The Other Side of Eden

Part One: All That Remains

Chapter One: The Pros And Cons Of Breathing


"And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree
There will be an answer; let it be
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer; let it be"

~from "Let It Be" by the Beatles


"Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!" Something mildly heavy falls - or, rather, jumps - on my back, and small hands shake my shoulders rapidly.

I shoot up off the bed, throwing the person off me and tackling them to the ground, pinning them with my knees on their sides and my hands holding their's above their head. All this before I can even open my eyes.

A shocked gasp pierces the air. My eyes snap open. "Prim?"

The poor girl looks about to cry; her lower lip trembles, her wide eyes portraying fear for me, for me her sister that just attacked her for no clear reason. "Katniss?" she tentatively asks.

I stare at her for a bit before freeing her hands and sliding off her stomach, rolling to the floor next to her before regaining a standing position. I sigh heavily, shaking my head as I offer her a hand up that she cautiously takes. "What is it?" I must sound irritated to her, at her. That isn't true; I'm irritated with myself for responding that way. Prim shouldn't have to deal with her traumatized, hyper-aware Hunger Games survivor sister.

"I'm... sorry. I just..." Her blue eyes seem to have been startled out of their sparkle. "It's Rory's birthday. Remember...? We were going to run over to their house real early and surprise him? And we were going to bring him a cake?"

Ah. I remember this, yes. Today is the 21st of March, Rory's 13th birthday. The day of the reading of the card for the Quarter Quell, the 75th Hunger Games, but nevermind that. Rory's birthday. Okay, right.

I feel bad for having scared her, the girl I went through hell to protect - but that's irony for you, so I force a smile on my exhausted face. "Of course. I'm sorry; I forgot for a second. Come on." I take her hand and lead her down the stairs into the kitchen. "I'm guessing you want breakfast first, huh?" I smile softly over my shoulder at her as I pick through the pantry, sorting through all the brand name goods to get to the back were all the baking things are kept, pulling out a box of pancake mix.

She grins back at me enthusiastically. Prim has never been one to turn down food, setting aside whatever matters she was supposed to be attending to, to gorge herself; I don't think there is anyone in District 12 who would dream of passing up food. She nods her head up and down quickly.

I chuckle to myself and get out the supplies needed for breakfast. Pancakes aren't a food that I was familiar with before entering the Capitol, but I fell in love with them almost instantly; I have Effie send me packages filled with pancake mix boxes. They were fairly easy to learn how to make, even if I have a tendency to accidentally flip some off of the pan. Anyway, I took to making them for Prim on special occasions.

Breakfast is an event of laughing, Prim perching on the counter, cheering every time I manage to flip those fluffy bites of breakfast-y goodness onto her plate without utterly failing; I laugh along with her when one comes down and lands on me.

It is still early in the day when we are making our way out of the Victor's Village. It is still quite cold, so Prim is hurrying along quickly to arrive in the sheltered, warmer air of the bakery. I'd avoided the bakery after my Games, and I try to make this trip as quick as possible (even if it means going back into that dreadfully freezing air), dragging Prim out the door before she can get too carried away admiring the place, giving the baker a quiet, fleeting goodbye and thank you for the cake.

"Why couldn't we have stayed longer?" Prim whines as I pull her away towards the less presentable part of the District, the place I grew up in, the Seam, where Gale, Rory, and the rest of the Hawthrones still live.

I shake my head to evade answering, not even feeling any guilt for not explaining; Prim doesn't need to know some things - her fragile, innocent (when compared with mine) mind could not take what I would have to clarify in order to accurately answer that question.

Thankfully, she doesn't push me, rather she jogs a bit to catch up to my long strides and match me pace for pace.

It does not take us very long at all to reach their door (District 12 is quite probably the smallest district in Panem), and soon Hazelle's smiling face is welcoming us inside. "Shh," she warns us. "Everyone is asleep."

I raise my eyebrows at that, leaning against the doorway while Prim gently sets the cake on the table. "Even Gale?" It doesn't make sense for him of all people to still be in bed at this hour (even if it is merely 7:00 a.m; he is usually up at the crack of dawn).

She glances at Prim before answering me, her head inclining in my direction naturally. "That medicine your mother gave him yesterday really tired him out," she whispers sadly, worrying for her eldest son's health.

We both look at the door that leads to the room he and his two brothers share at the same time.

Hazelle sighs and brushes a stray lock of hair back behind her ear.

My mouth sets into a small frown. "At least he's getting some rest."

"Finally," she murmurs, leaning her head back on the wall, watching Prim go about the unwrapping of the cake with her unconcealed excitement.

Gale had been out of commision with a terrible, most often deadly flu for the passed several days. We're unsure who he contracted it from, or if he is the start of the virus's rounds, but it really is a lucky thing that my mother is a healer, and we now have the Capitol supplies at our hands to treat, if not completely cure it. That's what you might call a miraculously wonderful coincidence. In other, less fortunate cases, we, in District 12, call this virus the Inescapable Plague, which brings with it nothing but death. We'd been keeping how serious this was from Prim and Gale's siblings because we really didn't want them to worry, but now he is in recovery; thank God, if he truly does exist.

