I stay in bed for 2 days. During that time, my parents come and go, talking softly to me, trying to convince me to eat and drink, but I ignore them, only aknowledging them when I turn awy my head to refuse the bread and water. They leave me alone after a while, but continue to check up on me. While I lie in my bed, all I can think of is the image of my brother, dead, in a coffin. The picture fills me with grief, but I can't shake it of. So, instead, I think of all the things I forgot to tell him before he was taken. Like how much I would miss him. But it doesn't help. It only makes things worse. When dawn breaks on the third day, time and space slowly begin to take meaning again. The alerter I become, the more I realize what today is. The second day after Peeta's departure. They will be in the capitol, and tonight will be the tribute tour in the city circle. Mandatory watching, of course. I sigh, and suddenly realize how my behaviour would dissapoint him. I grimace. If he were here, he would've dragged me out of my bed, and force me into the sunlight. I flinch when I stretch my sore and stiff limbs. I dress, and my stomach grumbles. I realize I'm pretty hungry. I make my way to my parents room, as usual, and notice my father's absense. He's probably in the bakery, i think. I quietly make my way downstairs and see that someone has left a plate of food on the kitchen table. A little note under the fork reads:
Penny,
In case you decide to get up, you are probably hungry.
Enjoy your breakfast.
Dad
The note brings a smile to my face. My father, though quiet and distant, is a very caring man. His family means the world to him. If he was given the choice, he would protect his family above everything. He didn't talk much, but his small gestures showed the love and devotion he felt for his family. I eat my breakfast, and make my way to the bakery. I stop in the door opening. My father is showing someone how to roll the bread before it goes in the oven. I frown.
"Gale?" the confusion is audible in my voice.
"Hey Penny." he says, grinning at me.
"Goodmorning darling. I was just showing mister Hawthorne how to prepare the bread." my father smiles and cleanes his hands on a rag hanging from his belt.
"Oh." is all I manage to say.
"Don't worry, it's just for the time being. I'll be working in the mines by the time your brother gets back." Gale's words are like a slap in the face. When he comes back, no, if he comes back. Which he probably won't. I mentally scold myself for thinking so low of my brother. He promised he'd try, and he never breaks his promises.
"We need the extra hands Penny. Besides, this way Gale can earn some extra money for his family." I nod.
"Will you help me with the frosting? I'm not as good as you and Peeta. Too much details." I smile and nod again. My father hands me a plate of cookies, and I get to work. Lilies, orchids, dandelions, and every imaginable flower are drawn on the cookies. The more I make them, the harder it gets to contain my emotions. By the time I finish the last one, silent tears are dripping down my cheeks.
"It's okay butterfly." my father whispers in my ear as he collects the last cookie and puts it on the display tray. I shrug.
"Can you take them to the front, the bread needs to be lifted from the oven." I take the tray and go to the front of the bakery. My mother is standing behind the counter. She smiles upon seeing me, and waves me forward. I give her the tray and smile back at her.
"Good to see you up and about again." she pats my cheek and guides me to the high chair next to the cash register. When I was little, I used to sit there everyday, accepting the coins as my mother passed the customers' purchases over the counter. She would smile at me and say: "Say goodbye now Penny.", and I would hapilly oblige. But today, I can barely manage a smile for the people who enter and leave the store. Their words of consolation and sympathy sound false in my ears, because underneath them, you can hear the relief that it aren't their kids that were chosen. My mother, however, doesn't seem to notice, as she smile gratefully at everyone who offers her support. I wonder how she does it.
After an hour or so behind the counter, my mother leaves to wake the boys, leaving the bakery in my care for a while. It's the first time I have to run it on my own, so I get a little anxious when she doesn't return after a while. The customers come and go, but the service goes slower as usual, and a line is quickly forming. I begin to panic, until a soft voice breaks through the crowd.
"Do you need some help?" the voice belongs to Prim Everdeen, Katniss' sister. She walks forward and I quickly motion for her to join me.
"Yes, thank you." I say gratefully. I divide the work like my mother would. Prim seats herself on the stool to accept the money, and I get the customers what they ask. It's a good arrangement, and the crowd slowly begins to lessen. By the time my mother returns, we are helping the last customers. As soon as the door closes, I blow out a large breath.
"Lots of customers today." I tell her.
"I noticed. I came in to buy some bread, but I couldn't even see the counter." she answers with a shy smile. I smile back at her, and hold up my hand.
"We're a good team, high five." she laughs, and slaps my hand. I laugh too. Then, I grab the last bread, and put it in a bag for her. She holds out the coins to pay.
"No need for that, you can have it. Take some cookies too." my mother enters the shop, followed by my brothers.
"Thank you mss Mellark." Prim says gratefully, accepting the bag of cookies from my mother. She smiles and makes her way to the door.
"See you tomorrow at school Penny." she waves, and walks out the door. My mother tells me to go get some rest then, and as I throw myself down on the couch, I think of Prim and her mother. They had it worse than me. Katniss is the head of their family, feeding and taking care of them. After their father died in a mine explosion, she had no choice but to take over his position. She went hunting, even though it was forbidden, and brought home enough game to trade or take to her family. I know she trades it, because she shows up daily at the back of the bakery, when she knows my mother isn't there, to trade squirrels for bread and other goods. My father is always talking praise about her, because she always manages to shoot them right between the eyes, not spoiling the rest of the meat. I wonder who will feed Prim and her mother now. Probably Gale, because he's Katniss' best friend and hunting partner, but he has his own family to feed as well. I wonder if my mother would notice if I slipped her some bread everyday. Maybe some of the left overs. My brother would do it. He told me he had done it once, when he saw Katniss sit under a tree at the back of the bakery. She had been shuffling through the garbage bins, and mother had chased her of. Peeta had seen, and managed to burn two breads, which earned him a smack in the face. When mother told him to feed the bread to the pigs, he threw it to Katniss. He told me he couldn't stand her suffering. I decided then and there to give Prim bread every day, no matter what my mother says.
With that determination in my mind, I rise and start to set the table for lunch, for a minute not thinking of my brother and The Hunger Games, but of Prim and the unfairness of the Capitol, who allowed the citizens of their country to starve, while they watched, clean and well fed, as they died of hunger. The irony is obvious in that thought, because the Capitol always goes on and on about how good they are to the districts, especially after the dark days. I shake my head and finish setting the table, calling in my family. As we seat ourselves at the table, I notice the empty chair next to me, and I feel a pang in my heart. I start to tear up again, because tonight there is the mandatory viewing of the tribute tour in the Capitol's city circle. I wonder how my brother will be dressed. I know he'll get a personal prep team and stylist, but usually they jsut dress up the district 12 tributes as coal miners. An image of Effie Trinket in a coal mining outfit lifts my spirit, and I dig into my lunch with a smile on my face.
A/N; everything you recognize is from The Hunger Games, which belongs to Suzanne Collins, no copywrite infrigment intended.
Always the same, enjoy reading and review!
