Greetings! Welcome back to another installment of 'Unlikeliest of Victors'. We're going to cut right to the action this time. I'll leave my comments for afterwards.

7

Dinner started as a rather subdued event that night. My grandfather said a few words thanking my mother and our small team of staff for preparing our food and to me for being a wonderful granddaughter. I suspected there was more he wanted to say but he was tired after a long day and we all devoured a roast that had taken the better part of a day (according to my mother) to prepare. There was a quiet to our dinner that permeated everything from the conversation to our mannerisms, to how Hugo and Thomas normally behaved. I sat next to Persephone and helped her with her dinner giving my mother a break for a change.

"Marissa," my grandfather began after a long period of silence.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Do you still have suits that fit for Hugo and Thomas?"

"Hmm." She thought about the question for a moment. "It's been a while since they've worn them but I think with some minor alterations they'll be fine." She finally answered. She frowned after a moment. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I have some…exciting news for you all." My grandpa said after a moment.

"What's that?" Hugo asked.

"Katherine? Do you feel like you'll be well enough to be presentable on Friday?" my Grandfather said turning to me.

I frowned. That was four days from now. The word presentable gave me pause. What kind of question was this?

"I think so. As long as we stick to whatever treatment that Doctor gave you guys for me." I replied cautiously.

"That's great." Grandfather looked somewhat relieved. "That's great because we have a visitor coming from the Capitol."

"Another one?" Persephone asked. "I didn't like that doctor very much." she grimaced.

"Yes, but it's not just any visitor." He insisted. He leaned forward until he had everyone's eye contact.

"We're going to be visited by President Snow himself."

All activity at the table stopped I suddenly felt uncomfortable. Everyone at the table registered a variety of emotions ranging from shock to surprise.

"The President? To District 5?" I asked skeptically.

"Just to Edison." He clarified. "But Katherine, you're going to receive an award for heroism."

My mouth dropped open.

"Oh wow! Katie you're so cool!" Thomas exclaimed.

"Yeah! I might even call you a sister for once!" Hugo grinned devilishly.

"Thanks Hugo..." I murmured as I felt my face go red and I found my water glass much more interesting than the conversation unfolding at the dinner table. My thoughts started to race around at the speed of light. If President Snow was indeed coming here, he was making an usually rare trip outside the Capitol. Did he normally give out awards for this sort of thing?

"So that's why you were shut up in your office all day." My father chuckled.

"Yes. It was a surprise for me as just as much as you, but I figured I might share with you all the news before it's announced in town tomorrow."

"This…this is huge!" my mother exclaimed suddenly looking extremely worried. "I better run into town tomorrow and get some materials-"

"That won't be necessary I think." My grandfather said. His eyes rolled upwards as he reached back into his memory. "I'm pretty sure we're having one of the brand-new stylists for this years Games do our outfits." he said after a momentary pause.

This answer made me feel more uncomfortable. I wasn't a fan of the Capitol and its ever-changing sense of style and fashion. Hopefully this stylist wouldn't go overboard. That was asking a lot though.

A more dreadful thought registered in my mind. If I was going to receive an award, this would most likely be done in a public setting.

"Does this mean I'll have to be in front of people?" I asked quietly.

"Only in front of Edison." Grandfather replied confirming my fears. "The President isn't interested in large crowds at the moment - probably because of the Security involved. They might televise it though but I still have yet to hear back from the Ministry of Communications.

I felt a weight sink in my gut. I'll be in front of thousands of people to receive an award. Sure, I guess part of me is humbled that the Capitol wants to honor me, but I'm not happy at all to be at the center of attention, I have no desire to be singled out. The sooner this is over with, the better.

Despite my reservations, I look at my grandfather and accept my fate.

"What do I need to do?" I ask even more quietly.

"For now, just focus on getting better. The stylist's will be here on Wednesday evening and they'll be here until the event. The medicines we got you are pretty potent. They'll do their job if you don't do anything stupid."

"Okay." I mutter, not bothering to hide my feelings.

"Cheer up Katie." My mother says. "This is a once in a life-time opportunity."

