Chapter Nine: Family Matters

The Reaping's Day Before Tomorrow

Vick Even, District Four Male

My neck is still cramped from sleeping on that cot the hospital provided.

Sure, it's better than sleeping on the floor or in a chair (I know that firsthand), but the cot is only slightly softer than the floor and is very scratchy. Plus, after about a couple of hours of lying down on it that first night, it became really evident that thing had never been washed.

I can't exactly toss it into a laundry machine (it's too bulky to fit through the opening) so my best bet is to scrub it down with water and some of the cheap cleaner the hospital uses so I can at least mask the smell a little.

But, I'll have to do that later. My work shift starts any minute and I would like to see Mom before I clock in.

I fold up my cot and stow it away in the empty storage closet that serves as the place I sleep, then step out into the hospital.

It looks the same as always. The entire hospital seems to have tried to stick to shades of color that are as inoffensive as possible, and they've succeeded at that. Nearly every surface consists of the same dull white-and-brown color palette, the only interruptions being flower pots placed at irregular intervals throughout the halls and navigational signs that are a blaring shade of red.

Following the signs down one monotonous hall after another, I eventually find my way to the stairs. Two flights of stairs later (yes, this hospital is enormous- it's meant to serve the entire District) I hurry through several more, equally monotonous halls until I reach the room my mother is confined to.

However, before I can step into the room, a doctor waiting outside stops me. "Now's not a good time, she's still asleep and trying to recover from yesterday's radiation treatment."

"Well, okay then."

So, I turn back down the hall, hustling for the receptionist's desk so I can clock in for my shift.

This isn't Mom's first trip to the hospital. She'd thought that the worst of her bout with cancer was over once she left the hospital the first time, but she, unfortunately, was dead wrong. Less than a year later, it came back far worse than before, meaning she had to check in to the hospital again. And the doctors have been saying without advanced Capitol treatment techniques and medicines (which are way too expensive for us to afford) she probably has just a few months left.

Which brings me to why I'm here. Due to my, as the manager called it, "special circumstances" (because of course there's something special about having a mother with cancer and constantly having to worry about whether or not she'll live to see tomorrow) we managed to work out a deal: If I worked a four-hour shift after school every day (eight hours whenever school was out) I'd essentially get room and board- three meals and a place to sleep, and whatever was left would cover some medical care for Mom.

Since we'd already had to sell our house to pay for Mom's first round of treatment and therapy, I agreed. So far, even though I have a strong dislike of my job, at least it means that I'm not hungry and Mom has at least a little bit of extra time with me. Even if it means I've had to live in the hospital for the past three months.

Eventually, I reach the desk, knocking me out of my stupor, and quietly check myself into work, grabbing my uniform from a back corner on the way out.

Hooray. Since I haven't yet qualified to actually be a doctor or a nurse (even though neither are exactly on the list of things I'd like to do with my life) I get to spend the next eight hours cleaning the hospital.

One long, monotonous shift looms before me. But I can probably make it to the end without suddenly dying from boredom.

I've handled it for two months now. I can make it one more day.

Finally, it's twelve o'clock.

That time means nothing for most of my co-workers other than the start of a new hour, but for me, I finally get my lunch break.

As soon as I clock out again, I hustle to the doorway, cross the hospital's courtyard, and quickly arrive at the hospital cafeteria, hustling to the end of the line waiting to order.

Everyone in front of me on the line for food takes freaking forever to figure out what to eat. By the time I finally make my way to the front of the line, well over half my break has passed.

The cashier nods in acknowledgement. "Oh. It's you, Vick. Just hand me your card, I assume you want the same thing as last time." Once I'd agreed to the deal, the hospital had paid for a machine from District Three that would subtract whatever I bought from my wages without them actually having to do any math. (Solving math equations is not very high on their list of priorities.)

Two minutes later, I receive a slice of our District's signature light green bread, half a bowl of tuna salad, and a tiny portion of mixed vegetables, alongside a glass of ice water.

