Jabberjay [The Hunger Games]

Chapter Ten

     My mother begins to sob as I rush over to her, the reality of the situation sinking in. I am completely gutted. The woman that used to care for her body so greatly now wears bruises that insult her beauty. My mind cannot make up if I want to mourn with her right now or hunt down Brutus and lodge a knife into his skull. He is a liar and I despise him for it. This must have been some sick way to keep my head in the game, bettering his odds at getting another win under his belt. Many victors in the career districts gloat about the number of tributes that they have trained to victory, and Brutus is one of them. I hate him so much that I feel the urge to kill myself right now just so that he loses this year.

     "What did they do to you?" I wail, wrapping my arms around her.

     The tongueless cries that leave her mouth are distorted and shatter my heart. My mother who once sang beautifully will never be able to harmonize again. I bury my head into her frail body and grieve the life we used to live. The disgust that boils inside of me from selfishly volunteering at the Reaping has left my thoughts in a wreckage. There is nothing that I can do to save her, anything that I attempt will only result in her suffrage.

     "I am so sorry," I tell her, pressing my forehead against hers as we sob together.

     After a short embrace, my mother breaks the hug that we have been locked in and digs into her pocket. The tears that cluster in the waterline of my eyes cause me to see the world in a blur. She pulls out the bracelet that I thought I would never see again, the one with a band of vine that blossoming flowers decorate. Her hands that are blatantly malnourished grab onto mine, sliding the bracelet around my wrist. I kiss her cheek after admiring the bracelet, how every flower is unique, yet purposeful.

     "Thank you," I say, snuffling through my tears.

     She nods at me and then attempts to tell me that she loves me but all that comes out is a groaning sound that I can barely comprehend. We must be getting watched on cameras because immediately two Peacekeepers barge into the room with guns held to their chest. I follow my natural instinct and latch onto her, tightening my grip. The Peacekeepers are going to have to pry me off of her if they want to separate us again.

     "Avoxes are prohibited from speaking," says one of the Peacekeepers.

     I cannot see where they are grabbing her from, but she begins to squeal, and I wonder if she is screaming or trying to tell me something.

     "Let go of her!" I yell as loud as I can manage.

     One of the Peacekeepers hold onto my mother, the other one grabbing me. They begin pulling us apart and we put up a good fight but are ultimately dragged away from each other. The adrenaline that has been building up allows me to launch myself forward, slipping through the grip of the hands latched around me. I reach for my mothers' hand, gracing it momentarily until I am pounced on, knocking the breath out of me. Before I can make my next move, I find myself in a headlock by the Peacekeeper that had thrown himself on top of me. I scream for my mother, and she does the same.

     I am not sure how long he has been here, but Malo stands at the door with a face of shock. The Peacekeepers eventually succeed in pulling my mother out of the room and closing the door behind them. My headlock is then released, and I gasp for air, my lungs still dealing with the initial impact. After a few moments, the last Peacekeeper rises from the floor where I lay and exits the room. Malo rushes over to me, kneels down, and then places his hands on me.

     "What the hell happened? Are you okay?" He asks, panicked and concerned.

     I am not ready to tell him the truth about what I have been dealing with since we met so I do not respond. Instead, I allow him to help me sit up and hold me in his arms on the cold tiled floor. We sit here, tribute after tribute still being broadcasted to the rest of the nation. The show must go on. Malo does not speak to me once after his initial response, allowing my thoughts to run rampant. I imagine them beating her until they break her ribs, whipping her until she resembles raw meat, and then hanging her in the middle of a street for everyone in the Capitol to gossip about. I sob in his arms until I am physically drained of tears, laying in his hold for the remainder of the show.