FAILURE TO COMPLY ┃ f. odair

1.4 the silent mother

The life of an avox was something many people failed to understand. They were slaves, people said, tongueless slaves that were punished for past crimes whether justified or unjustified. But they didn't understand. An avox was not a slave, nor a criminal, not even a person. An avox was nothing, she was nothing.

It had been years, and her name was now little more than a word she could no longer speak. Every day was the same, serving food to citizens she may have once called friends. If she'd known what would come from giving up the same lavish lifestyle for a life in the districts would've done to her - a life she did enjoy for a while - maybe she would have chosen differently.

Somewhere in the haze of harsh words and harsher hits, the tribute centre had become her home. It was easier to remember the names of each of those poor children from District Five she'd served than it was to remember her own. While vowed to silence, she showed compassion in the smallest of gestures: gentle smiles and hard labour that kept them happy before being sent for slaughter. At least she was allowed to keep her life, however grim it was.

Still, every year that a stranger walked through those doors, it was like a new spark of life that kept her going, only to be quenched by the appearance of the man that followed, so close but so far. This year, as she stood in her imposed silence, any life and hope she had bore was crushed beneath the iron fist of Capitol oppression. Priya Silva wanted nothing more than to scream and cry when those doors opened to reveal her daughter and husband waiting on the other side. But she couldn't.

Roman had done this many times by now, glancing over at his long lost wife as the untouchable avox she had become. He couldn't even muster an upturn of his lips this time, because that silent promise he'd made to Priya was now broken in the very moment their family was finally reunited. His hand snaked over Calypso's shoulder in comfort she didn't yet know she needed. It was only a matter of seconds until she did.

"Mom?" the single word formed on her lips and escaped before she could stop it. There she was, the same beautiful woman that had held her and fed her and sang to her for fifteen years before vanishing off the face of the earth. Oh, how she longed to feel the warmth of her comfort again and not the sudden burn of her father's touch... because he had lied. For the past three years he'd been mentoring in the Capitol, he had to have known she was here. "Mom..."

Calypso stepped forward, but Roman pulled her back. She tried again, but he held her firm. Priya's eyes were sparkling with unshed tears, her lips parting as if wishing to respond. She closed them again and cast her eyes downward.

"No, mom..." she insisted, pulling her arm from her father's grip. She was halfway across the room when Monica caught her, pushing with strength and haste they'd yet to see from her. The Capitol woman's arm snaked across the silky fabric of Calypso's dress, forcing her away from the avox and towards one of the many luxurious bedrooms.

"Now, now," Monica gently chided, turning the younger girl to face her and wiping non-existent tears from under her eyes. "We don't speak to the avoxes, and they don't speak to us."

"She's my mother!" Calypso seethed, forcing herself from the other woman's hold. Monica stumbled back as she was pushed, but collected herself with ease. "How is she even here? Why? She went missing but I never thought... Some part of me assumed she'd just run away from us to come back here, but-"

"Calm," Monica soothed. There was such a calming lilt to her voice that would've aggravated Calypso if she weren't already feeling bad for how she'd yelled at the woman during the reaping. Closing her eyes, she let go of her anxious breath and allowed herself to be pulled into a soft embrace. "I'm sorry, my sweet. But we must remain poised and proper. This is not to punish you."