A/N: Thanks for reading so far. I really appreciate your reviews and comments.
January 10th
In the morning I brace my body against the cold and pull on dark blue pants. On the nightstand father has lain out one of his mine shirts. The dark grey material is the shade of the dismal cloudless sky.
I run my fingers softly over the name sewn into the left shoulder with black thread. Its raised under my fingertips, S. Elmwood, fitting really that father's first initial is the same as mine. After a few minutes I slip my arms into the shirt and breathe in the scent. It hangs to mid-thigh on me and I frankly feel a little ridiculous when I finish buttoning it.
As I enter the kitchen father tries to suppress a laugh. He helps me roll up the long sleeves and places his hands on my shoulders afterward. There is a distant look on his face.
"Remember what I told you about swinging the pick axe. Never swing it back, always start at your shoulder and try not to hit yourself." I nod at his words. His lips press a soft kiss into my temple and he sighs softly.
My eyes fall to the table where he appears to have packed his lunch pail for me. I shoot him a reproachful glance for going out of his way. He just smiles in return. I pull black work boots onto my wool-socked feet and lace them tightly. Father hands me my coat and mittens. After my clothing is secure I pick up the axe and pail.
"Don't forget to drink your tea. Rest throughout the day. I love you and I'll be home tonight," I try to keep my voice strong. Father straightens my jacket and nods at my words before he opens the door for me.
With one last glance I exit our home for my first day on the job. Across the street Gale Hawthorne is kissing his little sister Posy goodbye. I smile at them softly as I begin to battle the thick snow bank to reach the street.
By the time my boots reach the gravel of the road Gale has bounded across his lawn and is fast approaching. I walk at an even pace beside him, but neither of us speaks. I vaguely wonder if he has noticed that I am carrying my father's gear. He probably thinks that it is being returned to the mine yard.
"Sidney!" Father calls from the front porch.
Both Gale and I turn towards his voice. Father is waving something in his hand; it takes me a moment to realize that he is waving the hardhat. Oh shit, that's right. I knew I was forgetting something.
"You forgot your hardhat." Dad yells as he gives it another sweep through the air. I sigh and begin trudging back for it.
"Dad, it's freezing out here." I take the offending hat from his hands and order him back inside by the fire. I place it on my head and begin my journey once more.
Gale Hawthorne is staring at me from the street with an odd expression on his face. I kick through the snow bank, until I am back on the gravel road and start approaching him. I give him the, what the hell are you looking at face as I pass him. He falls into step beside me and fixes his steel colored eyes on my face.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asks indignantly.
I look at him like he's crazy, because it is pretty damn obvious what I'm doing. I'm walking down the street on my way to work. Holding my father's pick axe and a pail of lunch. If the fact that I'm wearing a hardhat with a headlamp on it doesn't clue him in what would?
When his exasperated look doesn't go away I sigh and growl out a response, "I'm going to work. What the hell are you doing?" A low growl escapes his lips as he grinds to a halt.
"What do you mean you're going to work?" His voice is deeper than I remember it being. Then again, I can't entirely remember the last time he has said more than a hello to me. Therefore, I am appalled that he has the audacity to question me about my choices.
I shoot daggers at him with my eyes, particularly at his broad chest and his deceptively handsome face. Who the hell does he think he is? He gave up the right to be concerned about me a long time ago. Five years ago to be exact.
"I'm going to work in the mines. It pays more than anything else in this god awful district. Well at least in the Seam. It's what my family needs," I say a little too loudly and an old woman who is passing by ogles me. It is hard to tell if she is flabbergasted by my job preference or the description of the district. I shoot her an angry sneer for good measure and she keeps hobbling down the road.
He glares at me, "You can't. You're a woman, it's too dangerous."
He's practically yelling at me now and I feel anger spill from every one of my pores, "What gives you the right to tell me what I can and cannot do Gale Hawthorne? You haven't spoken two words consecutively to me in over five years!" My nostrils flare as I yell back at him and pierce him with my silvery grey eyes.
I watch as his thick eyebrows shoot up almost to his hairline. Perhaps I've hit a nerve of guilt, because he doesn't respond. I take that as my cue to keep walking. I refuse to be late on my first day; Foreman Banks would be truly disappointed in me. As I approach the mine yard the bustle of men talking and milling about reaches my ears. Over the din I hear a whistle blow, indicating that it is 8am on the dot.
As I reach the edge of the yard I feel a few sets of eyes on me. One man whistles a cat-call at me, but I ignore it and walk towards the Foreman. He is standing with his arms crossed at the entrance to Lift 2. When he sees me a look of intrigue passes over his face.
