Jessamine Law

District 11 Female, 16
First Morning at the Capitol

I stay in my room, even though I'm starving. There's something comforting about the illusion of choice I've got right now, what with me not being called in to work in the fields or rushing to get to school on time. It's the same insidious comforting feeling, that inkling of relief I felt when I was reaped. When my brain involuntarily screamed "not another day of the same monotone shit ever again!" before I buried those traitorous thoughts beneath the many layers of grief and dread. I felt so horrible afterwards, because my family doesn't deserve for me to feel this way. They've done literally everything to provide me with a good life, and I genuinely don't want to leave my parents and brothers. Even more, I don't want to disappoint them, and there's so much leeway for me to do exactly that, here.

For my parents, it's always been about me making a better life for myself than they ever had. They never really stopped reminding me that my brothers and I were all war children, but that that shouldn't stop us from reaching new heights. In fact, it's as though their obsession with living through us took a warped turn because of the opportunities they were robbed of as young adults, when the old country was falling apart, and they were trying their best to stay afloat in a disintegrating society.

I guess they always believed I'd end up graduating, getting a degree in Agricultural Management Science or something equally prestigious in our district. I had the grades for it, or at least that's what I've led them to believe.

It's not like I had abysmal grades either, you know? Just a matter of perspective and slight tinkering with the numbers to keep up the illusion that I was the stellar brilliant daughter they always thought I was…

The truth is that over the years, I just got so damn tired of studying, and the subjects just got harder and harder. I'm smart, technically, I know that. I wouldn't have been selected to continue on with school when most other girls in District 11 are forced out to the fields full-time by the age of fifteen. The school administration even sent my parents a shiny letter stating I had "leader potential", which is just a fancy way of saying they set their eyes on me to replace our sector's field manager once the older woman retired.

Now, if there's one thing you want to know about District 11, it's that the people there don't rise above rank. If you're destined to be a field worker, you're gonna be geared towards that since the ripe old age of six.

With my brothers and I, it was a little different.

Because of our parents' high expectations, something happened, in our brains or in the way we perceive the world, and we actually managed to get ahead when we really should have just kept our heads low. It's not all bad, because William, my eldest brother, gets paid 1.5 times the amount he should be getting, just on the virtue on his education he fought tooth and nail for. And he's got a pretty high-up position.

It's harder for guys in District 11, too, so he's viewed as a real goddamn hero by the rest of us.

It's just…

On evenings where I literally can't focus on my homework, the concepts swimming in front of my eyes as my mind propels itself towards random scenarios and stories that just seem infinitely more entertaining… that's when I think about how we're killing ourselves to achieve something so fragile.

Like, do I really need this constant stress, this pressure that threatens to overwhelm me, when all I get in the end is a potentially higher salary and a tap on the back?

William thought it was worth it, so maybe there is something there.

The only quarrel my parents have with Will is the fact that he went off and married Mikka, an orchard girl from the neighboring sector. They wanted him to finish more studies, get a higher raise, keep working his way up. But he confronted them about it and said enough was enough. Some days, I wonder how he did it, because I'm struggling so much and feel like every day is when I finally crack.

But I don't have an excuse like he did, I'm not as old and I haven't even gotten an ounce of his success, so until yesterday morning, I was pretty sure I'd be groveling and stressing until either I succeeded or succumbed under the pressure.

Deep down in my heart, I know Will did the right thing, and I don't know if I'd ever have the courage to confront my parents like he did. I'll never have to find out, now, which again, causes a surge of momentary and traitorous relief to flood my system.

I mean, that argument wasn't pretty, but we all get along now, same as before.

Well, not same, per say, because Will moved out about a year ago and it sucks, not having him around. But that's just the cycle of life and the idea of constant change. Which, by the way, is a concept I'm not super on board with, as a general rule of thumb.

I never really shared with anyone the extent of how Will's departure screwed me up. My parents just got infinitely worse, not laying off of me for even a second, and I just can't seem to focus like I used to, so it's hard. I mean, I was never stellar at it, but now, some days, it just feels like my mind is racing from one subject to the other with zero intention to stop. Sometimes it gets so bad, that I can't tear my attention away or hold it when needed, so it sends me spiralling because everyone seems to do with such ease and no one goddamn believes me when I tell them I just can't.

Columbine and Cosmo understand, but not to the extent that Will did.

Even as I'm here, all alone, my mind is jumping all over the place. It's nice to not have constant exams, presentations and surprise tests to worry about, but instead, memories of the reaping and the goodbyes resurface, which just makes me feel even more guilty. My mom kept saying that I should do my best, here. She kept telling me I was always the best, so it shouldn't be any different now. I know she meant good by it, with tears in her eyes, but it just rubs me the wrong way.