Silently, I wolf the whole thing down, but then I have to get back to work. Ironically enough, the second half of my day will be spent working cleaning the cafeteria, occasionally stopping to work the cash register.

All I can think is, four hours down, four to go.

After a painfully slow four hours, I can finally clock out for the day.

Aside from one unpleasant incident that occurred when some seven-year-old visitor ate way too much of the hospital's crappy clam chowder (which I swear is just a disguised paint-and-glue mix) I've already forgotten everything that happened when I was in that cramped, airless room.

Now, after being on the clock from eight all the way through four-thirty, I finally have the chance to see my mother (in other words, the exact freaking reason I chose to essentially live in the hospital in the first place).

This isn't as familiar an area as you think it'd be for me, so it takes me a few minutes to find a hall I recognize, after which I just follow my usual path to Mom's room.

This time, there isn't a doctor standing there warning me that she's being exposed to radiation, so I just assume it's safe to walk in. Unfortunately, while it's technically safe to do that, what I see once I get inside isn't pretty.

Mom's lying on her elevated cot in an awkward pose, connected to a heart monitor and an IV via thin tubes attached to her left arm. Her pillow has bile stains on it that refuse to come out no matter how much the doctors scrub it (her memoir of the first and only time she tried the clam chowder). What little hair she has left is limp and greasy, her eyes appear to be sinking into her head, and her lips are dry and cracked. Not to mention, she's squinting badly just so she can see, due to the hospital's mind-numbing decision to have her bed be in a place where the one tiny window shines sunlight directly in her eyes about 80% of the time.

With visible effort, she turns her head to face me. "Hello, my dear."

"Hey, Mom. You feeling any better?"

She nods, almost imperceptibly. "At least… at least a little better than usual."

When it comes to how Mom is feeling, better is a very subjective term. I don't know how she can still see the positive in so many things- I probably would had folded by now if I knew I had a possibly terminal disease like she does.

"Do you need anything? Food? Water? More pillows?"

"I'm fine with just the one pillow. And the last time I tried to eat I got sick. I think I just need some rest."

"Okay, then. I'll let you sleep," I say, quickly stepping out of her room and closing the door behind me.

As soon as I'm back in the hallway, I only make it about two steps before a doctor runs into me. Almost literally.

"Vick, your… friend is calling again," she says, before slapping the phone down into my hand and running off towards their next duty.

Sure enough, I put the phone to my ear, and hear a voice belonging to my friend, Aqua. "Hello? Vick? That you?"

"Aqua, how many times do I have to tell you? There's a separate phone in Mom's hospital room, you don't have to call the hospital!"

She responds. "Well, you keep forgetting to tell me this mystery number, so I wonder whose fault that is?"

I roll my eyes, even though she can't see me do it. "Whatever. What are you calling me for?"

"I just wanted to come see you! Relax!"

"I have a mother who's basically on her deathbed right now! Last time I checked, I'm confident that something like that going on makes it very hard for a person to relax!"

"Okay, okay, slow your roll. I'm assuming you're sort of stuck at the hospital?"

I haven't left the hospital in a couple of months. The last time I did, Mom went into critical condition and almost died in the hour I was gone. Thankfully, doctors were able to stabilize her heart rate, or she could have had a heart attack, or gone into cardiac arrest, or something like that. When I'd come back, I didn't even know anything had happened until the next day.

I desperately don't want a repeat of that, so my only outside time is now spent in the hospital courtyard.

"Yes, I'm still stuck there. And how long are you planning on seeing me for?"

"I don't know. An hour? Maybe an hour and a half?"

"In that case, bring some money with you to get dinner. And remember to not get the clam chowder!"

I hear a pause on the other end. "Done and done. Hospital courtyard, half hour?"

"Sounds like a plan."

The line immediately goes dead.

Well, at least I could get some enjoyment out of today once Aqua comes over.

Sitting down on a bench in the courtyard, I see Aqua running into the entrance before she sees me.

As soon as she enters, I check the clock. It's almost exactly a half hour after that phone call ended.

