nepenthe (n.) - an ancient Greek word, defined as a medicine for sorrow. it is a place, a person or thing, which can aid in forgetting your pain and suffering.
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Leora always knew her stealing would get her into trouble one day. That's okay, she lov...
JULY 4TH is a day most people in Panem dread. For some, it’s a certain death sentence — for others, a weight that’s lifted off their shoulders for another year.
And every single time, the absurdity of it all angers Leora over and over again. She has attended four reapings; this year will be her fifth, and the very thought of having to line up with the other children again makes her feel sick. If your name is called in Five, you’re as good as dead. They haven’t had a victor, not once. And she doubts there will be one this year either.
The unfairness of the Hunger Games aside, Leora also knows that the reaping system — though the Capitol claims it’s all fair and square — is a piece of work. At sixteen, her name will be in the bowl five times. Every year, the odds of her name being pulled get higher and higher.
And she knows damn well the mayor’s daughter doesn’t need to worry about any of that. While still technically eligible, her dear father would never ever send his daughter off to death. Leora isn’t cynical; she doesn’t want the girl to die; she just wishes she’d live with the same anxiety as everyone else her age.
In the previous year, the boy, Newton, had to be dragged up the stage by Peacekeepers. When his name was called, he didn’t bat an eyelash and refused to step forward. Unfortunately, everyone knew the burly boy who would always hang out near the Joule. While he wasn’t a customer, Leora knew him from school. He was a troublemaker, but she liked him.
They say he passed on the way to the Capitol. How? The people in Five — his parents — never found out. All they received was a coffin of their son’s dead body, not even three days after the reaping. The Games had just started, and they had already sent him back. The Capitol certainly doesn’t waste space, especially not for a district-born.
Scrubbing away the remnants of last night’s filth, Leora furrows her brows in concentration. The mirror in their dingy little bathroom is cracked, but it’s still enough for her to see her reflection. She drags the damp towel along her jaw one more time and finally heaves a sigh. Her braids aren’t perfect, but she’ll live. She only tied her hair up so it would get wavy after taking a swim in the lake anyway.
