TW: Child Abuse

"Little he knows... little he sees."

Amoransia "Ansi" Pitch, 16, District Twelve Female

The Town Square

July 23, Year 78

Amoransia Pitch watched the world go by, leaning against the filthy walls of the Mellark Bakery, carefully out of sight from the old witch that ran it. The smell of freshly baked bread made her mouth water, but for now, she was content with the can of applesauce she had tucked in her satchel from the previous parcel. The Reaping was in two days, and that meant that the last shipment of food from Kaia Blanken's victory last year would arrive tomorrow. She knew it would be a long time before there would be another one, if ever. The next parcel would need to last as long as possible, but for now, she could safely finish the apple sauce.

remembered her old life like a vibrant, yet distant dream; moments she once lived but remained so far out of reach she wondered if it was even real to begin with.

Once upon a time, she had food in her belly, a roof over her head, and parents who loved her, or so she thought. Her parents owned several mines and a pub with an inn above it. The Pitches were in the Capitol's good graces, and they were one the few wealthy families in District Twelve.

She was too young to understand that the couple that brought her and her brother, Halen, into the world were selfish, cruel, and greedy people, discontent with their privilege and draining every coin from everyone they could, from the wealthy in the Merchant Quarter to the starving in the Seam. She was too young to understand why her parents were dressing her and her brother in rags, covering them in coal dust and dirt, forcing them to beg for coin or even cut purses, and punishing them when they didn't bring home enough. She didn't understand why her parents were cruel to poor Minuet, the sweet young girl that her parents had temporarily taken in for a fee, and why her parents hurt the poor girl and encouraged her and her brother to do the same.

Amoransia certainly didn't know that the Pitches had been embezzling money from the funds from the mines they owned, funds that were meant for the Capitol until it all came crashing down. The Pitches narrowly evaded execution but lost everything as a result of their deception. That was the day Amoransia knew that her parents' love was not unconditional, and their cruel words and hands turned to her, and worse, her brother. Food became scarce. They were left alone for hours on end, and more and more demands were made of them until one day, Amoransia finally had enough. She took young Halen into her arms, told him they were off to new adventures, and walked right out of that inn.

Her parents never went looking for them, and they never looked back.

Amoransia's life had turned upside down in an instant. She was no longer separate from the destitute. She now lived among them, on the streets of District Twelve, without even so much as a crate to shield her from the elements.

However, she survived, and she knew that she wouldn't go back to her parents no matter what. Even as the streets separated Amoransia and Halen over the years, even as the harsh winters and empty stomachs ate away at her, she did not regret her decision.

Amoransia sighed and finished her applesauce before quietly putting the jar in the nearby trashcan. The witch that ran the bakery had grown even meaner since her son was killed three years ago. She had stormed out of the bakery one rainy day last spring after catching a young girl digging through her trash and beating her black and blue with the handle of an old broom, shouting about filthy street rats.

Halen had taken in several other street urchins over the years, and that girl was one of them. Amoransia was the one who carried that girl back to him. Halen was furious, and Amoransia had to talk Halen down from going over there himself. As much as she wanted to let him, she didn't want Halen to get hurt too.

However, when the Mellarks' trash can, freshly full of pig dung, caught fire a week later, Amoransia didn't say a word, aside from warning him of the stink it would cause.

Once the coast was clear, Amoransia stepped out into the sunlight, and made her way to the Hob, keeping her satchel close. It didn't contain much, just scraps of fabric and lines of poetry that she could sell for whatever she could. Even if they didn't sell, she knew she could count on Greasy Sae, Tygart Blanken, or Ripper for a delivery job in exchange for a bowl of soup, a handful of chestnuts, or some coin.

She was halfway to the Seam when she saw them: Marin Westbrook, hand in hand with Minuet Solara. The sight brought back memories tinged with melancholy. It felt like forever ago when Amoransia befriended Marin, the boy with beautiful eyes, big dreams, and a kindness that Amoransia had been denied her whole life. She remembered long nights, counting the stars and naming the constellations, sharing scones in the meadow, and long walks in the streets, hands intertwined.

Call it foolish or naïve, but Amoransia had fallen in love with her best friend. He began to break down the walls that had formed over years of solitude, loneliness, and cruelty. She didn't have to be so guarded around him. He was meant to save her from her fate, to allow her to finally imagine a world that wasn't so cold.

Alas, it wasn't meant to last.

