Windgrass (A Hunger Games Fan Fiction)

One: Fiore

The fields were peaceful today, as my mother, father and I headed out to do our daily work. As always, I carried a small slice of pastry with me, to take to my sister’s grave. Not her real grave, of course, but a personal one I made myself. Just a pretty stone, the kind she liked to collect, surrounded by other smaller stones. I always bring her a pastry. She loved them so much.

Aisling was Reaped three years ago. All of us were shocked and frightened for her. She wasn’t the strongest person, especially compared to the Careers. She was sick often, and took care of the house while the rest of us worked with the grain. Some people work in the factories, packaging and distributing and transporting the grain, but most folk in District 9 work in the fields, tending to the crops. They’re fickle things, really, and require lots of attention. Several kinds are grown, and each one must be cared for differently than the others. Aisling had the better memory. She could recall each kind of grain, what it was used for, and how to tend it. I could barely remember all the kinds of grain.

I wanted to volunteer, but my father forbade it. I was younger, stronger, better able to work in the District than my sister was, even with my poor memory. So I watched, furious, as she was shipped off to the Capitol to be slaughtered with twenty-two other kids.

I refused to watch the Games. I would sit there with everyone at home, hunched over in front of the screen, but I wouldn’t see anything. I paid no attention to the brutes that may or may not be killing my sister.

Before I knew it, Aisling had made it to the final four Tributes. Only then did I begin paying attention, hoping she would win by some sheer miracle and come back to us. She didn’t. I kicked the screen with such force that it broke, when she died. According to my mother, her health had been poor during most of the Games. One cut left by a stupid Career had been her undoing. A vertical slice going from her wrist to halfway up her upper arm had gotten infected. Due to severe blood loss and the infection, she died.

A stupid virus killed her.

I set the pastry down on the ground, in the center of the circle of stones. My thoughts made me teary. I forced them to go away and returned to my family. My uncle called a greeting from his look-out spot in the treehouse.

Every day, I wish it were time for the Hunger Games again. I wish it were the Reaping. I wish I was lucky enough to be a Tribute. I probably wouldn’t last very long in the Arena, but I would try my best. I just want to bring some sort of sense of justice to Aisling’s death.