Hazelle shakes her head. "Where is your mother? She didn't contract...?"

I snort. "She's asleep, per usual."

She chuckles quietly beside me. "Elaine never was an early riser." The smile remains on her face.

"No," I agree, smirking to myself subtly. I remember several occasions when Prim or I (usually me) would try to get her up and she would just push us off and mutter "Later, girls; mommy's sleeping." At the time, that had just pissed me off greatly; that was back when she had shut out the world, after dad died. But I find it amusing with the new perspective I have gained; my mother really is just a slightly entertaining child who I can only ever really respect when she's doing her medical thing. But, even presently, my mother still hates getting up in the morning.

Prim calls over to us from the kitchen table. "Should we bring the cake to him or him to the cake? Shouldn't we get the others up beforehand?"

"Great idea Prim, and, yes, we should take it to him," Hazelle says kindly, walking over to the small kitchen to rummage through a drawer for a candle and match. When she finds one, she rights herself and turns to smile at Prim. "Go on in, dear. Be careful not to make too much noise. Katniss would you please get Vick and Gale up? I hate to wake him but it is his brother's birthday," she remarks of her eldest son. When I nod, she hands me the single candle and match. "I'll wake up Posy - if she isn't already awake and talking to her stuffed animal that is." She laughs to herself before heading into the room that she and her daughter share.

That reminds me: I need to buy Posy a new stuffed animal or two; the girl hardly has many toys at all and her one stuffed bunny is falling apart at the seams, missing an eye and some stuffing, not to mention how dirty it has gotten over the years. But that bunny has sentimental value I'd guess... well, she doesn't have to play with the one I get her if she doesn't want to.

Prim has already gone into the boys' room and is waiting patiently by Rory's bed with the cake in her hands; she's barely maintaining her silence with all the delight and excitement building up inside of her.

Since Rory's is the bottom bunk of the bunk bed, I work my way up the ladder to shake awake Vick on the top. His eyes open fairly quickly. His face is bleary with sleep still encrusted in his eyes. "What...?" I "Shh" him and jerk my head to the side indicating that we should get back down to the floor. He yawns and nods, following me down the ladder to stand by Prim; evidently having seen the cake brought him an understanding of why the Everdeens were randomly in his room and waking him up.

I look over at Gale's sleeping, sick face. Well, it isn't so sick anymore; he's recovering, but he really gave us all a scare there for a little bit. I gently shake his shoulder. "Gale." The way he sits up so quick, you might've thought him a victor. His eyes dart around wildly, his hand going for a knife on his belt that isn't there. Until he sees me. Then he calms and slowly lays back down, bringing the pillow up over his face. "Yes, may I help you?"

"Sorry," I shoot back at the sarcasm in his voice, but then mine softens again. I sigh. "It's Rory's birthday."

He throws the pillow towards the end of the bed that is too short for his tall frame and sits up, stretching his arms above his head in a way that would have most of the girls in our school drooling with the view that is provided by his shirt rising up.

Me? I roll my eyes, grab his arm, and pull him to his feet. "Everyone else is already up; come on, slacker."

He jumps at my touch, probably still in the what I like to call "victor mode."

Hazelle is holding Posy up in her arms, but Gale takes his sister from her; Hazelle shoots him a concerned, but nonetheless grateful look - after all, Posy isn't all too light anymore.

"How do we wake him up?" Prim whispers. "Just start singing?"

At Hazelle's ascent, I stick the candle into the cake, light it after a bit of difficulty with the stupid match, and we all start up a chorus of "Happy Birthday To You." It sounds rather strange: Posy's off-time "birthday to Rory!"s and Vick's sleep filled voice barely forcing the words passed his mouth and Prim all too enthusiastic. But it's us; it's far better this way. And, anyway, it wakes Rory up alright. He wakes up to his family and friends and it isn't long at all before he is grinning ear to ear. It feels nice to do this for someone.

Festivities had lasted for a couple of hours before Gale went back to sleep and Prim and I back to our house, again speeding up our pace to get inside of the thoughtfully heated space.

Prim runs through the door, hearing the phone go off; I still can't get used to that noise - I hate that thing with an undying passion, but it isn't enough for me to actually, say, rip it from the wall, unlike some people. And speaking of some people, Haymitch himself is on the phone (though he lives two doors down from me and I'd forgotten Effie had made him reinstall his phone); Prim says she can't understand what he's saying over the crashing in the background - another one of his drunk episodes, probably.

I sigh. "I'll take care of it."

She nods and ventures off into the living room where my mother sits with her coffee, reading a book her own mother had given her when she was very young. Funny, I'm almost certain she had ripped all her old paperback romance novels to shreds when my father had died. I give it little to no thought and jog the short distance from my house in this deserted neighborhood to his.

