This fandom is good for my ego, thanks for all the praise. This kinda matches 'choose your words'... well, if you squint and cock your head to the side.
I don't own the Huger Games.
The heavy fog curls off the ocean like twisting ghosts and shadows, translucent white-gray in the soft dawn light. The gulls cry softly over the whisper of the waves on the shore, almost like they too know not to break the precious, fragile quiet that wraps District Four on this day. The day is dim, and the waters are dark and choppy, like a storm is coming in as the fishermen go out.
Pa is standing there in his rubber overalls, looking grizzled and scarred and smiling. I can almost smell him from where I'm standing clutching at Ma's skirts, all sea salt and fish and home. My sister cries, clutched in my mother's arms, like she knows what's happening even though she is much too young.
My mother smiles sadly, and pats her back in a reassuring way, whispering comforts in her ear. Pa leans over and kisses her forehead, and at once she goes quiet, smiling at him and reaching out at him with her stubby little fingers. He grips her fingers and kisses her again before letting her go.
"I'll be back before you know it," He smiles, because he was almost always smiling. "It's only a few weeks."
I clutch Ma's skirts, because I don't want him to leave. I'll miss him too much.
"My Magnolia," He says, kneeling down before me, his mist colored, blue-gray eyes crinkled and familiar. "Aren't you going to give your Pa a hug, or am I going to leave without one?"
I can't bother refusing him and I release the fabric which my little hands have been gripping and launch myself onto Pa, clutching at his shoulders as if holding onto him could keep him here. His laugh is in my ear and my heart. His stubble scratches my skin, but I don't mind, because I'll miss it while he's gone.
The other fisherman call his name and Pa releases himself from my weak and skinny grasp, standing to kiss Ma on the cheek before heading out to sea.
The weeks when he's gone are the longest of the year.
The fire's warm, and I huddle close as the fog tries to penetrate the house with it's misty, cold reach. The warmth licks at my skin and I rest my head against Pa's leg. He's sitting in his usual chair, so that he can put some driftwood into the fire if the blue green flames start to die down too much. I sit at his feet, my feet stretched out towards the fire to warm my toes.
He asks me questions about my day, and I tell him about what the boy in my class said about the Capitol. His leg tenses, and when he speaks, his words are tight.
"Magnolia, I don't wanna ever hear you say anything bad about the Capitol, you hear? I don't care if you think it, because most of us do, but you've got to chose your words, understand? Chose your words, because the wrong thing can put you in deep trouble. Understand?"
I'd never heard Pa speak like that and I nodded quickly, heading his words and locking them away into my heart.
"That's my girl."
The docks are wet, and the dawn is cold. Pa's in his rubber overalls again, ready to go out to sea. The mist is still curling, and my sister is crying. It's the same every year, except Ma can't hold her, because her belly is too big and my sister too old. Instead, my little sister clutches my skirt, like I had once clutched Ma's.
Pa smiles and I miss him already.
First he rubs Ma's pregnant belly, because he always starts his goodbye with the youngest. Then, he kisses my sister and she smiles shyly at him, nine and pale blond curls, like a miniature version of Ma.
"See you soon, Blue Eyes." He says, grinning at her.
Then it's my turn. "Do I get a hug, Magnolia? I'll sure be sad if I have to go without."
I can't refuse him, my Pa, and I step forward into the curl of his arms and hold on as tight as I can, trying to make it last.
He smells like salt and sea and fish and home. His stubble scratches me, but I don't care.
"I'll miss you, my Magnolia." He whispers in my ear, like it's a secret.
"Love you." I whisper, choosing my words.
"I love you, too."
The other fisherman call and he stands up, breaking my grip, though it's much stronger than it used to be. He kisses Ma, and smiles at us, heading into the fog and mist.
It's the last time I see him, and I always wonder if I held on tight enough.
That year the food is scarce, because Pa's gone and Ma cries and tries to comfort my newborn brother. Home isn't home without him, and the walls are cold, and the fire always dwindling. It still smells like sea, but it's not the same without Pa's smile.
My sister stares at the ocean, as if she's just waiting for him to come home. He won't, but she sits there at the window and stares out at ocean, like she has for the last six months, waiting for the man that calls her Blue Eyes.
