Windgrass (A Hunger Games Fan Fiction)

Twenty-two: Lethargy

I’m being lazy.

Because of my hand, I’m not allowed to touch the grain. It’s healing, but until the redness goes away I’m not allowed to touch the grain. There’s the possibility the cuts will open again, and Dr. Alois has enough on his plate with the explosion victims.

I find it odd that, during such a crisis, I’m so ludicrously calm. So many of the people in C are busy either helping the wounded or working overtime to make up for the lost corn (I just found out what was being processed in the factory that went ‘boom’). There’s talk of clearing the fields that are nearly ripe and planting a new crop.

One thing there’s never a shortage of in 9 is beer. The two most common types of beer are barley-based and wheat-based. Sometimes I think people drink more beer than water. We take all the grain that’s bad (it’s been stepped on, animals have gotten into it, it’s a bad strain, it-isn’t-ripe-yet-but-we’ve-already-harvested-it… I don’t envy those who have to go through and pick out all the bad grains). Believe it or not, we get quite a lot of bad grain. That’s why there are so many sectors (26!!) producing grain. I think it’s the factories in L, M, N, O, P, and Q that produce beer. They grow their own grain like the rest of the sectors, but their factories produce beer. Apparently it’s quite a hit in the Capitol. We also make other kinds of alcohol. I don’t drink, thus don’t care to remember them all. The only reason I even brought it up at all was because someone here reeks of the stuff.

I’ve noticed that there really isn’t anyone with my hair color in the District. People have hazel eyes, sure, but no one I’ve seen has copper-blond hair. I see brunettes, redheads (yes, there is a difference between their hair color and mine; theirs is more orange than copper) and I think blonds (it’s kinda hard to tell amidst the yellow grain).

Maybe my dad will know.

Mom and I walk briskly to the hospital. The air grows colder each day. I love the winter best. No work, hahaha.

Burns. Everywhere, burns. He doesn’t even look like my father much anymore. Only his eyes look the same, dark brown and somehow knowing. Mom starts crying and sinks to the floor, clinging to his bandaged hand. It’s an emotional deal, I know that… so why aren’t I doing the same thing? Just yesterday… was it yesterday? Or maybe the day before? I can’t remember… I was a sobbing, shrieking mess at Tally’s house.

I can’t help but stare at her in contempt. And a bit of jealousy.

She wanders off, asking for Frida but ending up speaking with a woman named Evelyn instead. Not that it matters, they’re both medically trained to a certain extent. though… if I remember correctly I think I saw Frida with a man… possibly Reoan, I’ve heard they’re close, but I cant be certain…

“Tell me about my father,” I said softly when she was out of earshot.

“He was a PK, as you like to call them,” Dad starts right away. He must’ve known that one day I’d learn about my… origin. “Drafted, from 9, like your PK, the Ripley boy. We were friends before the draft. Close friends, almost like brothers. Him, myself and Rye were inseparable. Then he got drafted, and the Capitol poisoned him. Not literally, but mentally. Some aspect of the training was so bad that he changed entirely. He came back to Nine a broken, distorted man. Your mother made a huge fuss about it. Naturally, the PK’s punished her. Everyone had their turn at her, he was the last. After that, he vanished off the face of the planet…” my dad falls asleep from a morphling injection someone gives him. I curse at the person mentally.

My father has cunningly omitted a name. I must go find someone to talk to.