Hold Out Your Hand by Nickelback
Too late for another direction
Always what we've got in store
Pre-Reapings Part Seven
Jalissa Kessey, 18, District Three
"Thank you, Jalissa," my mom nods gratefully as I position myself in front of the kitchen sink. I've just woken up, and seeing my mom already starting the house chores has pretty much dictated what I am going to be doing until they're done.
"Welcome," I smile.
"Hey, I'll dry!" Aliyah shouts a second later as she comes bounding down the stairs. Frankly, I'm surprised to see her awake already, let alone showered and dressed. It's hardly ten o'clock and everyone has always joked that she got the late rising gene from our dad while I got early rising from our mom.
"What are you doing up?" I ask, turning around to give her a sideways look before turning on the taps to run the water.
"What do you mean? I'm always up by now," she says a matter-a-factly, grabbing a clean rag off of the pile by the door and heading over to stand beside me.
I'm about to say something about that when mom turns around and gives me a wink. "Hush. If she's awake and eager to help with the chores don't discourage her, dear."
I roll my eyes but listen to her and say nothing further. Truthfully I'm glad to have the help, dishes are my least favourite thing to do- actually everyone's least favourite thing now that I think about it. But since mom has already started the mopping I guess I have no choice but to be on dish duty this morning.
"Girls, how would you like to go into town for me in a little bit?" As soon as the words are out of her mouth Aliyah is grabbing onto the sleeve of my shirt with wide, eager eyes.
"Yes!" she answers immediately. If there is one thing that my sister loves it's going into town, especially just the two of us. She's fifteen now and as independent as anything, but mom isn't too keen on her going alone after everything that has been going on since the end of the war. I'm grateful that mom trusts me to keep Aliyah safe, and even though I would be just as happy to stay home for the day I guess I'll take her.
The dishes don't take long with Aliyah breathing down my neck and telling me several times to just go a bit faster. Less than half an hour later and we are putting our shoes on by the front door, and myself a thin sweater even though Aliyah rolls her eyes and tells me that it's not nearly cold enough to need one.
"I just need a couple of things so it shouldn't take you too long," our mom tells us, grabbing a few bills and a handful of coins out of the jar on top of the kitchen cupboard. "I'm out of tea leaves, whatever has the best price. We need a loaf of bread for dinner. Oh and there should be enough left over for you each to pick up a treat from the sweet shop."
"Awesome, thanks mom!" Aliyah grins and holds out her hand to take the money.
We're out the door hardly a minute later, stepping carefully around the puddle's that last night's rainstorm left on the steps. Twice before we are even out of view of the house I have to call out for Aliyah to slow down for me to catch up.
"Come on, Lis'," she urges me for the second time, her arms folded impatiently across her chest.
"I don't see what the big rush is," I laugh, rolling my eyes at her urgency. I know she just wants to get out of the house, she's been like this since the end of the war came about and leaving the house finally became a possibility. The stir-crazy attitude she developed over the while spent in our shelter has not subsided even a little bit.
Like a lot of the people that didn't outwardly support the rebellion, my family and I spent much of the war- especially the last months of it- just trying to stay out of the way of it all. My parents were employed by the Capitol, and their pay was something they couldn't be ungrateful for. But they understood the reasons for why the nation was rebelling. I guess in some small way they agreed with the districts, but they always told me that this war wasn't theirs to fight.
Our basement was built into a safe house, the best that they could come up with for Aliyah and I during the time when supplies were difficult to come by. I still remember the first time we went down there. It was dark and small, but it felt safe. There was not much for us to do down there, but they made sure to stock the room with books, puzzles, and scrap paper.
"Hurry up," Aliyah groans from in front of me and I smile and shake my head at her. That is the best thing that came out of staying in the safe house for as long as we did. Before that time, Aliyah and I were not near as close as we have become. Now, I can't imagine not having my sister as my best friend.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," I grin as I catch up to her. By now we are entering the busy part of town where all the shops have been reset up. The war was difficult on anyone that owned a house or shop in this area of town. I remember walking around with my mom a few days after we left the safe house. District Three was a mess. There was dust and rubble everywhere and nothing was recognizable to me. Not the sweet shop or the bakery or anything else.