I realize then, that he didn't think I would actually show up. I fix my face with a determined look, which isn't hard after my heated argument with Gale. I feel fired up and ready to battle with any man who steps in my way.
"Elmwood." He greets me and nods to the burly man next to him. I recognize him immediately as Hank Logan. Father used to drink with him on Saturday nights, before mother passed away.
I remember watching them sing songs as they walked with their arms around each other down the street. They were drunker than skunks and smelled just as bad, but they looked happier than a pair of peacocks. I smile slightly at the memory of watching them support each other on wobbly legs all the way home.
"Foreman Banks," I greet him and nod to his companion, "Mr. Logan." To this Hank's eyebrows raise and he mutters, "We go by first names here." I nod firmly again. Both men survey me critically for a moment.
Behind me another catcall cuts through the air, this time I turn to face Bristel Wernicke. He cocks a stance that is probably meant to be sexy with his pick axe slung up on his shoulder, and then he wiggles his eyebrows at me suggestively. I shoot him a menacing look which only seems to entice him more.
"Bristel." Hank's sharp tone cuts through the air like a knife.
The younger man smirks and meets his superior's eyes, "I didn't even say anything this time Hank." It's a well known fact that whenever he opens his mouth practically the only thing that comes out are snide remarks. I remind myself that Bristel's particular brand of humor is acidic. It fills you with a sense of putrid metal rather than cuddly warmth.
After several moments I see that a group of men has formed a circle where I am standing. I groan when I realize one of them is Gale, because I am getting the sinking feeling that this is my crew.
"Great," I mutter and roll my eyes. Of course it would be my luck, having to deal with both Bristel and Gale every day. Too bad I was thinking more fondly of Gale a few days ago, now he has really ruined it for himself. What a jerk.
Foreman Banks abruptly claps his hands and announces his departure. For a moment I'm a little sad to see him go. He was probably the sole guy that supported my presence in this group, even if it was only mildly.
Hank looks around briefly, "Alright men. Meet the new recruit. Introduce yourself kid." His gaze falls on me and I want to whither beneath it. Introduce myself? Ugh. I take a big breath and glance around at the faces surrounding me. Nine men, who all seem a little agitated by my company.
I clear my throat loudly, "Sidney Elmwood. And yes, I am completely aware that I am indeed a woman. So let's get that verification out of the way." I add the last bit quite nastily and hope that they all get my point that there is nothing to discuss about the matter. One of the burlier men coughs and scratches his chin with the tip of his axe.
"So, what the hell are -" I don't let him finish his sentence. Instead I growl loudly in frustration and glare at all of them. Bristel is smirking at me again and I feel an itch in my hand that is just asking for me to throw my axe at his stubble ridden face. Alright, now I can't handle it anymore. Here comes the bloodbath, the anger flows off my skin like hot steam.
"This is my job and if you don't fucking like it take it up with the Foreman you assholes. Where's your respect for my father? I'm not letting him come here another fucking day! And if he's going to die in peace then I better have some way to make him comfortable. Some way to pay for his needs. He's dying of Black Lung! Black Lung!" I throw my arms around to create emphasis and continue screaming, "So shove your big fat hairy man pride up your asses and let's get to work."
One of the men blanches at my blatant disregard for ladylike vocabulary, I ignore him and throw one sneering remark at Bristel who looks entirely too happy about my outburst, "And you! If you so much as breath on me I am going to shove this pick axe so far down your throat you'll never be able to utter another sarcastic remark again." My eyes are bugging out of my head and I realize that my face is flushing with a blush. Way to go, way to make a good impression. Way to act like the biggest fool they've ever met. Hank saves face by laughing at me loudly. I stare at him in disbelief for a few moments, before some of the other men start laughing too.
"You heard the lady, let's get to work." He says loudly and claps a large palm on Gale's shoulder. Gale's icy stare releases me and I follow my crew toward the lift.
One of the men isn't laughing; instead he drags his eyes up and down my body in a way that makes my skin crawl.
He has brown eyes, which is strange for District 12, but his hair is a dark matted black. I follow the crew towards a building that sits just to the right of the mine. I notice the men taking their coats off as they enter, so I do the same. As I cross the threshold I realize that this is where belongings are kept.
Hank points me toward a cubby that must be my father's. Elmwood is scrawled in his messy handwriting on a white piece of tape. Inside the cubby is an extra mine shirt and a can of ointment. I place my jacket and mittens over the items and turn around to see the brown-eyed man staring at me again.