I give her a doubtful look before examining a long burn along my arm.

"I think I'll have that medicine now." I reply.

My mother takes this as a sign of my readiness for bed and I'm escorted upstairs after finishing my food. She hands me a couple bottles of medicine. One is a Capitol grade cream that's supposed to regrow damaged skin. There's also a shampoo to return my hair to its previous un-burned and undamaged state, an antibiotic steroid patch to apply on my shoulder, and some general painkillers.

I try to think how much all of this must cost and I decide that it's better to wonder than actually know. It's interesting how much of this looks like it's cosmetic even though it's medicine. Are the Capitol's citizens hurting themselves by trying to look "beautiful"?

The thought makes me chuckle to myself. After bidding my mom good night, I walk into the bathroom attached on to my room and get to work.

It hurts to peel back the bandages on my shoulder and it hurts more as the very air seems to agitate the ugly wound. For a moment I'm concerned I might re-open it but this fear doesn't materialize. It's only after the bandage has been removed completely that I can see the full extent of the injury. The doctor wasn't kidding. If the bullet had been a fraction of an inch off in any direction, I likely would have bled out. Spurred on by pain, I open the box containing the steroid patches and open one up instantly filling the bathroom with the pungent odor so strong that my eyes instantly water. The patch stings at first when it's applied, but it quickly dissipates and I feel only relief. After a minute I repeat the process with the burn cream with similar results.

When I'm all finished my bed seems rather inviting and I ease into it. I'm not ready to fall asleep yet and I dig out my notebook to attempt to jot down a few things, but it's no use. My thoughts are so scattered and that it proves impossible to write down a sentence. It only takes me a few seconds to realize this is a hopeless endeavor and I re-stash it away.

The next morning dawns with a savage intensity and I'm roused from sleep by the sunshine forcing its way through my window and into my eyelids. It feels like I'm missing something. Eventually it dawns on me that I'm not hurting nearly as much as I did yesterday. After rubbing sleep from my eyes I head to the bathroom to investigate and I'm amazed to see what a difference the medicine has made. My Grandfather wasn't kidding about the medicine's properties. My burned skin no longer looks so red and raw, but actually shows signs of healing and re-growth. When I go to examine my shoulder, I can rip off the bandage without too much pain. My shoulder doesn't look like a gunshot wound.

Score one for science.

The speed at which the medicine has done its work astounds me so much that I crane my head everywhere to get a good look. I stare at the person reflected in the mirror, trying to overlay the person I saw yesterday with the one in front of me. If we were to treat this in District 5 without the Capitol's intervention, there's no way I would be able to look this healthy in so little time. Aloe vera grown in the greenhouse or on the outskirts of Edison doesn't hold a candle to this.

I'm so thrilled with this sign of recovery that it takes me another ten minutes before I finally remember there's one product I haven't used it. I imediately stop and search until I retrieve the shampoo. Perhaps in a few hours I'll see a difference as well. When I'm done with the shower, I take a moment to eat one of the bakery sweets gifted to me and I have to resist the urge to eat another.

I take a moment and stand at the window and look at the dam. Perhaps one of those people down there is Cassandra or Henry. I catch sight of the blackened streak for a moment through the haze of water suspended in air and an ugly thought rears itself in my head.

"I killed him."

The good feelings felt moments earlier are gone. The apple tart I had eaten moments earlier threatens to make itself visible for a moment and I sit back down on my bed and look at my hands, those same hands that had thrown the bomb that had stuck to his hands. In a moment I recall those final moments, how Harry had raged as his plan to cripple the Capitol fell apart all around him. His scream when he realized that he was going to die replayed itself and I squinted my eyes closed and sought refuge under the bed.

"He's not here, he's not here." I repeat.

Perhaps I didn't physically do it, but I caused a man to die. Yes, he was trying to kill me. Yes, you could call it self-defense, but it doesn't change the fact that a man is dead because of me. And the Capitol wants to honor me for it?