The day Marin started to fade from her life was the day that they crossed paths with Minuet, the very girl who had lived with Ansi so long ago. Amoransia occasionally wondered what became of the girl who managed to stay so kind throughout her stay at the Pitches' Inn. She knew that the girl's mother had eventually returned to collect her, at least that's what Amoransia assumed happened, given that Minuet was there one day and gone the next. Minuet had looked as cheerful as ever, as well as clean, well-fed, and a lot better off than she had been when Amoransia had last seen her. She then remembered her treatment of Minuet, and the guilt ate her alive. Marin had asked for Minuet's address, and Amoransia could feel her heartbreak, but she wanted to see Marin happy, and she wanted to atone for what she did to Minaret. So Amoransia helped Marin find where Minuet lived.

The two hit it off, and now spent all of their time together. While Amoransia still spoke to Marin from time to time, even having the occasional conversation with Minuet, who was all too forgiving for the past, those conversations grew fewer and further between.

As much as it hurt Amoransia to see the boy she had fallen so hard for in the arms of another, she tried to remind herself that Marin's happiness was what mattered. She was fated to be invisible, and perhaps, just like the Pitches' fall from grace was a stroke of divine justice, perhaps this was Amoransia's punishment for her part in her family's cruelty.

Still, there was some part of Amoransia that wanted to reach out to Marin, to re-establish that connection, and perhaps one day he would look at her the way he looked at Minuet, like she was his everything. But who was she to disrupt Marin's happiness?

Amoransia shook those memories off and kept walking with her head down, hoping she wouldn't be noticed. Dreaming of what might have been did nothing to help you survive. That was one of the first lessons Amoransia learned on the streets, in that first bitter winter, clutching her brother close as they huddled for warmth.

Amoransia had thrown those walls back up just as quickly and tried to ignore the cracks that unrequited love had formed. She took things one day at a time, only allowing herself to dream in the solitude of the night. She got up every single day, and despite the world's determination to crush her, she refused to let herself break. She tried not to think about what might have been but instead focused on survival.

After all, it wasn't as if she asked to fall in love.

"None knows the weight of another's burden."

Cole Beckham, 16, District Twelve Male

The Seam

July 4, Year 78

Today was Reaping Day.

It was a terrible day for a variety of reasons. The weather was hot and the humidity was so thick that it was nearly impossible to breathe. The mines were closed, so there would be no income coming in for the day. And worst of all, the Reaping itself.

Cole Beckham pulled out a set of nice-ish clothes for both himself and for Flint to wear. They were old, wrinkled, and covered in coal dust. Cole suspected that they may have belonged to his father once upon a time, before the Great Explosion in the mines took his life, along with the lives of a quarter of the people in that mine.

Cole still wasn't sure how his family survived that first harsh winter when so many families didn't. Luck, more than likely. Luck was what carried the Hawthorne and Everdeen families, at least until recently. Luck was what allowed Flint to pass for an eighteen-year-old and enter the mines himself…until a bad fall left him with severe neurological damage just a few years later, and Cole was left wondering how good their luck actually was. Good enough, he supposed, that Mrs. Everdeen was able to bring him back from the brink.

With Flint unable to work anymore, and the family once again on the verge of starvation with only their mother's income, Cole made the decision to enter the mines himself. He looked similar enough to Flint that he could pull it off. Flint kept to himself in the mines, and as a result, while they knew he was seriously injured, they didn't know that he was no longer able to lift his arms up all the way. They didn't know that he had piercing migraines and numbness that could leave him bedridden for days. They certainly didn't know that his short-term memory was gone, and he had a hard time remembering things in general.

Without any other choice, and with the extent of Flint's injuries not well known, Cole took on his brother's name and position. His mother was vehemently against the idea. She had already lost her husband in the mines. She nearly lost her oldest son. She didn't want to risk her youngest, but between risking death in the mines and ensuring starvation, it wasn't hard to convince her that this was the only way for them to make it.

Today, however, there would be no risk of dying in the mines. Instead, death loomed over the Beckham boys in a different way, and that somehow terrified Cole just as much as a mining accident. The past year had been easier, with the parcels and extra food, easy enough that Cole did not have to take out tesserae, but he still had more slips in that bowl than he was comfortable with.

District Twelve was already at a big enough disadvantage normally in the Games, and the fact that Twelve won last year put them at an even bigger one. Everyone would be gunning for the Twelves.