He releases a low whistle, "You know with that body there are jobs that pay more than this."
I gasp at him and my eyes widen as he continues, "There are a lot of things you could do with that pretty mouth. I'd be your first customer." I press my back into the cubbies behind me and I know my face is covered with disgust at his insinuation. I will never stoop as low as the girls who go to old man Cray's place and sell their bodies. A hot flush is saturating my cheeks as I try to formulate a response, but I don't have to because someone else responds.
"You're a prick Mortin," Its Gale. I'm relieved that he is sticking up for my virtue, but then I remember that he doesn't have the right to stick up for me anymore.
I glare at him and find my voice, "I can stick up for myself." He doesn't respond as he places his hardhat on his head and stalks towards the door. Once I'm certain that I have glared at Mortin hard enough I exit the room with father's gear.
Some of the crew is already entering Lift 2. The men start filing in. I blink at them for a few moments before I realize, this is it. A man in a black coat is standing by the control panel whistling a low tune. He looks at me with a confused expression as I shoulder my way onto the lift between Hank and Bristel.
When the last man enters an image crosses my mind of sardines packed tightly in a can. Someone releases a gravelly cough as the gate closes angrily. It groans with a clank as it is clipped shut. The crossing pattern of the iron spreads diamond shapes of light across the faces of the men. I grip my father's pick axe and pail tightly in my fists and try not to press my body too forcefully against Hank's rigid back.
A jolt causes my knees to buckle slightly. A glance at the gate confirms that the lift is beginning to shift downward. My eyes scan the approaching ground as it reaches eye-level. My heart clenches as I watch the sunlight begin to disappear.
Just before the darkness swallows us my eyes meet Gale's. They shine brightly at me. I notice how almond shaped they are, different from my own. For a moment I think I see pity in them. Is my fear that noticeable?
Headlamps begin to click on around me. I force my right hand to work the pail into my left palm, which is still gripping my father's axe. My small hand can barely hold both of the items together. Once free, the fingers of my right hand shakily reach for the switch on the back of the lamp. After two tries, the lamp clicks on and sheds a round circle of light into the chest of the man across from me. Noticing that my lamp is the only one shining this low, I glance around.
A feeling wells up inside my chest as I come to terms with just how small I am in comparison to all these men. Overwhelmed, I briefly close my eyes. With one long inhale of breath I attempt to stand up straighter.
The jostling of the lift alerts me that we have finished our ominous decent into the black abyss. As the gate groans open I let relief seep through me. Finally an escape from this squished feeling of my body pressed against the others. My nose is assaulted with unidentifiable smells. The air is thick and the coal dust is chalky. In this tunnel there are lamps dangling from a cord on the ceiling.
The man behind me presses his hand into my back and gives me a hearty shove, "Move it or lose it." His voice hisses at me. I muster the willpower to move my feet forward.
"Feeling scared yet, darling?" Bristel sneers. His shoulder brushes against mine hard as he passes me.
I glare at him and wish that I could stick my pick axe in his scrawny backside. "I'm not scared of anything," I grind my voice through my teeth and join Hank at the left wall of the tunnel. He nods at me simply and places his pail on a wooden board that represents a makeshift table. I follow suit. I get the feeling that Hank's not going to be the talkative type, but that's fine by me.
My eyes fall on a pile of large silver pails. They are rimmed with dark coal dust. Each man takes one and Hank starts giving instructions as he pulls a map of the tunnels out. He spreads the filthy map out on the wooden plank. It is riddled with black lines that resemble spider webs. Each line represents a tunnel. I gulp at the massive scale of it. Hank stabs his finger at a particular black vein.
"Alright boys we'll be picking the South vein today. The coal cars are at the end," He shoots his thumb over his shoulder toward the farther end of our tunnel. I chew the side of my cheek with my teeth and stare more closely at the spider web drawing before me. It is difficult to orient our exact location on it, but Hank appears to know what he is doing.
"I thought that coal cars were on tracks?" I murmur to Hank softly and he looks back at me while he folds the map back up and tucks it inside his shirt.
He responds softly to me, "This tunnel doesn't have that access. We've got to push it back up to the lift." He coughs and the men start filing down the tunnel by twos. Partners it appears and mine is Hank. I sigh in relief, because I feared that it would be one of the less desirable companions.
We walk silently until the coal cars come into view. The men seem to know who goes where, because they stake claim on portions of the wall. Hank and I walk to the farthest end where he sweeps his hand in a grand gesture, indicating that this lovely section of wall is our work zone.