Without warning my memory dredges up a particularly unpleasant memory from its depths and I mentally replay the scene as my sister Julia runs through a rocky gorge looking for some cover from an impending thunderstorm. Suddenly another tribute bursts from a hiding place in the cleft of a rock and engages her. However, he's brought a heavy two handed axe which is unwieldy in such close quarters. Eventually she gets the upper edge in their fight and stabs him with a short sword. Another tribute emerges; a girl this time, sees the dead one and tries to run but she corners her and without a word cuts her down without any hesitation. The girl was defenseless, but she gutted her without a second thought.

I watched something in her change in that moment. How could she, the sweet sister I had grown up with, become that person in that arena. The act of killing had done something to her.

Had I become that person?

I ran to the mirror again and examined myself. I wasn't sporting extra appendages but I felt a weight settle itself on my conscious. I needed to clear my head. I managed to run down the stairs and went into the kitchen to get myself some water.

"Good morning Katherine!" I heard my grandfather call from the counter. I turned and saw him sipping from a pot of coffee.

"Good morning Grandpa." I called out seizing a glass tightly and flicking on the tap with my hand before filling it.

"You feeling okay?" he asked setting down his mug.

"Yeah." I lied. "Just needed some water." I replied, flicking off the tap with my free hand.

"So you ran down the stairs?"

"Well the medicine made me feel better." I say in a feeble attempt to cover up my distress.

He stared at me quizzically before refilling his mug.

"Katherine, why don't you tell me what's really going on. You look sick in the head, not in the body."

"I don't understand how they feel like they can honor someone who killed a man to save a dam!" I blurt out.

His eyebrows raise and he takes a sip and stares back at me for a second. A look of realization crosses his face and he takes another sip.

"Has it occurred to you that perhaps they're honoring you for the fact you sneaked back inside the dam and disabled the bombs before seeking out the hostages and helping to free them? You went far above and beyond what you needed to do."

"Yes, but I still caused a man to die." I say stubbornly.

"Well." He says after a pregnant pause. "I know of a few people you can talk to who might understand a little bit more of what you feel."

"And who's that?"

"Cynthia Lockbloom for starters. Or Porter Millicent Trip? I have no idea how she's faring now but you might be able to get a conversation in with her provided she's awake long enough. If you're feeling brave enough you could try talking to Flint Watson."

A moment passes before I recognize those names. My grandfather has just named three of the living victors of the Hunger Games from District 5.

I never see them around town or the power-plant for good reason. If you manage to win, your district is showered with gifts from the Capitol for a year and you spend the rest of your life living in a series of houses that the Capitol has built. "Victor's Row" as it is called is located in the Southwestern corner of town isolated from everything else. They generally stay aloof from the District. Once a year though the three of them emerge from their solitude during the Reaping where they are given the responsibility of preparing the tributes for that year to go into the arena.

There used to be other victors besides them in between Porter Trip and Flint Watson but, they've all died out and they're not the most sociable of people. Flint Watson to my knowledge is a blatant alcoholic and the only time I ever see him is in the central market haggling for more liquor. Trip sustained an injury to the spine in her games and wears a permanent head brace and has turned people away entirely. That leaves Cynthia Lockbloom. The youngest and most sociable victor.

I have a good inkling as to why my grandpa suggested them. I raise my eyebrows and this time it's me that raises my eyebrows at him in an unspoken question. "Why them?"

I know the answer myself. Those three know what it's like to kill.

"Well. They might not be the best people to talk to." he qualifies, "But, that's up to you. If you want my thoughts, would you please consider this? There's a very big difference between taking life in defense and the deliberate act of choosing to take life. It's a very big difference. I've seen both as Mayor in my duties overseeing justice. You fall in the former category while the man you inadvertently killed was the latter. As long as you don't take any pleasure from killing, I think you're good. The very fact that you seem to be worried about I think this is a sign that you're okay. Does that help?"

"I guess." I hesitated. It helps, but something tells me that it's going to take a longer time to heal this wound.

"Well, think about it. If you decide you want to I can organize a meeting between you and one of them. I have to get into work and make sure the town's ready for President Snow's arrival." He said after a moment. "Please take care of your family."

