"Goodbye, Rionen."
I crawl out of the hidden entrance to our old hideout and close it up, kneeling on the ground for a moment more. This is the best that I can do, since my brother's body was taken by the Peacekeepers and thrown into a mass grave with no ceremony or chance for a goodbye, yet another reminder from the Capitol to the defeated rebels of how powerless we are. All that is left to me is this small bit of closure, and it's taken me weeks to get even here. The hollow feeling that has lodged in my chest since his death shifts painfully as I stand and head home, unable to be gone for long. That night is a quiet and sad affair, everyone still painfully aware of Rionen's absence, although his death was now three weeks ago. Glances are thrown toward his empty seat often as well as toward the door, as if we expect him to walk in at any moment. Underneath that, there is the renewed pain from loosing my younger sister Lillith a year ago to the plague that the Capitol unleashed on our District. My mother cradles the baby against her shoulder and the twins sit on the floor, playing with a puzzle that my father made for Rionen and I years ago. Unshed tears block my throat, threatening to choke me, and I look away from them. Hours pass, the twins begin to doze off as it is long past their bedtime. But still none of us move. No one wants to leave what remains of our little family, even just to sleep. Finally, the twins have fallen asleep: Dariv in my lap and Caria my father's, and even we cannot keep our heavy eyes from shutting. My father and I carry the twins to bed as my mother tucks Lucia into the cradle in my parent's room. Of course, the rooms belonging to my siblings and me are not separated by actual walls, as our small house has only three rooms: one is the kitchen and common room, one my parent's room, and the third shared by us children. However, we hung blankets up a long time ago to make separate spaces for us. My father gives me a brief hug and leaves the room, closing the door. This is so that we can all cry without letting the others see. I am left alone, as I haven't truly been since my brother's death, as I have wanted to be ever since then. For a moment, all I can do is sit still as my control begins to slip. But I force myself to move, to hold everything in just a moment longer. Kissing each of the twins, I tuck the blankets more tightly around them. Caria shifts slightly and gives a whimper but I stroke her hair and she settles back down, her hand clasped tightly in Dariv's and her little thumb in her mouth. Slowly, I stand and push back the curtain that divides my portion of the room from the twins'. My bed is hard and uninviting and still too empty since Lillith died so I curl up into a tight ball underneath the raged blanket. Finally, I allow myself lose my composure, letting the tears run silently down my face and I give into grief.
I wake very sore from crying. I want to just stay in bed, but since the Capitol is back in control, I cannot afford to be late today. Silently, so that I don't wake the twins, I pull on my clothing and slip out of the room. As I enter the kitchen, I see my mother with her back to me staring out the window. For a moment, I stand silently to make sure that I am not interrupting her crying. But she seems to be out of tears at the moment, so I clear my throat as an indication of my presence. She turns and gives me a sad smile. Her eyes are red-rimmed, as I know my own are, so as I approach her I wrap my arms around her. We stand there for a long moment, but break away so that I can eat something before I leave for school. Even then, we hold onto one another's hands, eating in silence. Then Lucia begins to cry and my mother needs to leave the table so I finish quickly and slip out the door.
We have a new teacher, fresh from the Capitol to "redirect" our education. This does not surprise any of us. He is a rail-thin, rather elderly man with a long, hooked nose which he keeps rather high as if we smell disgusting and he wants it as far from us as he can keep it. His face as well tells us we disgust him, frozen in a hateful sneer. Our class of seventeens is old enough that we can think for ourselves; this is why we have him. We know by instinct that the younger children will have sickly sweet, smiling women who will attempt to poison them against the Revolution with candy and hugs. But discipline and hatred will be their method for us: an attempt to frighten us into submission or, should that fail, to beat it into us. I raise my chin as the hook-nosed teacher's gaze rakes across the class, meeting it challengingly. He notices me and I earn the briefest perusal for my small act of defiance. But it is not enough for him to humiliate me in front of my classmates, so he lets it go without a word, although I will probably pay for it later. Catching the eyes of the boy next to me, I see ice in his stare and, as looks are passed between all of the students, I know that I will not be alone. This teacher will get more than he bargained for here in District 8.
Author's Note: Welcome to one of my most treasured stories. I have been writing this for years and am so excited to finally begin sharing it! It's just beginning, so if you'd like to read more, let me know! If I'm only writing it for myself there's no point in posting it.
~Star