All around me girls were twitching, scratching their arms, or making shrill unintelligible babble. It was easy to forget sometimes the morphling addiction that ran rampant through our streets unless we were gathered in large groups like this, then the manipulation of the Capitol was plain for all to see. The neon clad elites could pretend not to know of the epidemic, deny even their involvement in the shipment and supply of the drug which came in regular intervals on the trains, or in the pockets of PeeKs used in trade, or as bribery for informants.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I've done morphling, been swallowed deep down into the calm black waters while the world slowly floated away from me. It was good, peaceful, and quiet even. Coming out of it was the problem, the world becomes so loud, so noisy that you can barely hear yourself think. The lights become blinding and everyone is hiding something from you. You become paranoid. I became paranoid. Getting off was, still is, a struggle. After all, the morphling is everywhere.

I got off at first because of my mother. She'd sent me to the orphan's home when I was young. There I learned to be a good, hard worker, keep my head down, and ears open. There were always those who would pay for a good secret, and I was the master of secrets. So when the woman became sick, looked me up and laid claim to a daughter she before had no use of. It was selfish of me, I know, but I probably wouldn't have helped if it hadn't been for the job that came with the package of accepting her into my life again.

The mayor isn't quite as grand a man as the leaders of other Districts perhaps, but he's still far too dignified to wash his own sheets and make his own bed. That was the well paying, and highly valued career she had given me up for, as she didn't have time to raise me and tend to the fineries of the man's well being. I cleaned up, not that the mayor's veins ran clean mind you, but I just couldn't stay hooked and peg down a job that needed such attention to detail. It was how I wound not only cleaning a house that wasn't mine, but taking care of the sickly woman I barley knew as my mother.

After several months at it though two things had changed. First I had come to enjoy my work and even befriended Whitney, the mayor's daughter who taught me to read and shared my interests in flora and fauna rare beauties in the densely packed cityscape her herb garden becoming a welcomed retreat. The second change being my mother, namely her health. She improved drastically, becoming, so vibrant and strong once more that she was no longer confined to bed. I was happy, I had regained my mother. Dinner would be waiting when I got home, and my own bed would stand made and ready, it was a dream come true. Then she started going outside again, which I would have considered it an improvement if she hadn't of gotten hooked.

Slowly my dream dissolved, there were no more niceties to come home to, the color drain from her body which became thin and frail like before. And when she wasn't lying in bed smiling into the dark void only she could see the woman would spend all her time in the beds of others for the acquisition of her drug. My hopes for the two of us and our comfortable routine had shattered utterly. She was too far gone for the honest work I now did, or even to acknowledge my existence.

Then one night she just disappeared, and I had to adapt my life again. It was easier this time, and though I'm ashamed to admit it, part of me was relieved that she was gone and that I wouldn't have to clean up after her any more. All in all, life was good, I was happy and couldn't have asked for more. Then came the baby.

It was then that I realized how selfish a person I am. I walked inside and found her, my mother, or what was left of her sprawled out on the kitchen floor, dress hiked well up over her thighs, and a distant look to her glassy blue eyes that told me she wasn't exactly sure of where she was.

"'I made dinner!'" she'd said as the smell of burnt bread wafted through the air.

My mind flicked to thoughts of my bed and how badly I wanted to lay down despite the blood and the seemingly massive bulge that protruded from the skeletal woman's stomach.

I closed my eyes at the memory while everyone shuffled in, waiting for the Reaping to start. I hate myself for that, not a waking moment goes by that I don't damn myself for thinking of my bed. I am proud however to say that I didn't leave her there, but stayed with her, and delivered a sickly squealing baby, before moving my mother to the couch and making her comfortable. I didn't know how to take care of a baby nor could I with our mother in the state she was. So I bundled the little girl up and took her as quickly as I could to the orphan's home, only to get harassed by a couple of PeeKs once I got there. Convinced the baby was mine and more than willing to speculate how I had come to be pregnant in the first place made the drop off that much harder.

Now, I wish I'd have told my mom that I loved her before I left, or even where I was going. More than that, I wish I had known that the amount of blood she was losing wasn't normal. Because by the time I got home she was already gone, and all I could think of was how frightened and alone she must of felt, caught part way between a bad trip, and coming down the world must have been maddening and to face it, and die alone? I'm just happy I was able to bury her properly.