The town has come a long way since then. Most of the shopkeepers have either rebuilt and reopened their stores or sold their property to someone who could afford to buy it. At least a good amount of the stores that I used to visit after school are still up. They look a bit different, but in all honesty I think it would have been strange if nothing had changed. So much has changed about the people walking around, I think it's almost poetic for the town to reflect that.
Merryn Celtey, 15, District Seven
With one more pull the weed comes free, sending me flailing back where I land with a groan on the ground. I toss the weed aside into the pile I have been pulling all morning and position myself over the next one. I just went over the gardens a couple days ago, it's amazing how quickly these things can grow back. If the vegetables grew this fast I don't think it would be a problem for us to feed most of District Seven during the growing season.
This next one comes out far easier than the last. My mother always offers to help me when she wakes up, but by then I am already halfway done and in the groove of it, so I usually decline her offer. These gardens have always been my sanctuary, since I was big enough to help my mother pick the beans off of the bean plants. Since then I've grown our backyard into what I like to think of as a forest of flowers and vegetables.
Most of the vegetable plants are my mother's, which were planted a very long time ago by my grandmother who spent the best years of her life out here. My grandmother used to say that the gardening gene skipped a generation to pass over my mother before getting to me. It's not difficult to agree with her, my mother hates getting dirty or even really being outside.
The flower plants are all my doing, though. About three years ago I got to digging up a good portion of the backyard. I waited forever for permission, my mother didn't see the point of growing flowers since we couldn't eat them. Finally she said yes, but made me promise that I would continue tending to the vegetable plants first and not use any of the good fertilizers on the flower plants.
I turn and look over at the rows of tulips and a smile automatically comes over my face. Vegetables and fruits are nice to grow, but they're only nice to look at during the harvest months. Before that they are nothing but mounds of green leaves. Our yard looks so much nicer now that there's a little more color.
"Hey! Merryn!" The sudden voice causes me to jump and the weed I'd been holding comes out of the ground, stem only. I groan, knowing that I'll have to go digging for the roots so that they don't grow back in the same spot.
I turn around and roll my eyes when I see Finley running out from the forest, nearly tripping over several trunks on his way over. Finley has lived straight through the forest from me for as long as he and I can remember, no more than an eight minute walk, but we only met when we were seven and he stumbled upon me playing in a clearing of the forest. Ever since then it has become usual for me to see him at least every other day, usually more.
Just before he reaches me he looks up from the path he's running on and promptly trips over a root, causing him to fall right to his knees. I bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud and run over to help my friend, making sure that I check the ground as I do.
"Finley are you alright," I giggle as I kneel down beside him.
He pushes himself up from his chest and back up to his feet, brushing the grass from his knees and palms. "Ah man, my mom's going to kill me."
I shake my head and laugh. Finley's mother is always getting on him about the state he comes home in every night. My friend is many things but careful and cleanly are not any of them. He always manages to get mud and grass all over himself, even when he tries his best to be careful. It drives his mother crazy.
"Hey what are you doing on the ground, Mer?" He laughs, pulling me up before I even have to chance to ask for a hand. "You're so clumsy sometimes, geez."
I roll my eyes and brush off my knees as well, even though I'm wearing a skirt and there will be no stains. "I know, it's a real problem. I'm glad I have you here to make sure I don't trip over my own feet all day long."
"Exactly," he says and throws his arm around my shoulder as I walk back towards the gardens. "See, I'm good for something!"
"Never said you weren't," I laugh. "But I have work to do, so maybe come back in a little bit? Sorry."
"But I'm already here," he sighs dramatically. "If I walk all the way back home I might trip and fall again. And with you not there to save me... I don't know if I'll make it, Mer."
"You are so dramatic, Fin," I sigh. "I'm almost done, if you want to chill, but I have to finish before we go anywhere."
"Of course!" He shouts suddenly. "The flowers must come before your friend. They depend on you, and with one single minute less time from their beloved caretaker they might all perish overnight."
I roll my eyes and sigh again. "Fine, I was pretty much done anyway. I guess they can wait until tomorrow morning."
"A-are you sure?" He sputters in mock horror. "They can wait?"
I hit him playfully in the stomach and smile. "Stop it. My goodness, Fin."
"I'm just joking with you, what do you want to do?"
I think for a second before answering. "My mother was baking cookies the last time I went inside. I bet they're done by now."
Before I even finish my sentence Finley is taking off towards the house, and even at my fastest I am in no way capable of catching my hungry friend.
