The lake on the outskirts of town melts slower every year, slowly and calmly as my finger-less gloves trace along the ice, staring at my reflection and finding myself cherishing the cool breaths that clouded my pale face.

Winter is almost over, and as spring comes the snow will die as we will, slowly but ever-surely.
The pine needles coveting the layers of snow near the lake will again meet with the earth and let the bayberry bushes recover from the long winter.

I splash myself with the cold water, a large handful as I close my eyes and seep the cold water between my teeth. Looking even more pale as I stare for a few moments longer before I stand, looking behind me to the path back into town.

I hear songbirds clamoring early in the morning, Dad's at work for a few more hours before mandatory attendance to the Reaping.

Feeling the cool breeze sting my drenched hair, I run my fingers along my blonde locks, a nervous habit as I let one more cool breath sharply slide from my chapped lips.

The town is almost dead except for the sound of soft cries of children coming from a few houses on my way home, it feels almost as if it were at a funeral and it's been like this ever since I was a toddler.
Looking at the families being torn apart, I would pretend that I was immune to it, my Dad being a foreman in the fields, I would daydream that we would be rich enough to go to the Capitol.

I would also pretend that our nice house, the dinners with the Mayor and his family, my pale skin and blonde hair, and the favoritism my teachers gave to the rich girl at by the cotton grove didn't happen.
Some days I would sit behind school and cover my ears and scream into the ruffles of my dress, wanting so badly to be just like everyone else.
I wanted to struggle with my friends who would scrape barrels of oats after school and chase cats with them.

Whenever I would even want to, they would immediately ask to come to my house in troves.
Mom would sit me down every other day and told me they weren't my friends.

But I didn't believe her until I met Yarrow...

Hugging myself in my coat as I walk to my house, I remember the sting of realizing that they only wanted what I had, not who I was choking me as I reminisce as if I were walking to my funeral.
Before remembering there are more dire things in my mind than what was.

I reach my house, a tall, wooden throne standing among a clearing away from the wooden hovels, closest to the cotton fields shining and barren with the snow and the nearest to Victors' Village.
As I open the door, I see Mom already mending my dress on the kitchen table, a yellow, picnic-style dress with lace and a small golden sunflower embroidered the front as if it were a badge.
A tacky, grimacing thing littering a porcelain table.

"Rose..." I hear her say as I slowly walk up the stairs, I can hear her voice shaking as she begins to violently mend my dress that she immediately wants me to try on, a tense sharpness but also a joking tone as she softly laughs, chasing me as I lean on the railing, tucking my bangs away from my face.

"Mother." I say sharply, peering my eyes to her and then the dress.

"Take a bath, you smell like dirt. Your dress is ready, leave it near the tub after you dry." she says after a small huff, holding her stomach after reaching up to hand me the "dress."
Mom is due anyday now, and she's still always on her feet, but she has got to get another hobby other than sewing...
I climb down the stairs meeting her gaze before hugging her with a gasp, sighing as she combs her fingers through my straight, wet hair before I turn to bathe.

The warm water she had set surrounded my cold body, I seethe my teeth as if my body reminding me that I really shouldn't have been out so early in the morning digging in ice.

The cold washing away like the snow setting upon the fields and putting so many people out of work for a whole season as I lay my head back, staring at the freshly painted ceiling and the overtly glamorous lighting in the bathroom.

I raise my leg out of boredom, a calmness setting in as I smile, the lavender suds embracing me as I think to myself that I only have two more years...
"Why..." I hear myself speak, a hurt whisper escaping my still-chapped lips, thinking about the cries of the tributes only last year away before I sit up quickly, knocking myself out of my sad stupor, clapping my face as if to wake up before leaving the safety of my warm tub.