She flinched as the wheels grated against the tracks. This far out in the district the trains would consistently collide against the rusty railing and the bottom would scrape against the stones and tear up overgrown grass. It had taken an hour to refuel because the area wasn't built for a high speed railway. Katniss rarely ever saw freight trains pass through but from the 10 inch thick walls she knew this train would leave unscathed.
The rattling began to quiet down the further towards inner city they went and she stared out at the bleak landscape she called home.
Somewhere beyond these borders was a new life awaiting her. A better life. Granted, it involved being married to a man she'd never met but in a world where the pickings were slim to none she'd take anything. If these carpeted floors were anything to go by, she'd be laid upon soft bedding and showering under a rainfall in no time.
When she had first seen the scruffy blonde paperboy shove a soaked magazine between the crack of her front door and the wall where it no longer closed properly, she almost belted him for not hiding in under his shirt. She wouldn't be able to use it to help heat the stovetop if it would extinguish the flame she'd spent hours trying to ignite. So it wasn't intrigue that made her answer the ad for a mail order bride but a feeling of despair. Life out there couldn't be any worse than what she'd grown up with.
Her fingers picked at the fabric of the chair she was squashed into. There was space to move and spread but Katniss had never been on this type of train before and from the way the conductor eyed her up when she stepped on she didn't want to risk a telling off. The carriage may have been empty, but her mind was not.
Her father would have smacked her upside the head if he lived long enough to see her daughter make this stupid decision. And there was a very real possibility that she'd show up and be greeted by a fifty something year old man reeking of booze and cigars; a more upper class version of the old buggers who'd hang around the underpass by her old school. But alas when has she ever denied a chance to risk something.
At eleven Katniss had become an heiress to her father's small fortune and she'd discovered that all the poaching he'd grown up teaching her had netted quite a healthy amount of money. The downside was that as she was under 16 she wasn't given any rights to access her father's money and so she spent her time watching her mother decay as illness overtook her frail body. Now she was old enough though, she could be considered an eligible young lady of society - at least the one out there.
Her mother used to visit the markets constantly with pockets full of bottles and plants that she swore could help aid the sick. It wasn't until later that she learnt her mother wouldn't come home late into the evening from genteel conversation but she'd practiced as a lady of the night, desperate to make as many connections for her daughter as possible.
It was a real shame she passed before she could reap any of the benefits.
Two weeks ago she'd learnt through rumours that she was to be wed to an older boy in the middle of the town square. Katniss didn't know the olive-skinned boy very well but he was the closest thing to company she had but that didn't mean she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this... stranger. He was loud and arrogant and disruptive, and so was she. And that infuriated her, she didn't want to see herself in a partner.
Katniss laid her head on the headrest missing the feeling of being held by her father. He wouldn't have been mad at her for running away. He wouldn't have wanted her to be tied to this place. Her mother on the other hand, didn't take the news well. At fifteen, when Katniss begged to call of the arranged engagement, her mother had grabbed her father's old belt and whipped her relentlessly, angry at her for trying to ruin what Mrs Everdeen had worked so hard for. Katniss' thighs still bore the scars. It was almost humourous that none of her mothers balms could heal the torn skin.
Left alone locked in her bedroom Katniss used to stare at the cracks on the wall and then she remembered the soaked pieces of paper. She dug into her bedside drawer and she carefully flipped through the pages until she found her escape. If Katniss married someone else before the townspeople could make her honor her mother's demands then she would have some degree of freedom... It was a shot at least.
The ad was small and inconsequential but she thought it was a great idea. The less people saw it the better chance she had.
She could barely make out the words from the blurred ink:
A capitol bred man, 18 years of age, formerly recruited and served for the ministry of defense, desires to find a female suitor between the age of 16-24 to engage in shared correspondence with a view of matrimony. Intelligence, class and the willingness to be subdued necessary. The fulfilment of terms addressed will not be processed unless the requisite is met.
Katniss hardly agreed with what the ad wanted and she hardly possessed any of the three of the attributes wanted but she saw the word willingness and thoroughly believed as long as she fit one word within the ad then she'd have a chance.
She'd searched her room until she found some toilet paper and two books. She'd then placed the soaking paper between two pieces of toilet paper and two books and left it overnight hoping the weight of it would soak up just enough of the water.
By the morning she scrambled around and found a corner of chalk and began her reply in her best penmanship.
I am a 16 year oldgirllady, of esteemed breeding, highly skilled in both house and wifely duties. I am seeking a morally non corrupt and tidy, manual workingmanhusband. I am willing to perform beyond my words could tell. Reply - District 12.
She had bounded off the bed ernest to send the letter off, hopeful that the suitor would take her words at face value. Proving them would be a different matter. She just needed her foot in the door. When the paperboy passed by the next morning she chased him down, begging him to store it safely in his book bag. There was no way of knowing if he would actually ensure the letter got to the station in time for the postman to collect but she didn't have the energy to worry. She went inside and crawled back into bed, the blistering of her sores beginning to kick in.