Author Games: The Last Cannon

TASK EIGHT: Naerissa Meridian

I wonder if she would look as scared as she does to me right now if I was anyone other than her mother. Something tells me that nobody else can see through Naerissa the way I seem to think myself capable of, not even her. Whether I'm imagining the fear or not, I don't think I can tell at this point. Certainly not after staying up so late to see my child safely through the night.

Night; a strange thought. The last time I looked away from the screen could only have been minutes ago but I could have sworn it was mid-afternoon and yet now the room is flooded with midnight shadows. Wondering what the time is and how quickly it has slipped away from me, I rise slowly from the armchair. When I stand, I try to ease away the aching sensation from my stiffened limbs with a gentle massage. The pain is surprising; I had not thought I'd been so still for so long.

Exercising my limbs in a slow pace about the living room, I eventually pause by the window looking out onto the street. I linger by the pane for a few moments to observe the sandy houses still decorated with confetti and the flags of various colours strung up between the little shacks from the reaping weeks ago.

With so many of our own still left in the Games, no one could blame us for showing our support of our favourite tribute in one of the few ways we can. The further you get towards the town square, the more you can see the faint gold lettering spelling out the names of Ren and Samus alongside my daughter's in equal amount. Here, however, there is only Naerissa's.

Observing the quiet scene outside with a glimmer of fierce pride, a slight chill slithers in through the cold glass and I'm forced to pull Nessa's dressing gown just a little closer to my heart. It's rare that we have a cold night in Four - certainly during the summer - which makes room for dark superstition. Cold means death in Four, they say, and I can only hope the unlucky thought will not work its way into my daughter's mind.

Remembering that she is currently alone, I start and leap towards the abandoned armchair once more. I chastise myself for neglecting her when she needs me the most, even if she doesn't know that she does. I remind myself that there's no way to let her know that I'm here; that I've been here on the other side of the screen the whole time.

Still, I cannot help myself. I know that I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I left her too long and a cannon fired in her honour. The last time I left one of my children alone, he was delivered back to me, grey and dripping wet, in the arms of his younger sister. The thought that my eyes leaving Nessa's side for even a second could do the same does not bear dwelling on; I won't let myself lose her, too.

Striding carelessly across the short and cramped distance, something loud clatters to the floor when I brush past the old coffee table. Never turning my back from the television screen in front of it, I bend down with a handkerchief in hand to wipe up the remains of a previously intact bowl of soup. Strange; I don't remember a meal being placed next to me. I don't remember Cress cooking it, actually. I don't even remember when he left me alone to retire to bed.

Now that I think of it, I don't think I remember much of anything other than what I have seen on the television in front of me. The days seem to pass too quickly before it and the memories form one long blur, suddenly turning into an almost endless night before I know it. I wonder; when did she get as close to the end as she is? 48 tributes went into the arena and she's one of the last. I don't think I'll be able to sleep soundly until she is the last.

Falling back into routine, I settle into the chair once more and continue to watch her. I'll watch her until she falls asleep, I decide, before I do the same. Unfortunately, judging by her active behaviour, I doubt that she'll be settling down any time soon.

To anyone else watching her storm through the arena right now, I bet they see a fiery girl filled with spite towards a broken alliance who left her before she had the chance to prove herself a worthy victor. To me, she looks lost in every sense of the word. Perhaps I know her better than she knows herself, for she won't let herself accept what we both know to be true.