Like Earth To Ocean

Prologue

Morningtime.

I yawn as I stand up, kicking off my dirty sheets.

Outside, slush pours from the sky.

Ugly rain.

I wrestle out of my sweat-soaked used to be white nightgown, crumpling it into a ball and heading to the kitchen to wash it in only my underclothes.

It's dirty anyway. You've been wearing it for four days straight.

As I'm filling a pot full of water and as I'm placing it on the stove, I notice three men in white outside. Peacekeepers?

I light a cheap match under the burner and wait until the water begins to boil. I toss in my nightgown and drizzle in the strong scented pomegranate soap into the pot to clean the dress. After I stir the dirty cloth with a large wooden spoon, I take it out to dry and dump the remaining oily water into my bathtub to scrub away the dirt on my skin.

I did my laundry every day that same method when I was younger. After winning the 72nd Hunger Games I had enough money to buy a washing machine, but I never did. If I don't need it, I don't have it.

When I'm done washing up, I dry and slip into an old pair of workers overalls and head outside.

"Aisley! Hey!" Called a friend of mine, Lillie. She seems distressed as she runs towards me, panting.

"Ais, Rylee dropped her doll in the river and the Peacekeepers won't let me go in and get it. They think I might get sick." I and pointed to a clump of wet cloth in the river. "Yes, that's the doll." Lillie coughs.

I walk right up to the Peacekeeper and point at the doll in the river. The Peacekeeper shakes his head. I stomp my foot, hardening my gaze at his helmet.

I hear a rusty sigh through the mask, and he just nods and walks away.

I crawl down to the base of the river, slowly dipping a fingertip into the water. It's cold, but bearable. I quickly wade into the water, snatch up the bundle of old fabric and hurry back.

Rylee's young little face lights up when I hand her the icy clump of old rag. "Thank you!" She shouts happily and hugs my leg. Then she runs off to join Andrew and Plum, two other children.

"Thanks, Aisley." Lillie sighs, sitting down at the edge of the river. I nodded weakly "I gad to do wha eva I can fo you an Wylee." Lillie chuckled a little as she grinned, tucking a strand of curly black hair behind her ear.

I enjoyed helping Lillie out whenever I could. We were best friends since I can remember. After coming back from the games, I remember finding her huddled up in her kitchen and her father was locked upstairs. Her mother had died of starvation while I was at the games.

A few days later, Lillie had shut herself out entirely. I took care of Rylee for a few weeks until Lillie returned to the world and had finally was able to take care of herself and Rylee, her little sister without her father's help. I don't think he ever came back.

I guess I still haven't explained my sickness yet. It's what prevents me from speaking clearly. For instance, just now while talking to Lillie. If the mother inhales too much dust without getting a vaccine for it, she might give birth to a child with Mileena's Syndrome (nicknamed "The Parasite"). The Parasite is a lump that grows on the newborn's lungs and vocal cords, like a tumor. The effects are similar to Sarcocystis (drains nutrients from the intestines and muscles). Side effects include shortness of breath, dizziness, migraines, and hallucinations due from not enough oxygen getting to your brain. There is a medication for it, air that it breathed in with a tube in your nose, and surgery. But there's a 75% chance I'll end up permanently mute and a 50% the surgery will fail and I'll die from suffocation.

Me, born after my brother Griffin, came down with Mileena's Syndrome when I was born.

What happened to my mother and rest of my family is another story.

We said our goodbyes, and I headed down to Jaynine Greimer's house. She had a job for me to do.

I knocked twice on the door.

Nothing. That's weird, I think to myself as I try to peek through the keyhole. She specifically said today...

"Miss Saintstorm?"

I turn around. A woman with long umber curls and large gray eyes greets me.

"Tressa Dunbryll. I have come to personally deliver a letter." She raises her chin and holds out a crimson coloured envelope. I gently pluck it from her gloved hands, and she's gone.

"By the way," She calls over her shoulder. "Mrs. Greimer is not at home today."

~

By the end of the day, I'm curled in a ball on my old gray couch, listening to the television and finally getting the chance to read that letter.

When I tear the red paper open with a butter knife, I notice something odd about the sticker that sealed the envelope.

A mockingjay. I think to myself as I peel off the sticker and rub it in between my fingers. I crush to ball with my thumb and pointer. If I were to be caught with a rebel symbol, I would have a big problem on my hands.

I gasped a little when I slid out the letter. Red ink that could possibly be blood spills dot the paper.

Dear Miss Aisley Saintstorm,

Urgent message. The possibility of an uprising is upon us.

The rebels need your help in the arena. If you are selected to compete in the arena (or volunteer), please consider this letter.

Do whatever it takes to keep the Mockingjay alive. Peeta Mellark is not a secondary objective, however. His health is Katniss's priority, and Katniss will lose hope and give up.

If Katniss loses hope, then the rebellion follows. Please, for the sake of the uprising, burn this letter.

For the safety of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, do not inform them of this uprising, nor did I send you this letter.

Sincerely,

Plutarch Heavensbee, Head Gamemaker.

My mouth froze open in shock in the process of reading the letter. I crumpled the note in my pale knuckles along with the envelope and let out a deep breath.

What does he mean? What does he mean by be "selected"? I already won the...

I look up to the tv screen, which is President Snow making a speech. Crap, I wasn't paying attention...

"Now we honor our third Quarter Quell on the 75th anniversary as a reminder to the rebels that the strongest among them cannot overcome the power 0f the Capitol."

No. No no no no no no no. He doesn't mean...

"The male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

I let out a blood curdling screech as I threw a pillow at the hologram of President Snow, but it didn't stop it. No one can stop it.

The worst part is that I know I can't, but if still want to. I stand up, tears spilling down my cheeks as I set the letter and envelope in the rusted burner of my old gas stove and turn it on.

Within a few seconds, the paper is reduced to black-coloured flakes.

I know what I have to do.