Because, she hasn't really bothered to know the real me, for a few years now. The me that has to finish her work in under an hour, and move on to the next big thing because she can't goddamn focus on one thing for too long or it feels like her brain is about to burst out of her skull.

That's the thing with my parents. They've always provided for the four of us, loved us, but they turned a blind eye to issues like these and it certainly didn't help, in retrospect.

My mom thinks that I've never had any trouble intuitively succeeding, as though the Hunger Games are going to be the same thing. In retrospect, I wish I told her just how much I freaking struggled every day, just to complete my homework, to focus on the teacher's voice when it kept droning on and on in the morning when all I wanted to do was gather apples and jump in the fields or read one more of Will's books that he let me borrow.

The thing is that I don't even know how all my studying, all my work is going to help me in this situation. And frankly, that's the most innerving part of it all. My body bears the marks of the agonizing anxiety that threatened to overtake me in waves throughout the night.

I've got bags under my eyes, and scratches all along the palms of my hands and wrists.

It's not that different from the usual pre-midterm stress-fueled front I put up, but the difference is now I'm days away from fighting to the death and there's no perfect study guide or astutely constructed lie to get me out of this unscathed.

The fact of the matter is that I'm stuck in a place I am completely unfamiliar with, and I have no idea what is needed for me to succeed. I mean, I know, murder and all, but I don't want to think about that just yet. It's all the stuff before, the training, the scores and the interviews that send me spiraling.

I wish I could get some bloody decent advice, but everyone seems busy with other things and that's what really gets to me. Casmir is distant, but I think it just has to do with the fact that he doesn't know how to deal with Tyree.

The little boy is so young, but there's something off about him that I can't really place. Casmir probably figured it out, but he hasn't shared it with me. He probably sees me as the older and more mature tribute, so he's left me to my own devices because his hands are full, with the more fragile of the two kids he was assigned with.

A little selfishly, I miss being the youngest, when everyone would flock to me to help whenever I had a problem. That's one of the perks of growing up with three older brothers.

You hustle and you learn to fight rough, but in the end, they'll always have your back to deal with any threat.

I sigh because the sadness crashes into me like a wave, once again. My heart aches, just thinking about my brothers back home. The way they must feel, not being able to protect me… I really hope I can make them proud.

I miss William worst of all. I love Columbine and Cosmo so much, but my eldest brother is the one who always supported me in everything I did, and it's just so hard to be here without him. It's been hard ever since he married and moved out, but now it's like, hey, I'm literally thousands of miles away, about to be shipped off to god-knows-where for a death match. So, it's not really the same caliber, if you think hard enough.

I just wish I could hear anyone's advice on what I should be doing.

I know that in two hours, training starts. I overheard Casmir grumbling about the Gamemakers trying out a new "formula", where we'd all get lunch first. He said that this extra time that was given to us was supposed to promote tribute interactions to make the Games more interesting in the long run.

Whatever that means.

Not sure it'll be much help in my case, considering I've been reaped alongside a really spooky and small child that refuses to acknowledge my existence.

I'm still hopeful though, if not for the pessimism-fueled horrifying thoughts that worm themselves to the forefront, once in a while…

Throughout the night, my dumbass brain has been running through the different scenarios where I can inevitably screw up. Now that it's morning, I'm kind of excited to meet the others, if only for the sake of forming an alliance.

My strategy… I've also thought about it quite a bit. Before I left, Will told me that whatever I do, I have to run away when the gong sounds. He told me I wasn't allowed to run into the fray. He also told me that my strength lies in my adaptability and that I need to make allies who are willing to get their hands dirty.

I've been cycling through all of the advice he threw at me in the few minutes we had together.

It's like a mantra in my head now. If there's one advantage to the way my brain whirls around, it's that I'm bloody amazing at remembering things that are important. It's almost like tunnel vision, but for thoughts.

Be nice to people. Fly under the radar. Make a decent ally or two. Don't go in the Bloodbath. Lay low. Kill, if you have to.

Will didn't sugarcoat his words and that's what I appreciate most about him.

Now that I'm about to meet the other tributes, I need to focus on the way I present myself.

Hell, it sends shivers down my spine just thinking of myself as a tribute… all these years of watching the Games and now I'm in the place of all those dead kids, fighting for a chance to survive. The thought alone almost shatters my newly-found confidence. I go back to Will's advice, and smile because people are much more likely to trust you if you smile. My dad always said you only have one chance to make a good first impression, and he's right.

I jump out of bed, stretch my limbs, and saunter to the huge closet at the opposite end of the room.

