Between Scylla and Charybdis

Calm

“I’m hungry.”

Caliban turned his head toward the shore. Sabrina was standing there, with a fire roaring to life next to her. Her arms were crossed, and there was a pout plastered on her face. 

Caliban smiled at her, “Patience, Princess.”

He turned back to the water, careful not to disturb it. Any sudden movements would scare off the fish. So far, he hadn’t had any luck. The waters seemed completely devoid of fish, and that simply wouldn’t do on a day like today. Minutes ticked by, and Sabrina didn’t comment any further. 

A flash of silver caught his attention, and he made his move. The spear he had poised at level with his shoulder shot down to stop the creature in its tracks. It was the type of movement that had taken years of training at the academy to master. The smile on Sabrina’s face when he pulled his kill out of the water made him feel as though this was the best possible use of his skills, “White croaker, your favorite.”

This was tradition. Every year, the night before the reaping, they came out to this same spot, caught their dinner, talked, and made love. Well, making love was a recent addition to the years-long tradition, much to the delight of both of them, if the way Sabrina writhed and begged for more from underneath him was any indication.

Their skin was still sticky with sweat when they settled down next to the embers of the dying fire they had cooked their food in. Her white hair looked silver in the moonlight, and it was in complete disarray. There was sand sticking to her shoulders, her lips were swollen from their kisses, and Caliban couldn’t think of a time when she looked more beautiful.

Except yesterday evening when they said goodnight, yesterday morning when they said hello, and every time he had seen her going back to the day they had met in the academy. Her hair was honey blonde then, and she had been twirling a blowgun around her fingers like a baton. He knew that tomorrow, in whatever old-fashioned dress her Aunts forced her into for the reaping, she would somehow be even more beautiful than she was today, in the white linen dress that was lying next to him on the sand.

“What do you think is out there?”

She was staring out into the sea. This was part of the tradition also.

“I don’t know, Princess,” he answered honestly, “It’s hard to picture anything before the Dark  Days, let alone anything outside of Panem.”

“Think we’ll ever know?”

“Not a clue,” he shook his head and wrapped his arms around her even tighter. He pressed a kiss to her temple and absentmindedly brushed the sand away from her skin.

“They’ll expect you to volunteer tomorrow. It’s your last year, and you’ve got the best odds of survival in the whole district.”

This wasn’t new information. They had discussed it at length over the past few weeks. District Four had produced a good number of victors since the Hunger Games started seventy-three years ago. The fishing industry helped create tributes who were as efficient in their survival skills as they were in their hunting abilities. 

“I already told the Instructors Council that they could take that suggestion and fuck off straight to Hell.”

“Of course you did,” Sabrina laughed before her face turned solemn, “Some of the district will shun you.”

“Only a small portion of them, and it doesn’t matter. None of them would be you,” he said. One of the good things about District Four was that it wasn’t as focused on the games as One or Two. It was a Career district, yes, but it didn’t share the same fondness for the Capital. It was almost entirely self-sufficient, if it wasn’t for the Capital restricting their access to medicine and medical care.

“Not me,” she confirmed running her fingers through his hair, “Never me.”

“You only have one more year after this,” he reminded her, “Then we’ll live out the rest of our days in peace.”

That was the plan. After her final reaping, she was going to come live with him in the house that his parents had left him when they passed. He would fish, and she would repair nets. It would just be the two of them and Salem. They had already agreed not to have children. Not in a world where they could be turned into trained killers, as they had been.

Just one more year. They could make it. They had to.

“Happy Hunger Games, Princess.”

She laughed and swung a leg over his lap, “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

He returned her smile with one of his own and let her gently push him onto his back. When she leaned down to kiss him, moon-white hair glistening around her like a halo, he felt like the luckiest man alive, and as she whispered I love you, he couldn’t picture a world where the odds weren’t in his favor.