The bright sunlight lit up the oak desks in such a way that it made the dreary classroom look almost beautiful. I sat there listening to the stories of the rebellion. They were the same stories I've heard since they figured it was alright for children to hear and experience death. This was school: the place we come to and learn what happens when you stand up to the Capitol. A place to educate you on how to be fearful.
We just got to the explanation of the Hunger Games when the bell rung. I'd lived through two Reaping's in my life and I've let out two relieved sighs when my name wasn't called. The Hunger Games consists of twenty-four children picked at random from the twelve remaining districts. Two from each, a boy and a girl from the age of twelve to eighteen. They are forced to brutally murder one another on live television as their family watches in horror. The one left standing from the twenty-four becomes the Victor, who is set to live the rest of their life happily. Well, as happy as you can, knowing that twenty-three other children had to die so you could live a better life. It wasn't their fault though, it's the Capi—
"Mags!"
My thoughts are interrupted by a voice I knew terribly well.
"Mags! Maggie! Maggers!" he continues to call.
"I'm over here, Gregory," I respond.
He smiles as he strides over to me, his ginger curls bouncing with each step. "I was just about to leave the school when I remembered we were going on an adventure today."
"Oh, were we now? Well, lead the way!" I say as he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the school building. We run fast through the streets until we're close to the ocean, several blocks from the school.
The great thing was, even if you couldn't see the sea, you could always find it. The closer you get to it, the more the air begins to smell of salt. It was the smell I've grown up with, the smell of District Four.
Once we caught our breath, Gregory blurts out, "Sorry we made such a quick escape from the concrete prison. I still had one more class: the history of fishing. A class I could easily live without."
These words were spoken nearly every day.
"Gregory Flint! Are you actually skipping a class?" I say with complete sarcasm. We know he hasn't gone to that class in nearly a month.
"I might as well have been born fishing," he says. "Do they really think I need to know the history of it? They are such idiots."
We continue on the shore line in silence, only stopping so Gregory could pick up a rock and skip it across the shimmering ocean top.
"So where shall our adventure take us today? Climb a cliff or swim until we find a new island?" I offer.
Gregory pauses for a moment. "I'm going to teach you the history of fish hooks! Since that's what I should be learning right now. Did you know that they once found a fish hook that was like 16,000 years old?"
"Nope, I have never learned that."
I wasn't too knowledgeable on the history of fish hooks, though to be knowledgeable would be the weirder thing.
"Well then you are an idiot Mags! There is no hope for you! The only thing we can do now is teach you to make fish hooks!"
I make my way home just as the sun was setting, nearly forty fish hooks in hand. They were made with all types of material: from wire to fish bone. Gregory could turn anything into a fish hook, and his goal was to teach me to do the same.
I go to the door of my house, an aging structure. Luckily for the Capitol, when District Four was in the rebellion we didn't burn down that many buildings. Our house was about fifty years old. It was a paint peeling, floor squeaking, thing of a home, but it was home, and it was great.
My mother is sitting in the kitchen, listening to the radio we got a couple years back. She was truly beautiful; with brown hair that flowed down her back and green eyes that were currently full of worry. She sat with her ankles crossed and her fingers tapping the table, maintaining a steady beat. I reluctantly step into her view; once she sees me, relief washes over her face.
"Magdalene, where were you?" she asks in a voice that is supposed to sound angry, but just carries out a dull curiosity.
She knew exactly where I was and who I was with, because I really only hung out with Gregory. I don't answer her question and just sat across from her on the hard kitchen table. She turns off the radio and begins to rifle through our kitchen cabinet.
"You should have told me if you were going to go out," she worriedly says. "I love Gregory, and you know that, but even though you stay out with him nearly every day, you should at least tell me."
I was about to explain how sorry I was, but she stopped me. "It's fine though. You're fine, and we have enough makeshift hooks to last us a life time!"
She let out a little laugh then returned to her radio. My father wasn't the only one that was disappointed when the rebellion ended: my mother was a fighter too. She kept the radio on in the hopes of hearing news of another rebellion, or even an uprising. I felt bad for her. She was strong, but I could tell she missed my dad. I always figured they were the couple that liked each other in all the best ways, through their flaws and late night thoughts.
That's when the Capitol propaganda stopped. For nearly ten seconds the radio went dead. I could tell my mother was racking her brain and wondering if this was a possible sign for anything, but instead a voice you could tell was airing live went on.
"This announcement is, uh, a reminder to the Districts. The mandatory reaping is one week from today. If you are not in attendance you will be visited by a Peacekeeper to ensure that you are fine. Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"
"To ensure that you are fine," I murmur back to the radio that is once again telling us how wonderful the Capitol is. "I find it so funny that they try to calm us down in a way by saying they are just going to check on you for your safety. But it's no secret that if they don't see your face in the town square a week from now, you're dead, just like the tributes."
My mother tries to comfort me, knowing about my constant fear of the Reaping and the Games themselves, but it's no use. I kiss her cheek and walk to my room, where I don't sleep because that's where your fears play a role in your dreams.
The rest of the week passed in a blur. Just like the past two years, I shut down right before the Reaping. It's not even that I might be chosen, but it's the fact that there will be people chosen, people that will actually die, people that will actually kill and get killed. It's sick in every way imaginable. A place that is already lacking in population holds an event that kills people, and makes the remainders not want to have children. It's a completely idiotic punishment.