"Will do. See you tonight."

He got up and with a wave turned to leave.

I stayed in the kitchen until I heard the door open and close.

Searching for ideas on ways to relax, I wander from the kitchen and head back into the hallway, turn left towards the dining room, continue past it, and turn right down a short flight of stairs before coming to a door which I push open. There's a small glass covered walkway connecting the two buildings that I step in. The door opens up, I walk past a mudroom, and I step through a set of double doors inside.

Immediately I'm enveloped in warm, slightly humid air. Immediately my worries start to clear away as I'm greeted with the fragrance of many different plants all planted in rows. Some in the ground, some in pots. While the library does trump the greenhouse as my favorite place to be, I could easily spend a life inside here without any problem, besides, I think the company of living things would do more good for me.

The greenhouse when I originally came here was in shambles. The previous mayors had no idea of what to do with the building so the plants had long since withered away and died. Others managed to eek out a living but were choked by weeds. It was a sad place but I fell in love with it. I begged grandfather to let me plant flowers in there and he agreed as long as I were to take care of them.

What started off with simple flowers perked an interest in the subject of botany, especially when I discovered the library and the enormous amount of material on the subject. Soon I made explorations outside and brought other species inside. Then my father and grandfather started to give me more plants from their travels around the District. The biggest addition came when we discovered a chest of drawers full of seed packets. The labels had disappeared with time, but the seeds were still shockingly fertile.

As I coaxed them all to life I was rewarded with an incredible diversity of plants that were completely foreign to District 5. I made sure that they never were near any native plants that could be out-competed by the others and the greenhouse quickly took on a life of its own. That summer was incredibly special to me as I spent hours in the evening cross-referencing every book in the library for information on what I had. It had taken a while but now I could name every species of plant. My grandfather still on a semi-frequent basis put in a request from others outside District 5 for plants and I was delighted to get even more foreign ones on occasion.

With all of the plants that I had accumulated, I needed a way to take care of them. Eventually my grandfather, with my help, trained the staff in how to take care of the plants. I spent a long winter writing a care book for all of the species and included everything I deemed important. My grandfather also gave instructions to those who cared for the greenhouse to occasionally mix it up every once in a while, and change up the layout. This provided me an excellent opportunity to always test myself on how to recognize and identify them.

I walk to the back past the herbs, the spices, the wildflowers, and stop at the berries when I see Persephone sitting on a stone bench facing towards bushes laden with almost-ripe fruit.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

She startles for a moment and I feel a twinge of guilt for not making my approach louder.

"You scared me." she says confirms my suspicion.

"Sorry Persephone." I apologize sincerely. I take a seat next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. She leans into me slightly as I sit down.

"It's okay. It happens all the time. You're not the first person." she says shrugging it off.

"You still haven't told me what you were doing down here." I say as I began rubbing her back.

"Couldn't sleep. I haven't been able to sleep well for a while." she admits.

I frown and for a moment I remember how I heard her whimpering the day of the attack.

"Have you told anyone about this?"

"No, not really. I don't want mom to put me on any medicine - makes me feel all weird inside." She gives a small shudder. "It's not the kind of thing that medicine can cure."

"Nightmares?" I ask.

"Yeah." She nods.

"I'm sorry." I say sympathetically. "Do you mind telling me what they're all about?"

"Well…I always have these dreams that I've been reaped for the Games." She sniffles.

In a moment I put two and two together.

She's concerned about her first reaping. I realize.

And it hits me. Hard.

Hard enough to make flinch, hard enough to make me forget how to breath for a moment.

She's 12 years old.

This will be her first reaping.

I'm suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of selfishness and I'm glad she's blind because my face is red with embarrassment and shame.

I've devoted days, weeks, months even, to preparing myself in the unlikely eventuality that I'm reaped. In all that time though, I've never spared much thought to helping the others in my family (or others like Cassandra or William). The other thought of Persephone in the games gives me a chill even though we're in a warm room. I wouldn't give her more than a few hours at most for survival.