Thankfully, Flint was out of the Reaping, meaning that was still one less person Cole had to worry about, that lower of a chance he'd go into the Games because he knew that he'd volunteer for his brother in a heartbeat.

Cole quickly got dressed in a plain shirt that used to be white, once upon a time, but was now instead a light shade of grey, and some denim trousers that were frayed at the bottom, but surely no one would notice. He combed his greasy hair as best he could, knowing his mother would have a fit and want to fix it later, and then went to where Flint was resting in the bedroom. He gently knocked on the door, loud enough to get his attention but not so loud that he'd accidentally aggravate any potential headaches.

"Yeah?" a tired voice came from the room.

Cole slowly pulled the door open, careful not to let it creak. "Hey, Flint," he said with a smile.

Flint smiled. "Hey, you."

"It's time to get ready. I brought you some clothes."

"For…" Flint's voice trailed off as he struggled to bring the date to mind.

"July Fourth," Cole reminded him. "Reaping Day."

Flint's eyes went wide, and he groaned. "Damn, how could I forget that…"

"It's okay," Cole replied gently. "Here. Let me help you get dressed."

"I can do it." Flint waved him off. "Button up shirt, right?"

Cole nodded and Flint smiled. "So thoughtful."

"Are you boys getting ready?"

Cole looked up to see his mother, tired as ever and even more beaten down, leaning against the doorframe. "We are," Cole said with a smile.

"Good. Think you can help get Flint ready? I need to finish patching up a hole in my dress."

Cole nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you, Cole. And when you're done, let me fix up your hair, okay?"

"My hair's fine."

"And matted up with coal dust," his mother gently retorted.

Cole sighed, knowing that this was a losing argument. "Okay. As long as it's not fluffy."

His mother laughed. "Okay. No fluffy. Understood."

Cole helped Flint into his shirt and backed off when Flint insisted on finishing the rest alone. Despite everything, Flint wanted nothing more to be as independent as possible. It was something Cole admired. Flint was strong, brave, and funny, despite the odds.

It was this strength that allowed Cole to feel truly lucky.

"Hey, Cole?" Flint piped up when he was done getting ready. Cole looked back towards his brother and his eyes widened when he saw the wedding band in his hand. It was on a chain so that he could wear it around his neck, as it was too big to fit on either of their fingers.

That wedding band used to belong to his father. When he died, it was the only thing that they found of him. The cleanup crew could have sold it to the Hob for a good amount of coin. The Peacekeepers could have confiscated it as evidence. Instead, they returned it to the Beckhams. As the eldest child, Flint was the one to receive it, though he did loan it to Cole to wear into the mines to better pass as him. When Cole was younger and was missing his father, Flint would give him the ring to hold.

Now, Flint was giving Cole the ring to have in the Reaping. "This is the first time you'll be in that crowd without me," he said with a sad smile. "Figured you could use the comfort."

Cole smiled sadly. "Flint, you really don't have to."

"Of course I do," Flint replied. "Just take the ring."

Cole hesitated. Realizing there would be no arguing, he carefully took the ring and chain and slipped it around his neck. It rested comfortably against his chest, right over his heart. For a moment, he could picture his father standing next to him.

"Thank you," Cole said quietly. "Seriously, thank you."

Flint smiled. "No problem. Now…hair combing time?"

Cole laughed. "Yeah. Hair combing time."

Despite the bad luck that the Beckhams have faced over the years, Cole had to admit that there was some good luck in there somewhere. He still had his brother. He still had his mother. He was able to bring in enough to ensure that his family wouldn't starve.

No matter what, Cole was still alive. In District Twelve, that required a certain amount of luck.

He just hoped that luck was enough to get him through the Reaping.

Thank you to AuroraMiri for Ansi and geekygee for Cole (FC: Michael Cimino). Here is Ansi's description!

Ansi is fairly tall at 5,7", at least by Twelve's standards. She often forgets to cut or comb her dark hair, and it hangs messily but freely to her mid-back. Her dark brown eyes are soulful and bright, but her face is often smudged with dirt and she wears threadbare rags. Her frame is spindly and gangly, as if her limbs don't quite fit together, but there's a certain sheen of health to her light brown skin that never seems to fade. Her face is angular and sharp, bones jutting out from malnourishment.

That's all for the intros! I had a different idea for the Reaping, which I am currently working on, but fear not Puer fans, I plan to have a POV for her very soon! Let the Pre-Games begin!