I wonder how many kids are waking up from nightmares today. All across the nation, sharing the same fear, the same agony that has been bestowed upon us. How many stayed up all night? I knew of some people who got physically sick from worrying so much about today. But it isn't like we can help it, we are all powerless. That powerless worry was the reason my mother miscarried with her first baby, least what the doctors here say.
I slide the blanket off of my body. It is a raggedy old thing that did little to help when winter hit. We usually had to light a fire in winter to keep us from freezing. I lean up, stretch, let out a yawn. The bed across from me is empty. I remember my sister, Valance, started having bad dreams about the games and couldn't sleep. Last I saw, she went to keep mom company.
I slip on a pair of pants with the shirt I wore yesterday and head to the main room. Our house consists of four rooms. The main room which we use to do everything from cooking food to watching the broadcasts of the Capitol, the bathroom, and then the two bedrooms. I think one of the bedrooms is supposed to be a closet but it was big enough to fit a small bed so mom uses it to sleep.
I think the reason she is so adamant about staying in that room was because of her addiction. Almost half of the citizens in District 6 have some sort of addiction but morphling was the go-to drug. Years ago, when my parents were just babies, there was a massive explosion in one of the hubs. Tons of people got killed and even more got injured and so the Capitol had to send doctors and medicine to help. Usually, they just leave us to fend for ourselves but when over 15,000 people get injured, they knew even we were ill-equipped for it. Morphling was so widely used that thousands got addicted to it in the first few days. Someone learned how to make it, then more, and it continued to snowball. Most people blame the Capitol now for how severe the morphling addiction is now but not like they will fix it.
Around the time my mother miscarried with her first child is when she started using. I heard she was gorgeous before then. Most of the men tried to compete for her hand, least so I hear. The drug has stolen that from her. Her face is sunken in and pale, her blonde hair chopped short and messy, and she looks twenty pounds underweight.
I find my mother in the kitchen of the main room. Her toothpick thin fingers carefully slice a loaf of bread into pieces, spreading jam made from wild berries onto each slice. This was the tradition every Reaping Day. Mom would make as good of a breakfast as she could. This morning, bread with jam, hot grain with grounded nuts, and fresh goats milk make up our breakfast.
"Milk?" I ask as I sit at the small wooden table.
"Valance," Mom says in her raspy voice, "she went out and got some."
"With what?"
"Money," Valance enters the room, saying almost as if it should be obvious despite the fact we are broke.
The silence doesn't seem enough to make her realize that I am wondering where this money came from so I ask.
"Mom sold some of her wood carvings and got enough coins to trade for milk," Valance says as she bites into a slice of bread.
I let out a awe and get up, wrapping my arms around my mom and give her a hug. Oh, how must we look so opposite together. Everyone tells me I take after my father, who left when I was 10. Dark brown hair that is cut short and extended into a stubble along my jawline, my hazel eyes, tanned skin – though that was more from being outdoors rather than genetics – was all traits my father had passed onto my sister and I. My brother took after my mothers look. Their blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin. It was like day and night, the lot of us.
After the hug, I sit back at the table and dig into my breakfast. The grain is bland like always but that is because it is tesserae bread. Rough ground grain and oil were given to people in exchange for putting their names in more times. My brother, Alleron and I alternate taking tessera every year. Every tessera you take, it is an extra time your name is placed in the bowl for Reaping. So instead of one of us just pilling our names in by taking tessera every year, we keep it low with him taking out four tessera – one for each member of our family – one year and me taking it the next.
I almost finished eating when Alleron walks in.
"What smells so good?" He gives mom a kiss on the cheek.
"Morning, hun," mom says as she gives him a hug.
Though Alleron did help out, he took more of his fair share of food. I watch as he piles his plate up and takes a seat at the table. Valance seems to have the same annoyance as I do cause she watches Alleron with such disgust that I am expecting her to reach over the table and slap him. I think the only thing that is stopping her is his size.
Alleron, thanks to his many meals, has built up quite a muscle mass. He had a healthy glow to him, not the starving cattle feel so many in this part of the district share. I always hear from my friends that my brother should volunteer for the games. "He'd win," they'd say, "it would almost be easy for him."
Yea, he'd win but only cause he got so healthy at the expense of my mother, Valance, and I. Mom babied him so much that whenever my sister or I tried to tell her how spoiled he is, she would brush it off or else be too high to really realize it.
"Had enough to eat?" Mom asks as she collects the empty plates from the table.
"Yes," I reply. Valance saying the same thing only a few seconds behind me.