"Hey." Whitney said cutting through my melancholy thoughts. That night, the worst night of my entire life, had only been three months ago, and the pain and guilt was more than fresh, it was aching. Still, I turned to my friend who had managed to pick me out in the crowd and smiled.

"Hi." I responded trying and failing to sound casual.

Whitney always seemed to know when I needed a good hug, which was constantly as of late, and soon I was wrapped in her lavender scented embrace, lavenders were her favorite. We stood there hugging until the booming voice of Alpheus Viggo cut through the crowds and killed any conversation that might be taking place. Whitney and I stood hand in hand while the sleek copper haired man gave the usual introductions before fishing around in the bowl. When he called my name I couldn't quite make myself believe it, neither could Whitney, and then she was holding onto me again, apologising, wishing me luck, assuring me that we would have a picnic in her garden when I got back, refusing to say anything about the Games at all.

We must have taken too long because the PeeKs were shoving nervously elated girls out of the way until they got to us and pulled me away. Somehow I found myself stumbling into a little dimly lit room. It was squat and had a wet smell that resided somewhere between the fresh moisture of moss and strong dull stink of mold and made me think of rotting wood. It was clear that this place hadn't been cared for in quite a long time, and was probably not the most health conducive place to be. The minimal way in which the Capitol recorder was standing, handkerchief over his nose all but confirmed it.

I was confused. Standing here like this made no sense in the order of events that should be taking place. The gears in my mind refused interlock. I didn't have a family, it would be up to the community to vote upon the individual to die if I fail, their blood staining everyone's hands. It was then that the rusted door I had ducked through only moments ago swung open. A timid looking woman in a blue dress stepped through the opening, guns pointed in her direction, and then she handed over the delicate package she was being forced to carry.

My sister, my baby sister. I hadn't seen her since the day she was born, red faced, slick with bodily fluids, and thin, thinner than I thought a baby should be. Now here she was pink, fat, happy, and bright eyed with a funny little bald spot on the back of her head. I looked up at the Capitol man in horror. "Just get it over with!" he coughed as if suddenly falling ill.

I held the baby closer stroking the soft wispy hair at the top of her head. She seemed like a happy baby, her eyes wandering the room until she found my face. Tearful laughter choked itself out of my throat as I lowered myself to the floor and cradled the baby. "Hi." I whispered as if terrified that even breathing on her would in some way do her harm. The baby cooed, kicking her chubby legs, fat rolled arms waving without much co-ordination. The tears came in harsh unexpected sobs as I buried my face into the blanket that wrapped her body.

The whole world melted away and it was just my tears and the gentle squirm of a baby, a baby I suddenly loved more than life. "I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I said over and over again like a prayer. I regretted everything, every single moment waking, sleeping, joyous, miserable moment I could have spent with my sister if only I'd kept her. I could have watched her grow, I could have sang to her I could have gotten frustrated and exhausted only to realize the worth of sleepless nights, I-

"Time!" the recorder called harshly. "Take it away." he commanding the armed me before going on to complain. "Honestly why we give them any time at all is a wonder!"

"Move." a male voice said.

Hands were pulling at me but I held on tighter desperation coursing through me. Then a particularly vicious PeeK woman thrust her between me and the baby grabbing her fragile arm and yanked, not roughly, not yet, but still enough to scare the infant to tears. "This can get ugly." she said threateningly as the blue dressed woman was ushered back in to collect my sister, the one I never knew, the one I would never know.

Apologies tumbled lamely from my lips in dying whispers. Then lightning seemed to course through my spine. "Wait," I screamed. "Wait! I-I don't even know her name!"

The PeeKs escorting me shoved and hustled my body this way and that, one of them saying something in a low murmur I couldn't catch. They continued to push and push until I was facing the gleaming doors of the sleek metallic train that would carry me away to the Capitol, and likely my death. I was drifting, lifeless and then a strong hand on my shoulder stopped me, while another on the other shoulder pressed forward, twisting my body. There was a brief scuffle, a disagreement between my escorts.

"Maria." said the man on my right, the one who tried to stop me.

"What?" I whispered hoarsely, confused and searching his face that was obscured by the mask of his uniform.

The man shoved me roughly and I stumbled backwards onto the train. "Maria." he repeated as the doors slid silently closed.

I was already flying down the tracks by the time I understood what had happened enough to form the simple phrase, "Thank you."