Bold - Joseph
Bold and Italic - Ratty
A/N Hello Everyone. Here are our last pre-reapings! Next chapter will be a reaping chapter.
A/N Oh, and Merry Christmas! :)
Chapter Four
Ember Cowden, District Twelve Female Citizen, 16 Years Old
Four days before the Reaping.
A small sigh escapes from my mouth as I lay motionlessly in my bed. I don't dare to move. The pain in my left leg is literally killing me. With each breath I take, another wave of pain shoots through my small body. Every time I move ever so slightly, I can hear my blood throbbing in my ears. The minutes are passing by slowly, and I don't know how much longer I will resist.
Pressing my lips into a thin line, I stare at my parents rushing in and out of my small room. My mother mumbles under her breath as she gathers a couple of somewhat clean cloths in a hurry. My father tries to help her, but fails miserably as he can not tear his eyes off of my wounded limb. Mother finally sits down beside me, pressing the rags against my thigh without a warning. I hiss in pain as the warm liquid starts to paint the white piece of clothing a dark shade of red. A sour, metallic smell hits my nose. Blood.
"Oh, God..." I hear my father whisper, leaning against the door frame.
"Aadyan left the house quite a while ago. He and Mrs. Everdeen should be here any minute now. Haden, why don't you go and take a look outside?" My mother turns her head slightly in the direction of the door, her blue eyes never leaving my bloody wound. Father nods and disappeared from my sight a second later.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard as the pressure bandage is changed and frown because of the sour smell of my blood.
"Sh... Everything is going to be okay. You'll see." My mother strokes my sweaty hair, combing it gently. I open my eyes and look in her eyes, managing a small smile despite my torment.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry to bother you." She presses a finger on my lips and smiles kindly.
"Don't talk. Just rest for a bit, okay?" I nod once, realizing just how weak I am. How much blood I've lost and how I am about to lose my conscience. How close I am to death…
I still don't understand how something like this could happen. I was just going to make dinner for my parents and brother; Aadyan. I slipped on the wet floor and tried desperately to grab at something; I knocked over the table and fell on my bottom. Before I even realized what was happening, I felt a sharp pain in my left thigh; that's when I saw the sharp kitchen knife and the pool of blood that started to form.
I sigh. I'm the most clumsy and unlucky person in Panem.
"How much longer?" I ask shifting slightly in the bloodstained sheets. My mother smiles at me weakly and opens her mouth as if to say something. My eyes widen as I realize I can not hear a single word. Suddenly, my vision begins to fade. I panic, trying to focus on her sitting form with no success. My mother seems to realize what is happening as she stands up abruptly, yelling in the direction of the door.
My father storms into the room with my older brother and Mrs. Everdeen close behind. With my vision almost completely faded, I feel myself open my mouth and mumble.
Then I know no more.
Two day later I'm already up and doing my chores like usual.
While I was unconscious, Mrs. Everdeen cleaned the wound and closed it with a couple of stitches, then bandaged it carefully. It was a messy process, as when I woke up an hour later, all of my sheets were covered with dry blood. Before she left, the middle aged woman recommended two days of rest for me; and even after that, to be extremely careful with the injury (she said the wound start bleeding again if I'm not cautious) and to watch out for any infections.
It was so good to know that I had no sever injuries.
Now, as I walk into the kitchen I am greeted by a very fascinating sight. My brother cooking. I stare at him with my mouth agape. Aadyan Cowden never cooks.
"Close your mouth, you look stupid." Aadyan smirks at me while cutting the goat meat in equiform pieces. His hand move so naturally like he was born doing it.
I shut my mouth sheepishly, and slowly make my way towards him. It became hard to walk. Because of the wound and bandages I'm slightly limping; a thing which caught Aadyan's eyes easily.
"How is your leg?"
"Eh, fine. At least it's healing now." He nods at my words.
I stop beside him and look for something I can help with. I reach for a small kitchen knife, but my brother grabs my wrist gently. I look at him with raised eyebrows.
"Hey, don't give me that look. We don't want accidents to happen again." I smile at him and decide to let him be.
Sitting down on a chair, I say:
"I never knew you could cook."
"There are a lot of thing you don't know about me, sister." He grins widely then adds with a more mischievous ton. "Did you know that when I was your age, I wanted to volunteer for the Hunger Games?"
"Don't even joke with something like that!" I cross my arms, giving him a dirty look. Aadyan bursts out laughing, like it was the most hilarious joke ever.
I sigh, shaking my head.
Then I remember something crucial: The Reapings are going to be in only two days. In two days, the whole district will gather together to watch as one girl and boy will be chosen to compete in a deadly 'game'. And I'm one of those poor females whom are eligible.
As I remember this, I start shaking with fear.