School finishes and in the rush to get out of school, you can easily find yourself lost in a crowd of scared teenagers walking home, all thinking, "What if this is the last time I walk home from school? See my friends? What if I'm going to die?"
Gregory's hand finds mine as he pulls me in the proper direction.
"Mags, you were walking the wrong way. It's like you're already an old lady losing her mind!"
I laugh, hoping he doesn't notice the fear written all over me, but Gregory knows me better than anyone. He lets it slide, though. I've always looked up to him. For a boy who grew up without a mother, he had such an innocent look on the world. He seemed almost fearless, not caring about what would happen next.
We keep walking when Gregory announces, "I've decided we need to get our parents together. We can be siblings and spend the rest of our lives together going on adventures. It crossed my mind that that's what marriage is for, but I would never marry you. Goodness no."
He can only keep a composed face for a moment before he bursts out laughing, I let out laugh, but I'm confused.
"I was just trying to get your mind off of the Reaping for a second," he explains.
"My mother would never go for your father. He smells of fish and sarcasm," I tell him in a mocking voice.
He smirks and plays along. "My father would never fall for a woman who spends her days with a radio! The thought! Damn them electronic thingy ma do's."
He says this all in a voice that imitates an old man's, but halfway through the sentence, his voice cracks, making him sound like an elder squirrel.
We walk along the dock, stopping at his father's fishing boat. We were about to board the ancient boat when a muscular man appears, with bronze hair and green eyes just like my mother's. They were common traits amongst the people of District Four.
"He works for my father, since the old man is turning into an old man," Gregory explains.
His father was a major supporter of Gregory's education and would have never taken him off from school. Though he knew it was pretty useless, that wasn't going to stop him. He always said, "If I had to put up with the agony of school, my son does too!"
"Gregory and Magdalene, is that you?" his father calls, appearing from inside the stateroom.
Sometimes Gregory's father would go on fishing trips that would last him days, weeks even. Gregory was bad for getting sea sick. He told me that when he had the chance to go on his father excursions, he spent his time in the stateroom praying for the ship to dock.
"I was hoping you guys would make it before we left! I wanted to teach Magdalene how to fish!" his father says, walking his way over and putting one arm around me.
Gregory looked like his father in every sense: the same hair and eye color, and the same goofy, crooked smile.
"Why do you have to call her by her full name? It's so weird! Call her Mags, please?" Gregory asks impatiently.
They have this battle constantly. I remember once around the time Gregory renamed me Mags, I called him Greg and his father had a near hissy fit. He believed we were all born with a good name and that we should use it.
"Never!" his father says childishly.
He drops his arm and walks off, getting ready to leave. Gregory and I hardly ever come on the fishing trips. Since Gregory could start taking care of himself, his father would leave for longer periods of time. My mother hated how he acted, always leaving without a care. They knew each other before the rebellion, our parents, but I don't believe they were on the greatest terms. All I know is that Mr. Flint, Gregory's father, wasn't very opposed to the Capitols power. As long as he got to go and fish, he was happy. My mother claims he's a selfish man because of it, but I think he just doesn't want to risk his life.
We search to find fishing rods. We didn't help much for the product, but we enjoyed going out fishing. It was tradition to go out fishing the Friday before the Reaping, just to get our minds off of it. Well, my mind since Gregory could care less. The one time we had discussed the Games, he told me that would go out with a bang. He explained he would defy the Capitol by jumping off his podium before the end of the countdown, sealing his fate by being blown up to bits, accompanied with a literal bang.
We spent hours on the boat, sharing stories of the past, and ideas for the future. ((It was great being away; you didn't have to worry about someone overhearing you. I began to understand why Mr. Flint enjoyed being out here so often. I also began to wonder why the Capitol would allow such a thing. Mr. Flint could easily escape without a problem: he had so much more freedom then the rest of the District. That's probably why my mother isn't too particular of him, because she envies him.
I caught three fish in the course of the evening, and lost two fishing rods. We quickly found out that I couldn't reel in a fish that was more than ten pounds. Gregory chuckles as I try to save a fishing rod from flying over the boat.
"If you ever get stuck in the Hunger Games you won't get very far Mags. We need to work on your upper body strength. Do pushups or lift anchors."
I roll my eyes, but that sticks with me. District 4 isn't much for training its children for the Games, but we all know about District 1 and 2. They pretty much breed fighters. I'd even heard they opened up places for them to train for the Games. It makes sense though; between the two districts they had won five out of eight Games. It was completely unfair.
The boat docks near midnight. Now, we are left to return to our normal lives, get off the ship and return to the fear. The second you begin to see the buildings is when it all comes rushing back. We're all silent. I can tell even Gregory has remorse about it. He looks like he just wants to stay here in the boat forever, and I don't blame him; I would if I could. The second your feet hit the land, it's even worse. Why would you leave something that you were free on?
Gregory goes to help secure the boat, and that's when Mr. Flint turns to me and says, as if he was reading my mind, "Freedom is not free."
I want to ask him what he means, but I feel as if this is a statement that isn't supposed to have a response. I turn away and begin to walk; all I wanted now was to wait until it was all over.