Meanwhile I've studied in secret to give myself an advantage? I feel sick inside that I haven't done something, anything to help her out. How is it that I've never thought of this before?

"I know what you're thinking." she says. "I wouldn't last more than a few minutes. I'd honestly rather eat the nightlock in here than go to the games." She says turning her head in the direction of a bush ringed with small yellow signs emblazoned with a black skull.

The bush is laden with small black berries. They look like the blueberries or blackberries on the other bushes from afar, but there are some major differences such as the shape of the leaf, the distinctive smell—a sort of pungent decay when you get close to them, and the firmness of the berries. They didn't exist in North America before Panem so they must have been created sometime between the founding of Panem and then. The first mention I have of them comes from a seventy-year old book that repeatedly warns of the dangers of consuming them. They're so toxic that you can die within seconds, depending on how much poison is inside. The only way to survive is to have an anti-toxin administered by syringe into the bloodstream within minutes.

This nightlock sample in front of me originated from a small clump I found in the woods. When my grandfather learned of the existence of this in his greenhouse he nearly had it destroyed. I intervened and asked if we could keep a small sample for study. He eventually agreed and the stand on which it sits is ringed by sensors and security measures that will indicate if someone beyond myself has handled the bush. I mainly leave it alone to not encourage further growth.

For all of its destructive properties nightlock has some use for good if handled well. During the 8th Hunger Games nightlock was put into the arena for the first time with deadly consequences. There was a special segment of the coverage designated for this plant where I learned there's a couple chemicals in the berries that can be used as a calming agent to treat seizures or just relax someone. It can even be used as an antibiotic if you're resourceful enough. On the list of almost unpronounceable chemicals on the labels of my burn cream and antibiotic pads there's a chemical called lunitosahexcide (don't ask me to explain how it was named or say it again) listed that occurs naturally in the berries (but I suspect can be manufactured in far greater quantities) that can be used for some of these purposes.

Once upon a time I managed to extract them successfully with the help of a scientist my grandfather brought in from further south but I haven't handled the plant in a while, partly because it is so deadly and I nearly paid the price one day for carelessness. For its part, the nightlock serves as excellent pest control and doesn't require much care. It's very easy to understand Persephone's sentiments of why she would consume it rather than go into the games.

"I would too." I agree with her.

"But Katie, you have the best chances of winning. I know why you spend all your time up in the library."

"You do?" I asked cautiously. I scrutinize her carefully. How much did she know about my true purpose in the library?

"To study up on how to win of course." She says as if the truth couldn't be any clearer. "Honestly, I don't know why grandpa or mom and dad haven't caught on to that fact. You must have that library memorized all the way. How many bookshelves are there?

"Too many. I haven't memorized them yet. Not all the way." I admit relieved that she doesn't seem to know about the illicit materials. "There's a lot on the shelves that's missing and I've only studied what might be able to help me." I say laying some bait out.

"True, but look at what you know without all those lost books. I know you would be the winner if you're ever picked. But I'll probably get there first." She sniffles again.

"Persephone! Don't say that. You have your name entered one time in that ball. Mathematically speaking those chances are near zero." I say confidently.

"But remember Julia."

My response dies. She has me there, I can't argue with that reason.

"See? You or I can't do anything." She says mournfully.

An idea flashes to mind.

"No. You're wrong." I say.

"What?"

"You're wrong." I repeat. "You may be picked in your first round but that doesn't mean I can't volunteer for you."

I see her work out this idea in her head and her sightless eyes open up in horror.

"No!" she says aloud.

"Yes." I say. "The rules for reaping state that another is allowed to volunteer in place of another person without the other person's consent so long they be between the ages of 12 to 18."

"But that would mean you have to go in the games!"

"It would. And I would totally do it for you." I say firmly. I can't help but feel this is a conversation that should be happening closer to Reaping Day but Persephone needs a confidence booster to put this past her.

Her eyes well up with tears.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Absolutely." The firmness in my voice surprises me for a moment. "If there's one thing I hate about the Games, it's that the Capitol has the power to take someone like you and force them into a situation where they won't come out alive. There's nothing right about that."