Alleron lets out a belch for his response, refusing to excuse himself. How could someone be so impolite? I understand we aren't dinning in front of the president himself but to not apologize for an outburst like that seemed to be intentional or else a lack of common sense which I could see either being a valid reason for my brother.
I get up and wash the dishes well my brother goes out to gather some last minute morphling. He was an addict like my mother but nowhere near the severity. Mom retires into the den and goes to whittling a piece of wood, she might be drooling from so much drugs a lot of the time but she seemed to have a knack for creating interesting designs that even the richest in District 6 would want to buy. Valance clears the table. I finish, dry off my hands, and look at the time. The clock reading a few minutes past eleven. The Reaping doesn't start until one so I still had plenty of time.
"I'm going out," I say.
"Where to?" Mom asks.
I am usually an expert liar but never has she asked where I am going. The sudden surprise of the question has me thrown for a loop. I hesitate but then Valance picks up on this.
"Don't you remember mom?" She asks, "you gave that couple who hunts in the woods some money in exchange for two squirrels."
Mom seems to sit on this for awhile but of course, she doesn't remember cause it never happened. She doesn't question it though, there is a lot of things she doesn't remember thanks to the morphling. Valance shoots me a look as if to tell her I owe her own. To bring her back something in exchange for what she just did. Of course, she knew exactly where I was heading, she was the only one that knew.
District 6 is massive. I have seen most of the other districts from the Reapings or else videos of the victory tours each year and none seem to come close to the size of District 6. It would take someone fifteen hours just to walk from one end of the city to the other. The only reason I know that is cause I tried it once. The richer families and most of the shops lay closer to the centre of the town, where the Justice Building is located. The further you get from the centre, the poorer the houses get. The only exception to this is to the south of the District where the hubs and runways for the vehicles were. In order to allow the citizens to get to and from places without hiking for a whole day, we have built a train system that runs through the district continuously. Turning that fifteen hours into just four.
Our house lays on the outskirts of District 6. the only real upsides to living this far out is the people seemed friendlier and also we were only a block away from one of the train stations. Most people would also place the lack of loud noises as a pro but I liked the sounds of central District 6. The trains running, the people chattering, seemed lively to me.
I board the train. Usually, it would be full of people heading to work but today no one is in work outfits rather Reaping Day clothing. Families heading for an early start to the location where the Reaping would take place. I am surrounded by quiet murmurs and cries of kids whose first year it is being eligible for the Hunger Games.
I watch as the buildings go by, the train stopping at each station to pick up more people. Finally, it comes to a halt on an empty platform. Here, the people would empty out of the train to start their day at work but not a soul leaves, except one, me. I step onto the platform, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and head walking onto the hard-packed earth.
The hubs are lined in a straight line. Each of them equal size. These ones cover everything from citizen cars to armoured vehicles to trains. The ones that make hovercrafts are further down, in a more open space since we need ample room for the aircrafts.
I step to a massive dome-like building that is used to build the base of armoured trucks. This is the hub that I go to every few days to put in the time for work. It never seemed enough but it was a bit of extra money.
The gust of wind blows sand through the air, which is eerily quiet. For a moment I just stand in the silence but then there is the sound of the door creaking open. The signal. If I was caught in one of the hubs well they are closed, I'd get punished. So we had to work out a system so I knew it was safe to enter.
I walk forward, pushing the door open wider and walk inside. Once I enter the factory I am grabbed from behind, slammed up against the wall.
"What are you doing here?" The voice of a Peacekeeper emits from behind me.
He spins me around. His full body suit is sparkling clean, pure white except for the helmet which sports a black cover over the face. It made the peacekeepers look like aliens, unable to see their faces, just a hard white exterior.
I grab his helmet and pull it up over his face. His light, golden brown hair remains spiky despite the helmet, the hair continuing down onto his jawline in a clean stubble, and his blue eyes are mesmerizing. His face was fuller from not ever missing a meal, though he said he needs to cut back due to getting a husky body type which is not in fashion back at the Capitol. Markos smiles and plops a kiss on my lips.
"I've missed you," He says.
It was dangerous dating a peacekeeper. The consequences were severe since peacekeepers are forbidden to have any kind of relationship with people for 20 years, the length of their duty to the country. Even with that law, I am almost certain dating someone from one of the districts was a harsh consequence on its own but we were always friendly to one another.
It wasn't until the day I was beaten that we actually progressed to a relationship. I was heading home after a late shift at the hub when a group of addicts had jumped me, thinking I had morphling on me. I tried to fight back but it was useless, there was easily ten of them and only one of me. By the time they were done, I struggled to even breath. Markos was the one that found me in the rain. He brought me back in, helped me, and after that, we got closer.
