Windgrass (A Hunger Games Fan Fiction)

Fifteen: Valley and Flower

I was out for my nightly walk, headed nowhere in particular.

My cold was gone, though my nose still ran a bit. I had a bunch of tissues stuffed in my jacket pockets, and they helped keep my hands warm. Instead of my usual spot, I wandered out around the fields, kicking small stones and sending puffs of dry dirt into the air. There are a few lights out here, but not many. And of those few, about half actually work.

At the edge of the… I think it’s barley, but it could just as easily be lentil… fields, the ones in E (7-13, I think), there’s a bit of forest. A few pine trees, some oaks, an ash tree, a hawthorn… and many, many more kinds of trees. There’s also a stretch of river and a pond. Standing bare-footed in it, the deepest parts reach my knees. Aisling and I used to play here when we were too young to work long hours in the fields. The ground changes almost instantly from dry dirt to lush green carpeting. Grass and moss grows everywhere. I still think this is where the excess water used in the fields runs to, which is why it’s so vibrant and green when most of 9 is the color of grain that’s ready to be harvested. Most strains are genetically engineered to grow quickly, so new crops are planted every month or two.

There’s a certain boulder I like to sit on, and play out my childish dreams. I always start by reciting the same statements, to help set the mood.

“I am the grass, cool and green, beneath the feet of folk that are fleet. I am the brook, cool and blue, bubbling pleasantly in calm serenity. I am the trees, tall and proud, spiraling high into the sky. I am the air, sweet and fresh, and carry the song of one long gone. I am Liluye, a fairy queen.”

I don’t know why I do this. I’ve done it since I was young. Aisling never mentioned it, but always smiled as I did it. I used to think I was crazy. I sometimes think I still am.

There’s no one around, and I was sure the Capitol couldn’t see me. I pulled out my panpipes, an instrument no one knows I play and can play well. I come here to pipe and listen to the mockingjays pipe back at me.

Lately I’ve been feeling so fragile… so spacey. It’s like I stepped out of a building and into a grey space devoid of gravity. I’m floating in limbo, with nothing to anchor me to earth. The notes come to me automatically. I’m not half bad for someone who was self-taught. I repeated the same set of notes for a while, until the mockingjays picked them up and started repeating them back at me.

Panpipes are my only real skill, however useless a skill it is.

There’s no skill in being able to carry two bales of hay, or draw pictures that no one sees. I’m not good at much of anything… but I love my panpipes. Sometimes I’ll play in my cherry tree, but only when I’m positive no one’s around. No one ever comes to the Grove, as I’ve been calling it for years.

The mockingjays played back the notes perfectly, so I moved on to a complementary set and we began to harmonize. I wonder if anyone in other Districts interact with animals the way I do.

I heard irregular noises in the bushes, and immediately scrambled up the nearest tree. I climbed them often as a child and know them very well. I can climb almost as well as someone from Eleven (agriculture). I can move between the branches swiftly and silently, jump from twenty feet above the ground and land softly and  silently too. This bit of forest feels more like home than my house, sometimes. Maybe Kael was right… maybe I am a fairy.

Lo and behold: Percival again.

Maybe there’s a reason we keep running into each other.

At first, I wanted to leap in my silent manner from the tree and surprise him, but his actions make me stop.