"I don't know anybody else who would do that for another." She says after a long pause.

She's not wrong when she says that. Family bonds only seem to go too far in our District. We may value the family structure and dynamic as a District, but the fact that we've only had ten volunteers in the last 73 years is enough veracity to prove her point.

"Well you do now. Don't worry about this Persephone. If anything, I'm the one who should be worried about going in. Why don't you go inside and get something to eat?" I suggest.

"G…good idea." She hiccups.

I take her by the hand and lead her back inside. On my way out I notice that some of the blueberry bushes have fruit that's almost ready for the picking. I make a note to check on it soon and I lead Persephone inside the house. I decide to make some food for the two of us and we enjoy a small breakfast together consisting of eggs, some orange juice, and toast.

"Thanks Katie." She finally says.

"No problem. You're not the only one who couldn't sleep." I admit.

Our mother finds us and I explain why we're both out here. She accepts this answer and takes charge of Persephone freeing me to do what I want. I head back out into the greenhouse and review my knowledge on the various plants. Eventually I again head to the back of the greenhouse where a small spring of thermal spring of water has been channeled into a burbling fountain. The spring is nearby on the property up a hill where it eventually flows downwards into the river.

I climb an apple tree nearby that barely fits under the roof of the greenhouse and I sit in the branches and watch as the sun makes its daily ascent into the sky. This morning ends up being one of those rare times I have to think and contemplate things and I don't waste a moment.

Once upon a time people traveled the sky in early precursors to the hovercrafts and even beyond that past the limits of our own planet. The idea boggled my mind that we were a minute part in a universe of massive size and scale. One day in an alternate reality, I would love to escape the bonds of planet Earth and see what else was out there. What was it like to live before Panem existed when you were largely free to do what you wanted with your life?

I stayed in the tree contemplating this and a few other questions until it was roughly 9:30 in the morning and descended the tree. I decided I was going to test myself and see whether I could run. I returned to my room and found the clothing most suitable to the task which, as it turned out was less than ideal. I was still missing a pair of shoes. I had a casual pair I used but I'm pretty sure those were at home. I could always run in bare feet. The grass wasn't too bad. I passed a message on to one of the staff to let my mother know I was going to stretch my legs around the property before stepping outside.

It was a little afternoon when I finally walked back in the door but I was feeling pretty good. I hadn't stretched myself too uncomfortably and I had held up rather well. My burned skin and shoulder all prevented me from running faster than a fast jog but I was optimistic I'd be back in shape within the week. I cleaned off my feet and spent more time in the library practicing knots. I failed to recall the knot from yesterday so I devoted another three hours of study until I was sure I had gotten it this time. I also managed to learn another snare which I replicated in the greenhouse under the guise of taking care of the black-eyed Susan's.

When I returned inside I heard Hugo and Thomas in another room squabbling over the remote to the TV. One wanted it on, the other wanted it off. I walked in as Hugo threw a pillow which caught Thomas on the side of the face dropping him to the floor.

"Give it back!" Thomas hollered in frustration.

"So you can blast the stupid TV? No way." Hugo snorted.

"But I wanted to watch!"

"And I wanted to build." He said pointing to a large circuit board with a variety of components in a box.

"So build in your room!" Thomas said getting to his feet. Hugo ran behind a large leather couch. He attempted running one way, Thomas ran to meet him.

"There's more space here so I want to use this room." Hugo countered.

"Hugo!" Thomas whined.

"Thomas!" Hugo huffed.

"Guys!" I yelled.

They both turned around and Hugo dropped the remote.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"He started it." They said simultaneously. Their fingers shot towards the other wagging slightly.

"By that logic you're both in trouble." I reasoned.

"Shut up." Hugo glowered. "You don't need to rub in the fact you have the biggest brain in the entire District."

"I didn't do anything of the sort." I pointed out. "Now, do I need to involve Mom or are we can we be diplomatic about this?"

"We can talk peace when he stops hitting me with pillows." Thomas snapped.