I swallow hard again; time to actually use this pick axe. I hear the hard clank of metal on rock resounding. I turn to watch one of the men, Knox, swing his pick axe heavily. The muscles of his shoulders and back are stretching with the movement. When the axe hits the wall black jagged coal crumbles to the ground at his feet. I breathe a giant gulp of air and raise my pick axe up over my right shoulder. Both of my hands grip the stiff wooden handle. I swing all of my might forward, careful to keep the axe to the side so that it doesn't hit me in the face if it bounces back. My first attempt only yields a couple crumbling pieces.
Hank eyes my efforts and whispers to me, "Swing the tip slightly down at the last second and you'll get a good grasp of the stuff." Then I watch his arms swing the axe hard. The tip of the metal pierces downward on impact and a large shower of coal falls to the floor.
I try my hardest to imitate his movements. I meet some moderate success, but nothing like the men around me. We keep at this for a while and my arms and shoulders begin to ache with the effort. When a decent pile is at my feet Hank tells me to pile the coal into my bucket.
Once the buckets are full we carry them to the coal car. My arms buckle under the weight. I try to look like the bucket isn't the heaviest thing I have carried in my life. Sweat seeps down my face and into my eyes as I try to lift my bucket high enough to dump it in the car. It takes me two tries to balance it on the edge of the wooden frame before I dump it in. Black dust rises up as the coal slides into the car. It chokes me momentarily and causes my eyes to water. I cough roughly for a moment and someone slams a hard hand against my back.
"Close your mouth when you dump kid," the owner of the hard fist advises me.
A glance at the name sewn on his chest tells me that he is, A. Cadwell. I nod at him for the advice and he dumps his bucket in the car with one hand. He's probably the largest man on the crew. He looks about my father's age, slight wrinkles around his mouth and eyes with a few grey wisps in his hair.
He notices me eyeing him and introduces himself, "Artie. Your dad was my partner for a while." My lips form a soft smile and I shake his large hand.
The day continues. Stab the wall with my pick axe, watch the coal shatter to my feet, fill my bucket, carry it with all my strength, dump it, and repeat.
Most of the men are silent workers, but once in a while someone chats about this thing or that. Bristel does most of the talking, which isn't surprising. I roll my eyes as he regales Nat Tardive with a story about two ladies that wanted to date him at once. I find the story highly unlikely, but don't comment.
At midday, Hank pulls a watch from his pocket and yells down the tunnel, "Lunch break. Fifteen." Everyone slings their axes over their shoulders and file back toward the entrance to our tunnel.
I pick up my father's lunch pail and slide my back down the wall until I'm sitting with my legs folded beneath me. Inside the lunch pail is a chunk of bread, an apple, and a brick of cheese. A small thermos inside the lid is filled with lukewarm water. I drink it greedily and pour a few drops onto my fingers to rid them of coal dust and dirt. It doesn't work entirely, but it's good enough. I feel ravenous as I bite into the chunk of bread. My eyes nearly roll back into my head with delight. I never knew that stale food could taste this good.
Bristel plops his scrawny backside down beside me and begins loudly unwrapping some type of sandwich. I roll my eyes as he chews with his mouth open. Gale sits across from us with his long legs stretched out and crossed. As I chew my block of cheese happily I let my eyes scan the length of his body. He's definitely taller than he was as my childhood friend. His features have hardened into the face of a man. Almond shaped eyes, a smooth nose, and full lips contrast the sharp curve of his jaw and cheek bones.
No wonder all the girls at school fawn over him. I roll my eyes at the thought. If only they knew he was an antifeminist. It's a wonder he supports Katniss Everdeen at all. They hunt together in the woods, which is highly dangerous. She is most certainly a woman. I trail my eyes over his broad shoulders and the taught muscles of his forearms, visible under his rolled up sleeves.
Bristel releases a sharp laugh next to me, "I think you've got an admirer Gale." I almost drop my brick of cheese before I recover. A hot blush creeps across my face and neck.
"I wouldn't bother with him darling. Only eyes for our lovely victor. I, on the other hand am highly available." He smiles broadly at me and winks cheekily. I roll my eyes at him as I scoff, "I think there are many reasons you're not taken Bristel." He laughs heartily this time.
I swallow the last of my cheese and glance at Gale. His dark grey eyes trap me in a steely gaze for what must be the third time today. His face is covered in dark coal dust, but I'm sure that mine is as well. I feel like we are having one of the staring contest games that we played as children.