When I arrive on the doorstep, the big, heavy oak door is wide open, letting out all the stink from the liquor he drank and giving me a full view of all the wrappers and bottles and dirty socks and assortment of other things that litters the floor. Classic, Haymitch. Classic. I pull my shirt up to cover my nose and forcibly step through the doorway with a deliberate walk meant for not stepping on anything - a very unimaginably difficult task. I can hear his incoherent yelling and the crashes Prim spoke of. I locate him in the dining room, smashing dishes. Perfect.

I stand there for a few moments, casually leaning against the doorframe, observing the scene in front of me, trying to fully assess the level of insanity I'm here to fix. Haymitch just continues breaking all the dishes until there are none left for him to smash. Finally, he takes notice of me and I am startled by the intensity of his gaze. I realize that he is still very much sober.

"You called?" I ask sardonically.

"You answered?" he drawls, deadpanned.

Blunt and sarcastic is how we usually have our conversations.

Silence as we stare at each other.

"Why is it you can't make it through a day without destroying something?"

He shrugs.

Well, it's Haymitch, my brain reasons. He's insane.

More silence.

"I take it something pissed you off? Would you like to share?" I speak very clearly and slowly, as if explaining something impossibly easy to understand for me to a young child.

He rolls his eyes angrily, picks up the closest thing to him - a bottle - and chucks it at me. I easily sidestep it and raise my eyebrows at him.

"You called for a reason. To talk or something along those lines. So why don't you talk or something along those lines?" I am starting to grow very impatient with him, this usually half-drunken, overgrown toddler.

He looks blankly at me for a moment longer, before gesturing to one of the chairs at the never used dining table as he takes one himself. I seat myself in the one directly opposite him, willing to stare him down until he concedes to spilling whatever it is he should be spilling. He runs a hand through his wild dark hair, clutching it in distress. Wow. Haymitch legitimately looks like he's worrying about something. Along with the "pissed off at the world" expression he normally wears of course.

He starts speaking in a low, aggravated tone, until I complain that I can't hear him, and he shoots me a look and starts over in a louder voice.

"Nothing. Johanna called - Mason, you met her once. She just happened to be the messenger of some very... disappointing news." He words this all very carefully, something I didn't know Haymitch was capable of until now. His lips form a straight line and his jaw is set tighter than usual - the telltale signs of lying or withholding information.

I narrow my eyes at him dangerously. "Tell me the news."

"Not here, not now," he says evasively.

"Tell me."

"Not. Now."

"Why won't you just - "

"I said no, god damn it! At least Lover Boy didn't fucking question everything!"

That stings. I can see in his eyes he knows that it does, but he is not sorry, he has no remorse or sympathy or respect for the demons of another victor. Well, I suppose that he is a joint pain we share, but the way Haymitch deals with it is by pretending it doesn't matter, and my share of the pain is far greater.

I purse my lips, push my chair back angrily so that it scrapes against the floor, and storm out with a pissed off "Goodbye, Haymitch." I make sure to slam the door behind me.


At noon, my mother, my sister, and I all gather around the television set for the reading of the card for the Quarter Quell. The last Quarter Quell, there were forty-eight tributes instead of twenty-four, the year Haymitch won. The one before that, the first, the people of the districts had to vote on who their tributes should be. This year... well, who knows what horrors they will bring.

My mother and Prim are sharing the couch, while I curl up in the big, reclining chair spaced just a yard away from it. The TV is directly across from the couch, switched on to the news channel, where most people will be watching President Cornelius Evil Snow read the stupid card that will end at least twenty-three kid's lives, and severely cripple one other's.

The "program" starts with the playing of our national anthem. Sometime during the middle of it, President Snow, followed by a young boy holding a case, takes the stage. Hmm. Still as ugly and sadistic as ever. The anthem ends, and the snake starts off on a long story about how the Games began, and the Dark Days, and the two previous Quells. Then he gets on with it to the part that we're even watching this otherwise useless television for.

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell." The little boy steps forward, and President Snow opens the box, removes the first envelope from the rows of envelopes and opens it. He pulls out the small piece of square paper and begins to read. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even their strongest cannot protect the ones near and dear to them, and they all will lose those they love again if they decide to rebel once more, the male and female tributes shall be reaped from a pool of friends and family of living victors."

My mother drops her cup and gives a shriek. Prim's cheeks slowly become a waterfall of tears. She mumbles a name I don't catch. And I don't catch it because I'm too hung up on trying to figure out what the fuck that means.

"... family and friends of living victors."

Haymitch has no relatives, no "friends" who are not victors themselves. District Twelve's only other living victor is me. Gale is too old for the reaping now. Prim has already been reaped and so cannot be reaped again...

My mind drawls two names, the only possible male and female candidates.

Rory and Madge.