She doesn't meet my eyes very often anymore. No one does.
I'm twelve and fatherless and hungry, so I go sign up for tesserae, because Ma's already got her hands busy with my baby brother and patching nets to make money. She didn't want me to sign up, so I slipped out quickly and quietly. When I come with the food she'll be angry, but thankful, in the end.
The walk to Town Hall takes me past the docks with the mist curling up, and the gulls squawking and I remember Pa's warm misty blue-gray eyes that I see every time I look in the mirror.
That day is the first day of many, and more slips of paper appear in the Reaping ball with my name on them each year.
The day before my sister's first Reaping I stand by the ocean, letting the water lap my toes. It isn't cold, but the air is and the fog floats on top of the water like a blanket as my feet sink into the sand.
That's were my sister finds me, standing at the waters edge.
"He loved you more, you know," She says, and I don't have to ask who she's talking about. I'm surprised she talking to me at all, because we haven't really talked since Pa died.
"No." I whisper.
"It was all 'My Magnolia,' I was just Blue Eyes." She says.
I am silent, choosing my words, forever holding my tongue.
"I was jealous." She says, the soft cadence of her voice trembling.
I look at her, my mother's daughter, the twelve year old beauty. I think of my tangled straight hair, and my eyes that my mother and sister won't meet. I think of my skinny arms and gangly legs, my flat chest and my big lips. My sister is all curves and curls and rosy cheeks, with the brightest blue eyes you ever did see.
I shake my head.
"You look like him, you know. You have the same smile, when you care to use it. And his eyes." She says. "You're more beautiful than I will ever be."
I stare at the ocean.
"He's not coming back, is he Mags? He told me he would see me soon, the day he left, but he hasn't come home." She cries, and I hold my sister for the first time in years, the mist caressing my ankles.
"I know."
They call my name when I'm eighteen, and the mist of the ocean is in the air.
I don't feel at all surprised.
During the Games, my heart is heavy, and my mind won't shut off. Terror is in my blood and fear clings to my bones. My stomach growls in hunger and my tongue tastes like bile and river trout. My throat is bruised from fighting fingers that had tried to kill me. My spear is bloody.
The fog the river creates shields me, holding me in it's familiar cocoon and I'm starting to think that it's the reason I survive -because only one dared venture into it like I did, without fear or care, and it was his ultimate undoing.
It kept me sane, because of the moister that is ever present in District 4 became a part of me in that arena. Sometimes, I can still feel it on my skin, along with cannon fire and screams in my ears.
It's the price you pay to stay alive, the memories.
They'll haunt you till the end.
The boy is beautiful, there's no denying that, as he sits on his rock in the fog and munches on the bread that I have sent him. His smile alone has won him thousands. He'll make some girl really happy someday -if he lives of course.
I hate this part, because all I can do is rain down gifts to them, if there is enough money; which there rarely is.
His is a special case, and I hope he lives, unlike so many before him. But, perhaps it would be better if he lost, so he never has to be in my spot, living through this -the torture of guiding children to their deaths.
Because, some years, I feel the Games would be an easier task.
It's funny how it comes down to this, this blistering heat across my skin. My arms aren't working like they're supposed to. The mist is heading towards us, and I know, deep down in my bones that they can't make it with me in tow.
The boy in love, the girl on fire, and the beauty of District 4 can't make it with me hindering them. I know that the beautiful boy would drag me there with his last breath if he was alone, because he's told me as much, whispering that we can escape this time, but the kids need him more than I do. The girl needs protecting, and the boy kept alive -they are the fate of Panam, and the spark of the future. They need to live, much more than a old bat with a damaged larynx and loose marbles. My time has come, and I can accept that -I just hope that he doesn't beat himself up about it much.
His eyes are apologetic, and tear filled, as he tells me what I already know. I kiss the boy I love like a son on the cheek, as a farewell, and go into the mist.
It's unlike any mist I know, and it burns as I shake, instead of cooling my skin with it's touch like the mist and fog back home. No, this is a new kind of mist- a deadly one.
It's like the one Pa walked into so many years ago.
I smile.