Flooding Panem: The Hunger Games

Chapter One: Waiting

The wind stretching over the sea was strong, but it made the muggy summer day all the more pleasant. It was the kind of wind that filled your ears with a rushing sound, meaning that those standing next to you had to yell, or you wouldn't hear. The sort that made the waves crash five meters up the beach before collapsing into a white, salty foam. But it was also the kind that allowed you to lose yourself, whether it was in your surroundings or your own mind. I like that.

But I didn't really care for the sound of the wind at the time. I needed to get as far away from reality as I could get. The sun squinted through the layer of water that covered me, warming the sand under my back. The salt water barely stung my eyes; I've spent years swimming, like most people here. And I've spent every free moment at the beach.

My lungs were slowly shriveling into prunes before I finally came up, gasping for fresh oxygen. I checked the time. Time to go. Can't be late for the event of the year, can I? Wiping the sand off my legs, I pushed myself onto my feet and headed up off the cool wet sand onto the hot surface that had been heated by the sun all morning. Within the next few minutes, I was heading up through the wooden gates that separated the beach from the rest of the district. The small brick houses began to expand in size as I walked inland, the dirty greys fading into reds and browns.

Finally, I reached my house, a narrow two-story structure of dusty red brick. Risky, our dog, ran out to meet me, licking my ankles- but only after he'd crashed into them. He'd probably gotten himself locked out again. Normally I would have only popped in for a moment before coming back out to take him for a walk.

But not today.

Today, the norm was forgotten

The wooden door of our two-story house jammed, almost as if it wanted me to walk straight back out. The truth was that there was something stuck under the door, but it was nice to pretend.  While our shop gives us the appearance of being prestigious, nothing really works. I'm not saying we're poor- compared to the people living nearer the coastline, we're very well off. But our house is  run down, in need of repairs. Our food is generally cold, or leftovers heated up over the stove if we can manage. My clothes are thin in the winter and small in the summer. I do have my own room since my sister moved out last year, celebrating the survival of her teenage years. Lucky her. But I'd be seeing her this afternoon when my dad and I headed out to the square.

As I went up the rickety staircase, Risky at my heels, my fingers brushed the curtain that hid the worst of the damage that termites had done several years before. Wish me luck mom.

I’d last seen my mom when I was eight. She had never enjoyed swimming, but at mine and my sister's insistence we'd dragged her to the beach. Neither of us could ever remember what happened exactly, only that we’d come home alone that night.

So my dad had taken over the shop. He'd learnt to cook. He'd revised my mother's recipes. And he'd quit his job as a fisherman. Since that day at the beach, he couldn't bear to be near the water.

I shut the door to my room quietly, staring out of the window at the cloud filled sky. The room was simple and minimalistic, the only decoration being an elaborately embroidered baby blanket my mom had made. It was onto this that Risky jumped, his small black body curling in on itself as I searched through a trunk that sat at the foot of my bed. It was filled with all the dresses that were too formal to wear normally; I felt more than looked through them. Velvet, wool, linen and other fabrics greeted my hand; buttons and lace caught at my sleeve. I barely knew a thing about 'fashion'.

So I did what I'd done the year before; plunged my hand into the mess five times and laid each number onto my bed. It was funny how little they varied in colour- velvet summer skies lay over a silky midnight, which in turn stroked a pine green strip. My eyes scanned the dresses without really thinking, before I pulled out a light, summery choice. Absentmindedly, I did my hair, painted my nails and pulled on the dress. The only reason I was dressing up was to distract myself. It didn't work. Too many times, I found myself staring fearfully at the door.