I flick through the different shirts they offer.

There's a lot of comfortable and soft fabrics, which I appreciate. It creeps me out, if only for a second, to think how they've picked out exactly the stuff I would like. There were probably hordes of psychologists or kooky mind specialists that have been studying all of us and advising the Capitol designers to give us specific attire choices based on the way we reacted during our reaping, our train rides, while sleeping. The girl from District 12 probably got a bunch of skimpy and inappropriate outfits for her troubles, and that thought somehow makes it supremely more fucked up.

I shake my head, trying to dispel this disconcerting idea, and pick a cotton grey sweater with a small white square with googly eyes, on the left breast pocket.

It's a cute shirt, but it still doesn't sit well with me that I am being dissected to the barest minimum by some higher-ups I can't even see. I guess I need to get used to it.

I put on the shirt, and then a pair of soft and comfortable pants.

In the mirror, I smile at myself, trying to muster my kindest and warmest facial expression. A pair of big dark distraught eyes stare back at me.

"Calm down Jess, you'll be fine," I mutter quietly to myself, since there's no one else to say it.

I lean forward, rest my forehead on the mirror, and close my eyes. If I imagine hard enough, it's like when I did it with Will, when we were both younger. I'd be freaking out about one thing or another and he'd always be there to breathe with me, bring me back to square one and calm me down.

"Be nice to people. Fly under the radar. Make an ally. Lay low," I repeat, looking myself in the eyes.

I shift my face a little, so I look less like a distraught little child and more of the resolute and strong person that I hope I can be.

And then, without looking back, I walk out of my room, shutting the door behind me.

I find Casmir in the lounge, sitting with his head in his hands.

"Hi Casmir," I say brightly, and he turns around. I see that he hasn't slept much, but I don't comment on it.

"Hey Jessamine, I'm so sorry I've… I've been a pretty crappy mentor, so far," he admits, and I wave it off really quickly.

"Don't worry, yesterday was intense," I say hesitantly, "for everyone".

"Yeah you're right. Are you ready for training?" he asks, and waves around his hands apologetically towards the table which has remnants of the food the servants probably brought in earlier.

I understand what he means, and rush to explain myself.

"I … I thought of eating, but I kinda reasoned that hey, we'd be having lunch with all the tributes together, so unless the Careers plan on monopolizing all the resources before the games even start," I get a chuckle out of Casmir, "I should be fine just eating an early lunch before training!"

"That's fair," my mentor answers, smiling, and I can see that I've incrementally brightened up his mood, at least a tiny bit.

"Is everything okay with Tyree?" I ask, genuinely curious. I wonder what his deal is.

"Yeah… no, not really?" Casmir answers, rubbing his jaw. I keep looking at him expectantly, smiling encouragingly. He only hesitates for a second before spilling the beans.

"He's… not really okay. I think he was kidnapped. In either case, I wouldn't recommend you ally with him."

That's…not what I expected, but it'll do.

"Harsh, but noted," I answer lightheartedly, and head towards the door.

Casmir calls after me.

"Jessamine…"

I stop, and wait for him to continue.

"I…I know this has been shitty and none of this is even remotely your fault. I know you're a bright kid, and you can handle your own…"

I nod and smile, inwardly glad that that's the image I'm projecting, and not the crippling all-consuming fear that's actually coursing through my veins.

"But I will step up as your mentor, I promise," Casmir concludes, and I nod again, with even more enthusiasm.

"We'll talk strategy when you come back later this afternoon, alright?" he concludes, getting up, and patting me on the shoulder. His hand is so huge that I kind of sag under it, but jut my chest out a tiny bit to at least seem a little stronger.

His praise made me feel a little stronger, so I really harness that pride that swells inside me and outwardly project the hell out of it.

"See you later, kiddo," Casmir says, as I leave through the door.

"See ya!" I call back, smiling, genuinely this time around.

Notes:
Fun fact: Jessamine was actually the very first tribute I received for these Games! I hope you like this stress-ball from District 11, because I sure love her! Only one district to go until we start the melee-chapters, and when we kick off training in earnest.

Just a quick heads up, the month of October is literal hell for me, so I might be a little slow on the updates. I've got a futile Med application (read: me throwing money aggressively at my school and screaming while they take it with no remorse), three projects for my surgical class and a heckin' metric ton of work at my lab. And I was elected for graduate student council, whatever that means. Oh, and obviously, Halloween's coming up, so this gal needs to figure out how to make an unnecessarily complicated costume from scratch.

Writing will be done, but perhaps a little slower than usual.

Hope everyone is surviving!

Peace and love.