We remained careful about it. Always meeting alone, acting normal around people, not mentioning it to anyone. Valance did find out a couple of months back. Markos had come to the back of our house to give me candy he had gotten from the Capitol and Valance seen our exchange. She would never say or do anything that would put me in jeopardy but of course, she bargained something for herself. Markos would bring her candy from the Capitol whenever he could and she would keep it quiet. Since then she has come with me to meet Markos twice and the two never stopped talking.
Markos guides me to the break room, specificity for peacekeepers. A nice open room that is well lit and clean. Five tables lay, each with six chairs. Even in the grubby greasy conditions of the hub, this room has a luxurious feel to it.
"Catch any criminals today?" I ask.
"Just one," he smiles and wraps his arm around me.
"I was just going to work."
"On Reaping day?" He asks.
"I'm a hard worker," I reply.
We sit at one of the tables. I lay my bag down and he opens the fridge to pull out a few containers. He has a few food items he brought from the Capitol or else from the peacekeeper quarters, a building meant for peacekeepers to live at well in districts. He gives me large chicken slices with a creamy spinach mixture in the middle along with a pile of peas and carrots with a transparent sauce over top, and a side dish that is made up of soft bread chunks, onions, cheese, and green vegetables and herbs.
I, on the other hand, have given him a good'ol District 6 breakfast. A bowl of soup my mom made from mushrooms and carrots from yesterday with a chunk of bread that was made from the tesserae grain and nuts with mashed berries smeared along the top.
I can see the hesitation on his face, people from the Capitol being used to flavour filled meals. The few times I have brought him food he has had trouble with it. Except for a small dessert, we call hulick, a mini cake made with honey, thin layers of bread, nuts, cinnamon, and sometimes berries. He couldn't get enough of it and has even given me money to get the ingredients to make more on some occasions.
Most people knew how to make hulick but they all had a special twist to them. Of course, I never had access to the recipe my mother had and she said it was a family secret that she would share when I gave her grandkids. So I had to get her to make it for me. She would always be confused when I would come home with arm full of ingredients asking for her to make it only to take most of the dessert and vanish. It had Markos almost begging to meet her.
I begin to scarf down the food he has brought me. The chicken with spinach mixture is juicy and packed with flavour well the weird bread mixture I was hesitant to try tastes like creamy chives. A good break from the normal, bland food that I am used to consuming.
Markos, on the other hand, is having troubles getting past the first bite of the soup.
"You eat this stuff?" He says in shock.
"Not all of us have the luxury of eating like the Capitol," I give a good-hearted grin.
I remember when he first saw where I lived, how I lived, what I ate. It was a culture shock to him. He could hardly speak. I guess in the Capitol they don't really show the life of the districts and most people just believe we have good living conditions and enough food to feed ourselves. When he saw the starving children though, that's when he was brought to tears. It changed my opinion on the people of the Capitol, that was for sure.
"But how can you eat this every day?" His Capitol accent making his struggles even more entertaining.
"It's what I'm used to."
I grab one of the chicken chunks and give it to him, along with some of the bread mixture.
"Nope," He pushes the offer back towards me, "I'm going to finish this."
"Oh, a true victor," I smile.
Just from those words, his expression goes dark. He's worried. I'm at risk of being chosen as tribute for the Hunger Games. A yearly event where the twelve districts of Panem send one boy and one girl to the Capitol to fight to the death on live television. He was worried when I was sixteen when we first started dating. He was one of those people that got physically sick from worrying so much. Now a year later, he has managed to control his feelings but still is fearful. It was only this year – well I'm seventeen – and then next year when I'm eighteen and I would be free from the Reapings for good.
"Hey, it's ok. I'm not going to be picked," I say.
"What if you are," Markos says.
"But I won't be."
"But if you are."
I have never really placed any thought into what would happen if I was picked. I should. Sure, it was always at the back of my mind but there were so many kids in District 6, thousands of them. The chances of me being chosen were next to none. That's the logic I always use whenever I start feeling panicked over the Reaping and having to play in the Hunger Games.
"If I am then I will win and guess what. If I win I get to go to the Capitol whenever I want and then you can show me around," I tell him.
He nods at this response, trying to conceal his worry.
We finish our food and then he pulls out oddly shaped buns topped with a light sugar, berries, and some kind of custard. We finish that, talk for a bit, by then it is noon. I say my goodbyes, give him a hug and then leave to home.