Too bad for him, I always won those. After a few moments his long lashes blink and he looks back at the food in his lap. His mother probably packed that food with love and care. That's something we still have in common, parents at home that care for us. Except now the roles are reversed and we are both the providers.
After fifteen minutes the crew begrudgingly returns to work. The day seems to slip away slowly. The motions are repetitive. I continue without complaint even though blisters blossom on my fingers and palms. My back and arms ache strongly, but the pain in my hands is far worse. One of the blisters bursts near the end of the shift. Puss leaks from my hand and the thick air stings the cut. As I continue to work, coal dust rubs into the cut and I think about the infection that will likely develop if I don't clean it soon.
Luckily Hank reaches for his watch again and yells down the tunnel, "Alright finish up your last buckets." I fill my bucket for the last time, careful to avoid picking up the coal with my broken blister ridden right hand.
We empty our buckets into the last coal car. Then five men begin pushing the first car toward the lift. I join the remaining four men behind the second coal car. My sore muscles scream in anger as I push my weight onto the car. Bristol and Hank's shoulders squeeze me from both sides.
It isn't clear whether my strength is helping at all, but somehow our car makes it two the lift. We watch the first group of men raise with their coal car and disappear into the ceiling. My group grabs their equipment when the lift returns for us. I can barely contain my excitement as we get onto the lift.
As the light of the aboveground world begins to enter the lift my body seems to lose some of the tension of being trapped like a rat. A smile spreads across my face. I survived! I nearly shout the thought out loud.
When the gate creaks open my heart sings freedom. I contain the urge to run from the lift into the open air and kiss the banks of snow. The crew rolls the coal cars toward the conveyer and disperse. The cold air bites at my bare face and forearms. The sweat seems to be freezing on my skin. I walk toward the building that houses the cubbies. As I enter I see men removing their dirty shirts and replacing them with warm coats. I avert my eyes as Mortin peels his shirt off and shoots me a sour glance. I tentatively begin unbuttoning my coal covered mine shirt and the white undershirt beneath looks scarily white beside the grime of my clothing and body.
"You did good today kid," Hank assures me as he finishes fastening his coat a few cubbies down the way. I nod my thanks and button my own coat.
"Yeah, you're alright. Tell your old man Artie approves." Artie adds as I slip my aching blistered hands into my mittens. I smile softly at him because the more time I spend with him, the more he reminds me of my father. I nod my goodbyes and enter the cold weather.
As I walk home the pick axe seems to weigh a million pounds in my aching arms. I hook it over my shoulder like the other men and urge my feet to move forward. Halfway home I notice that Gale is walking silently a few paces behind me. His silent tread doesn't give him away, but I feel the prickle of his gaze on my back.
Once we reach our houses he stops and faces me. Unsure of his intent, I bate my breath for what will surely be some antifeminist remark about not returning tomorrow. He surprises me however when his low voice smoothly says, "You're right to do this for your father. You're better than those girls who sell themselves to Cray or the scum behind the Hob." I stare open mouthed at him for a moment before the high-pitched squeal of Posy Hawthorne approaches us.
"Gale, Gale, guess what! I learned how to tie my shoes today." She rushes towards us with her dark hair in little braids under her winter hat. Her bright smile of pride seems to melt something in her older brother's face as he bends down to inspect her work. Her little boot clad feet are sloppily laced, but she shines with satisfaction.
Gale lets out a low whistle to indicate that these are the most spiffily tied shoes he has ever seen. Posy looks as if she is going to buzz right out of them with excitement at his approval. Then she turns her bright eyes to me.
"Look!" She chimes and wiggles her right foot at me. I smile at her broadly and pat the top of her head affectionately.
"Wow Posy that is really great. Who taught you to do that?" I say as I inspect her shoes in mock excitement. She entwines her mitten hand in Gales and beams up at him.
"Gale showed me. I've been practicing all day!" She swings their connected arms back and forth happily. My heart skips a few times as I look back up at Gale who is smiling with pride at his tiny sister. Briefly I want to start crying because I think about mother and Jacob.
I choke back the feelings of how that could be me smiling down proudly at Jacob as he declares I taught him to tie his shoes. It will never happen though. I only got the chance to hold him one time. Gale seems to notice the reminiscent look on my face because he is eyeing me with pity again. I'll never have the sibling relationship that I was meant to have.
I bid them farewell quickly and go back to my house to wallow in self-pity. My father is dying of Black Lung. My mother and brother are dead from fever.
And I could die tomorrow in the mines.