Talon Coactus, District Ten Male Citizen, 18 Years Old
Two days before the Reaping.
I open my eyes, and I realize that I'm lying on the edge of my wood bed. I roll into the center before I sit up. I climb out of it and carefully arrange the blanket, carefully centering it. I look around at my little shack. It's not much, but it's perfectly lined up. The walls meet the ground at exactly 90 degrees, I made sure of that. The peak in the ceiling is exactly in the middle. It's dusty and dirty though, and that isn't matched up. Argh. I wash my face and comb my hair, making sure that it looks just right. When I see my face in the dirty (augh!) mirror, I'm reminded that I'm 5 feet 10 and 1/8 inches tall. Not a round number. I look away before it gets to me.
I step outside into the cool morning air. I have enough time for a run before work, I think. I check back inside and see that I have exactly one hour and a half before I have to be at work. Ninety minutes. A nice round number. I start off slowly down the road going left. Outside one of the houses, a small girl is playing with her father. When he sees me, he takes the girl and brings her inside. They don't want to get to me. They think I'm dangerous. I think I am. And I hate it.
I make a loop back to my house. Now I have to do the right side. I run down the rows of "houses," and I know that this is why I love running. I'm not held down. I feel almost… free, though I know that I'm anything but free. When I run, I can just let everything go for a few moments. As I get closer to my house again, I pass by a pothole in the road. I have to kick a stone into it. I squeeze my eyes and ignore that compulsion. As I enter my house, that thought becomes a roar, telling me to go back. I clench my first, grit my teeth… and go back. I kick the rock into the pothole, and that compulsion is satisfied.
I quickly make a little breakfast, and I carefully arrange the food on my plate. The bits of vegetables go on the right side. The meats go on the left side. I must eat from left to right. After I finish, I wash the dishes, carefully to only scrub clockwise. I put on a black shirt and jeans and head out for work, kicking another rock into the pothole as I pass by. Birds are flying overhead. I hate birds. They're unorganized and random, always putting things out of order. Their droppings aren't even uniform in color.
When I reach the building, I enter through the back door, centering my feet in the doorstep before opening the door. I quickly get on my job, which is to sort old metal bits, such as nails, bolts, and the such, into different bins to be reused. I like this job. It helps keep me stable. Placing everything into it's spot make me feel right. It helps keep out the impulses.
I hear footsteps behind me.
"Oh hey, Talon," a female voice says. Lila. My extremely outgoing coworker. "How've you been?"
I think about it. What word is just perfect… "Almost everything is normal."
"Oh? What's not normal?"
"Some things change everyday. There is no normal."
"I guess that's true," she says, looking at me strangely. It's like she's trying to figure me out. She's always trying to figure me out. I wonder she'd still be this nice to me if she knew what I've done. "Well, it's nice to see you. I'll see you later!"
She used the word "see you" in two consecutive short sentences. Something about that doesn't feel right. That urge in me begins to build up again, and I try to fight it before it begins to show me things. It's too late.
I see myself taking the rope. There's Lila. It's quick and smooth. No blood or fluids are involved. Suffocation is clean. I shake my head, but it doesn't clear. It never does. The numbers.
"Two, Zero, Four, Eight, Six, Three," I mutter. "Two, Zero, Four, Eight, Six, Three."
I repeat the numbers until the picture goes away. Just forget what happened. Just forget. Deep inside, I know I won't forget. It'll just keep coming back until the only way to remove it is to do it. Now it's a matter of time. I know it is; this is how it happened with the man and the others. I don't even know their names, but I still remember their faces. They say it gets easier after the first one. In some ways it has. Other people don't have the same look on their face while dying as your own parents. But the regret doesn't. That only gets worse. I could fight, but fighting is useless. I'd tear myself apart if I tried. I don't want any of this.
But it does.
I get up. I've finished this crate, and I go into the huge storage room to get another one. It's dark in the storage room. I like darkness. It's even. Light is messy and complicated. In the dark, everything looks the same. Almost perfect. I pick up another box and bring it back to where I work.
After another box or two, its time for a short lunch. I take out my perfectly made sandwich and sit in the corner. As hard as I try not to, I overhear people talking.
"The Reapin's in a few days. You worried about anybody?"
The reaping. I wonder what'd happen if I got Reaped. Would killing be different? I doubt it; I'm pretty sure guilt is a universal thing. Maybe I deserve to be Reaped. Better me than someone who has a place in society. No one would care if I got Reaped; everyone would probably be happy because no one likes me. No one wants to be around someone suspected of murder. It'd probably be best that way. It would be better for the District that way.
It might even be better for me that way.
Questions:
How long is Ember going to last with an injured leg?
What do you think has happened to Talon? What do you think about it?
Which do you like better? Why?