𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑶𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒓

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

Birthday Boy

Sometimes, half the punishment is the wait for said punishment.

Having to go about your life, knowing there's one shoe lying at your feet, the other still suspended above your head precariously.

That's what Rosie was being forced to do, despite being on her best behaviour, she knew there would be repercussions for murdering Valencia. Some of which were self-imposed. The teenager felt like a danger to others, she had killed, again. And no one in District 9, except for Kit, knew. All the rest of the people around her bugged Kit for an answer, but he'd always answer telling them it wasn't up to him to say anything. And when they bugged Rosie, she'd say she was fine.

Her body was now littered with small pink scars, and one larger, pink scar on her thigh. One Finnick was made to sew shut. Clearly, Snow didn't want her to professional medical attention, if he did the Peacekeepers would've taken her there, and not dumped her at the District 9 accommodation.

But, on the morning of Orion's birthday, Rosie had dragged Jessica out to get acorns for bread. She'd also done a lesson with Kai—who still didn't leave Rosie alone, despite knowing she only helped him when she needed a baked good her Uncle couldn't make—to get some cupcakes.

With a wicker basket shared between them, the teenage girls walked through the thick forest running against the permetre of District 9.

"I can't believe the little dude is ten. I swear he was a toddler a week ago," Jessica laughed. She bent down and threw a few more nice-looking acorns into the basket. "And he's getting tall, he didn't get that from your Uncle."

Rosie rolled her eyes. "You're one to talk, Miss I-didn't-make-five-foot."

Jessica picked up an acorn and threw it at Rosie, it bounced off her forehead. The teenage girl rubbed the stinging spot. Glaring at her friend, Rosie flipped her off.

The day was nice, a breath of fresh air for Rosie. She'd cooped herself up since returning from the 70th Hunger Games. Granted, it took a month for her to even hobble a short distance without collapsing. Finnick was no doctor, that much was obvious. Then, Rosie was sad because Zavir and Mr Cinnamon never came to pick her and Kit up for the Victory Tour; she actually hadn't been back to the Capitol since leaving an injured mess.

Rosie wondered what Finnick thought of her, they hadn't seen one another in nearly a year. And, last he saw her, he was sewing her thigh back together—badly.

"You think these are enough?" Jessica lifted the heavy basket. "Because if you want to have these ready for tonight we're gonna have to get these to my Mum."

Nancy Hamm made the best acorn bread in all of Panem, hands down. Second to none.

Throwing one more in, Rosie gave the play to head back.

The winter frost was finally beginning to melt off, leaving the grass a slushy brown. Rosie picked at the hem of her thermal shirt, anxiety pumping through her as they walked through the heart of District 9. The streets bustled with those going to work, mill workers heading to the side of town they were stationed out, and the people tending to the fields gathered their tools. There was a peaceful quiet, people were tired so the conversation was quiet and to the point.

Rosie wasn't a morning person, she was about to fall asleep where she stood, but she did like the mornings. The crisp quiet. Listening to the birds waking up, was a sound she loved. The night wasn't as pretty as the morning.

The mornings represented something new, the night represented something lost.

Peacekeepers were stationed in the occasional corner, their presence imposing as they looked for people breaking any laws.