Through The 10th (HG FF)

Chapter 1-My Home

I never wanted to live anywhere but District Four. At fifteen, I knew that whatever the Capitol looked like could never beat the view I got from the lighthouse high window.

Besides the fish smell that comes from the canneries, no matter where you are in the district, you can always catch a whiff of the sea. Besides the large seafood-related factories that spurt up every so often, its full of small neat houses with bright paint. Red, yellow, green, you name it. If there's anything more welcoming then quaint cobblestone streets lined with cheery houses, I haven't heard it.

But the real hotspots are the golden beaches. Ships are always anchoring and leaving, each on their own schedule and deadline for fishing. People of all ages are always present. Little kids dart between workers, chasing crabs and playing pirates. Teen apprentices help with the nets, dreaming of adventure. Hard-working sailors look upon their vessel with pride and joy. Elders sit in the shade of palm trees, telling wild tales to anyone who will listen. 

So what if most us starve at one point or other? That never stopped me from enjoying life.

My parents died when I was two. They sailed away on their ship they shared. and never came back. They told me they were going to catch a sea serpent. I wonder if that's what they were really doing.

I'm not really that sad about it or anything. Mostly I don't even think about them. But sometimes I catch myself late at night, kneeling on my bed and gazing at the reflection of the crescent moon on the dark ocean, wondering if they're proud.

Ever since they left, I've lived with my uncle, Patagon. Now, he's a little strange. Ever since he was a kid, he's hated swimming, which is weird in District Four. Patagon has always been the brainy type. His job is fixing the lighthouse by the small inlet where ships fish for catfish, mainly in the spring. Patagon is a natural engineer. He has auburn hair just like mine, and always has his large glasses and lab coat on.

In fact, he's the first one to teach me about the golden ratio. "Look at this wave, Mags. Look at the segments of this pineapple." He'd point to the waves at sea, the sunlight bouncing off his glasses. "Everything in nature revolves around that ratio. 1:1.618. Human actions indirectly impacts each other, and we can trace the actions and the sequences back to this one ratio. Amazing!" 

Even though I didn't understand it, it had a mysterious quality I never understood, and I found myself searching for its presence in my life. I would stare at the waves and imagine that wave-like pattern, over and over and over again.

We live in the lighthouse. My bedroom is a small storage room that Uncle Patagon converted when I came to live with him. He sleeps by the whirring gears, always ready to fix them.

The rocky inlet was the perfect escape from the commotion of the beach. I would sit on the gray rocks and create my fishhooks, my favourite pastime. A lighthouse engineer doesn't pay that good, even if he deserves all the money in the world. So I help him out by making these hooks.

I've tried to explain this all to my best friend, Salin Odair, but if you want to get through to him, change your words to lyrics and sing them. Salin loves music. I first met him when we were kids. It was a day full of gray skies, with a rough ocean. I walked outside, and there he was. Sitting on his favourite rock, playing his cherished guitar, his sandy-blonde hair ruffled by the wind. He was eight and I was seven.

"Hey, I heard of those things! Its a guitar, right?" I chirped, walking over.

Salin looked up, and I still remember how those shining green eyes intrigued me. "Yeah, I love to play it. I'm Salin. Cool red hair."

"I'm Mags, and my hair is auburn." I replied matter-of-factly. We've been friends ever since.  

Every spare moment he'd come to play his guitar. I'd talk about my circle theory, or the golden ratio, and he'd laugh and tell me how passionate I'd get when I talked. Sometimes we'd just sit there, me weaving a fishhook and him playing a melody, the tide spraying us with mist.

Everything in my life was great. Until the day a slip of paper with my name on it was drawn.

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I wasn't planning to right another Hunger Games fanfic, but the scene with Katniss and Mags meeting  in Catching Fire really touched me. Anyone notice Salin's last name? I wonder what it could mean . . .

-Rue_Fan