Harlan Pearce, 12, District Eleven
I can't remember a time when I haven't been at one extreme or another. The days too warm, the nights far too cold. The shade like a frozen shadow and the sun like a burning blanket. I can never get comfortable, not even in sleep. I'm always too something.
As people pass by me I try and force my eyes toward them but even after months out here I cannot make myself do it often. It's embarrassing at the very least, selfish at the worst, to have to depend on the generosity of people passing by. Another thing it is is empty. My hands, my stomach, my eyes. All empty. I have to depend on people who also have nothing, and so even on the best days all of me is empty.
"Hello, my boy," I look to my right and see Dorian standing over me and I cannot help but smile. Even after I stopped going into his shop he has found ways to come check on me. He used to give me the best return for anything I brought in, even though I know now how hard it was on him to do so. I'm grateful that he still cares at least a little bit about me. No one else seems to give a damn.
"Hi Dorian," I smile. "How's the shop?"
"Oh you know, slow as ever," he laughs. "The wife's getting on me about selling it again."
"As if you'd ever do that," I reply. Dorian is in love with his shop, sometimes I think even more than his wife or two sons. The little trinket shop is no bigger than the one room house my parents and I used to share before we fled District Eight, but it's his pride and joy. The day he sells it would be the same day that he sells his left arm, it's just not going to happen no matter how tight things get.
"Hush, don't let her hear that," he shrugs but the smile stays on his face. "I told her I would think about it. How are you doing, son?"
I know he doesn't mean anything by it, but every time he calls me 'son' it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I haven't seen my parents for over a year and a half. Not since we reached the edge of District Eleven one night and got caught in the cross fire of an outside rebel attack. I never even knew where they went, they just disappeared according to what I can remember. I woke up tucked between a couple of thick tree trunks, my head aching and bruised but other than that unharmed.
I'm not stupid, I know there is almost no chance that they are still alive. I might not remember much from the night, but I remember the guns from both sides. I can't believe I didn't have a dozen holes through me, but it's a far stretch to think that all three of us got out whole.
"I'm doing fine, thanks," I say. It's not the whole truth, but it's enough of it. Nothing particularly bad has happened lately, so I'm doing fine. Nothing particularly good has happened either, but might as well leave this fact out. Dorian is too kind a soul not to help me if I really need it, but I know he's stretched too thin already with his family to feed. I'd rather not worry him anymore.
"I better get back to the shop," he sighs regretfully. I know that he wants to help me, but he doesn't dare offer it either. His marriage is stressed enough, and his wife would kill him if she knew he was giving anything away to a street orphan. He doesn't owe me anything.
I nod and he turns to go, but turns back around a second later with a strained smile. "Take care of yourself, son. I'll see you tomorrow."
"You too, Dorian," I call after him. I'm always grateful when he leaves, but then sad at the same time. I love seeing Dorian, he's the closest thing to a friend I have had in a long time, but I know I stress him out too.
The war was an easier time, as terrible as it is to think. At least then I had somewhat of a job, if one can stretch to call it that. Most people shied away from the bodies that lay with gunshot wounds in their heads and hearts that were tucked away in narrow alleyways. Anyone willing could get any number of things that could be sold from the corpses if they were willing to get over the terrible thing they were doing. A couple weeks on my own and I was way more than willing.
It wasn't so bad if you closed your eyes. In a way it was almost better than stealing from people that were still alive. At least you couldn't get whippings from taking from corpses. I wasn't good at going undetected, but dead people can't feel your hands in their pockets. As it turns out, I'm better at tuning out my morals than at tuning out the pain of whips.
It's amazing the things people can do when they have nothing. Survival is an instinct you can't control. No matter what you have to do, you won't just let yourself starve. If you see a way out you're going to take it. It's easier to forget your morals than the rumbling in your stomach.
Song: Hold Out Your Hand by Nickelback.
A/N: Alright look at that, I am here again. I'm pretty stoked that I only have one more of these pre-reaping things to write and then I will get to begin with the cool stuff. Hopefully this chapter doesn't seem too rushed.
It would be very appreciated if you could leave a review for me to answer the questions below as well as give a general review on this chapter's writing. Thanks!
What did you think of the tributes from this chapter?
Who are your favourites out of the tributes you have seen so far?
Next update will likely be this weekend, and since I will be off for reading week all next week I hope to get a few updates out fairly quickly. Until next time!