I almost allow myself to smile, but stifle it quickly. It's not like Aqua doesn't come with some problems of her own, but her punctuality is not one of them.

As soon as she sees me, she waves merrily, then darts over like she's just caught fire.

"Hey, Vick! How's life going?"

Aqua is endlessly optimistic almost all the time, about anything and everything, mind you. Trust me, it's fine in short stints, but if I was around her 24/7, like her parents and sister, Foam, I'd probably have gone insane quite some time ago.

"Life isn't any worse than usual, at least."

She beams at me at that statement. "Good! Anything interesting happen since the last time I came here?"

Well, my mother's gotten significantly worse in the past couple of weeks, but I don't want to depress her. One thing I've learned from hanging out with her for twelve years is that Aqua is either smiling or crying. There's no in-between.

"Nothing, to be honest."

"Well, that's nice. Want to go get something to eat?"

"Sure thing," I say. "But remember…"

"Don't eat the clam chowder, I remember!"

She heads in the direction of the cafeteria, and I do my best to trail behind her and make sure she doesn't get lost.

Once we have our food (thankfully, Aqua did remember to avoid the clam chowder this time) it's back to small talk.

However, after about five minutes of this, Aqua throws it a question that has me stop in my tracks.

"Are you nervous about the Reapings tomorrow?"

After about a few seconds of my jaw hanging limp and looking like a complete idiot, I manage to actually answer. "I actually forgot that Reapings were tomorrow. In here, the days kind of blend together."

Aqua nods fervently. "I'm pretty nervous. Even though we don't need tesserae, I still have six slips in that bowl! It might not seem like much, but it sure will if I get picked!"

For the first few seconds, that statement means nothing. However, within a few more seconds, I make some miraculous connections.

The Reapings are tomorrow.

If you get Reaped, you get sent to the Capitol for the Hunger Games.

If you win the Hunger Games, you become rich beyond your wildest dreams.

If I become rich beyond my wildest dreams, Mom will still be around much longer than the doctors expect she'll make it, because I'll be able to afford the Capitol's treatment methods.

And even if I lose, I'll see her soon anyway, where I'm heading. If I get picked, it's a guaranteed win regardless of what happens in the arena.

Then, I remember that you don't even have to be picked. Volunteering for the games is a thing, it's common from most tributes sent from here to be volunteers. My heart leaps into my chest.

It might sound insane, but I know what I have to do now.

However, I'm jolted out of my stupor by Aqua saying, "Vick? Uhh, anyone home?"

As I shake my head to clear it, she gets back to talking, saying "Your eyes just, like, glazed over and I couldn't get you to talk."

"Oh. Sorry."

All of a sudden, Aqua checks her watch. "Oh, crap! Sorry, Vick, but I've got to go home!"

She stands up in an instant and sprints off into the distance, waving over her shoulder but not looking back.

Then, I decide to just go to bed early. I'll need all the rest I can get before I do the insane thing I'm about to do.

Trudging down the hallway, nearly getting lost despite supposedly knowing this place like the back of my hand, and with my mind wandering, I arrive at the empty storage closet that serves as my bedroom.

For once, the cot seems to be a little less scratchy and lumpy. The smell of cheap cleaner less pungent. The stains on the pillow not as prevalent.

Because I've found a way to save both of us, regardless of the outcome. That's all I need to believe as I go to sleep to feel like I'm about to have the best dreams I've ever had.

However, as soon as I sleep, one thought remains trapped in my own head.

Don't worry anymore, Mom. After I get back, everything will be okay again.

Author's Notes:

-Thanks to Professor R. J. Lupin1 for Vick. Coming up next is his second (and final) tribute, the D3F.

-However, this next chapter may take a while (more so than usual) because I'm still in high school and have to study for the unholy abominations known as midterm exams over the weekend. As such, I won't really have time to write until at least late next week (possibly later, if midterms get pushed back due to bad weather).

-Will be back to add more news and notes next chapter!