother used to make, but real, true bakery bread, filled with raisins and nuts. It's slightly burned but I don't care. I eagerly jump up and Katniss and I run into the kitchen. We cut it into slices, an even amount for me, her, and Mother. Katniss and I quickly gobble ours up. The bread is the most amazing thing I've ever tasted. It doesn't completely satiate my hunger, but it is enough.
Katniss is smiling. After feeding my mother, we're all done eating and Katniss carefully wraps the extra up and stores it in the cabinet. Only then does it occur to me that I have no idea how she got it.
"Katniss?" I ask tentatively.
"Yes, little duck?" she smiles.
"Where did you get that bread?" I question. I'm hoping she didn't steal it. I've heard the baker's wife is a witch of a woman, and I wouldn't want Katniss getting punished if she were to somehow find out. My sister evidently sees where my thoughts are headed, because her eyes widen and she quickly shakes her head.
"No, no. I didn't…it was a...gift, I suppose you could say." She states, but I can see the hesitance in her eyes and I know that there's more to it than that. I don't question it, however, and Katniss seems relieved.
Later that night, as we go to bed, I realize this is the first night in a very long time that I've gone to sleep without an empty stomach.