"Hey." I said sharply. "You keep that up and I'll get her involved. Now. Hugo, what happened."

"He came in the room and turned on the TV and made it obscenely loud so I couldn't concentrate."

"Hey, only beca— "

"Thomas. It's not your turn to give your side of the story." I interrupted. "Hugo, do you have anything else to add?"

"No." he said after a second. It was clear to see that he was withholding a portion of the truth.

"Okay Thomas. Your turn."

"Well this morning when I woke up he was mad that I accidentally dumped my stuff across the room and it mixed with his. And so after lunch when I told on him for saying a bad word he came in here. I didn't know he was here and so I turned on the TV."

"You didn't mention any of this Hugo." I said turning back to him.

"I didn't think it was important." he said innocently.

"I'm willing to bet that I can corroborate Thomas's story with mom if I ask her to confirm these details. Before I do I'm going to ask whether either of you wants to come forward right now and admit guilt."

There was silence.

"Okay I'll be back down— "

"Fiiiinnne." Hugo grunted. "It was my fault. Okay? I'm sorry Thomas."

"Good. Thomas do you have anything to say?"

"IacceptyourapologyandI'msorryIcalledyounamesandthrewpillows." He said all in one very fast breath.

"Good enough." I said trying to think of a way to get them to makeup. "Do you want to go to the spring?"

"No. I'll just go somewhere else." Hugo said. He didn't appear to happy, but the crisis was more or less resolved.

"I'll pass but thanks sis'." Thomas said.

The idea sounded appealing to me and my achy body as soon as I voiced it aloud so I decided I would head down by myself. I grab a large towel and a pair of clothes to change into and run one door past the greenhouse to the back patio which was overlaid with bricks. I run up a stone brick path to a large pool with steaming tendrils lazily floating to the surface.

Slowly I ease myself into the water and I sigh as the warmth mutes all lingering sensation of pain that I have. I swim a couple of strokes along the four-foot-deep basin and I move myself to a ledge. I've chosen to go in with clothes on to practice for a scenario in which I have to in the arena. I can swim well enough that I'm not concerned about drowning, but I won't be able to swim nearly as well as the tributes from District 4.

One victor from the previous games, Finnick Odair comes to mind. If all the District 4 kids are that skilled, then I better pray I'm not in the water when they show up. I'm lucky in District 5 to live in a place where there actually is water. With most of the District a harsh desert, the only water that's safe to learn to swim in is a few stretches along the Sweetwater where the water is calm and placid enough. Otherwise you'd have to make due with the few small lakes and streams that dot the desert.

I practice holding my breath and treading water (Both are things that I might have to do) before alternating for the next hour between a series of exercises I've developed. I only stop when I feel signs of fatigue and I jump out of the water drying myself off and changing underneath the towel. I run upstairs and into the shower where I apply more of the shampoo, rinse it out, and sit on the bed feeling tired.

By the time my father and grandfather get home I feel that I've accomplished a lot, even if it was relatively little. When they arrived for dinner they brought with them a pair of my casual athletic shoes I kept at home as a backup and news that Edison was in full preparation for the President's visit.

"And what about the stylist?" I asked when they were done with their report.

"He'll be coming in from the Capitol tomorrow earlier than expected. He wants to address our family before focusing on you." My father answered after looking at my grandfather for conversation.

"He should be here around two o'clock." Grandfather answered.

"So soon?" my mother asked not quite ready for the events of tomorrow.

"Better early than not." My father added. "You ready?"

My expression was all the answer he needed.

Lots of things going on in this chapter, the biggest of which is President Snow himself is coming to District Five to give our heroine a medal. Canonical? Maybe, maybe not. We really only have a District 12 Perspective so I took some liberties with this chapter. We know that the government does award medals to the citizenry and that the good President does get out sometimes, as evidenced by his conversation in the Rose Garden.

Is his visit a good thing? Bad? You decide.

If you have constructive comments, I welcome them. The only way I'll get better as a writer is to write more, but critiques will help give me much needed focus. Thank you for sticking with this story so far.

Yours in writing,
theotherpianist