A Story from District 4

Chapter 1

Isla

My sister and I walk hand in hand as we return home together from the beach. We hold hands a lot, although I do not know why, and I can't remember when it started. Probably after the accident. But today this simple act of affection is such a comfort, a reassurance. It feels like we are sharing the fear and anxiety slowly racing through my body.

Because the fear was mounting now. On the beach, hidden behind the palm trees and nothing but the sea to hear your cries, it was easy to think strong thoughts of fighting and bravery. Now, in the open, it begins to feel real, and the idea of fighting seems pointless, a childish notion.

The sandy streets are deserted and still. A band of Peacekeepers pass, their movements uniform and identical. Their armoured suits were white and striking next to the dark of their visors, all down, all unyielding.

In the distance, the small cry of a child could be heard. Then silence , and the distant crashing of waves.

As we turn onto the main street in town, a round object the size of my fist hits the back of my head with such a force I almost fall back onto the path. I look up in shock, thinking one of the many seagulls above me were dropping stones, when I heard the familiar, roaring laugh behind me.

'Watch your head, in coming...', my best friend boomed, the smile in his voice audible from fifteen metres away. He jogs up to us, all tossed hair and a boyish smirk on his face.

He throws something to Pearl, which she catches with ease. It is a Jaffa orange, bright, smooth, large. I turn to see another orange behind me, in the sand beside my feet.

'What the hell, Hector, you could have given me concussion!' I picked the orange off of the floor, and held it up to him, 'What is this?'

I obviously knew it what it was, but fruit of this kind was rare and precious in this District, unless you had the money to pay for them. Even with the combined income of my parents fishing supply shop and my fathers part time job as a fisherman, we couldn't afford luxuries such as oranges and silk hair ribbons and the fancy, iced cakes displayed in the bakery window.

'Just a gift from me to you, my friend, on tis' glorious day. Just the right weather for a good Reaping', his fake-Capitol accent oozed sarcasm, not quite masking the humour in his voice as I rubbed the back of my head in pain. I could feel a lump forming.

'A gift from you?' I ask sceptically.

'Well technically they're a gift from the mayor', he said casually, peeling the skin off his own orange and popping a segment into his mouth.

'You stole from the mayor?', I gasp, laughed in disbelief, 'On Reaping day? Are you insane?'

'You can screw your oranges if you are going to question the legality of my actions, Miss Jackson', he said, a layer of mock hurt in his voice, his eyes laughing.

'Did you? Steal them I mean?'

'Well, obviously, but I was discrete. You know me, discretion is my middle name'

That was hard to believe, at 6 foot 2, Hector towered over most people he met. He was well built, muscular, but his smiling, sapphire eyes seemed to soften the bronze skin of his face. His grin seemed to be a permanent feature on his face, as much as his high cheek bones and his slightly crooked nose. I have to admit that he was handsome, but he was arrogant enough to know it.

'Hec, you can't go around stealing, especially today! This place is crawling with Peacekeepers.' As if on cue, two armoured Peacekeepers marched past, holding heavy looking guns, 'They won't take any of your crap today, they'd probably shoot you dead on site.'

'Like you have never stolen from the Mayor' he said, rolling his eyes and smiling, 'You're not all innocent, Miss Jackson.'

'Not on Reaping day I haven't.'

He sighed. 'You need to stop stressing, La La, it's not good for you', he smiled at my exasperation, running his fingers through his shaggy, sun bleached hair.

'Stealing from the Mayor on Reaping day isn't good for you! I swear you're on a death wish, Hec! Do you have any self preservation?'

'Just eat the damn orange, Isla! You'll give yourself an ulcer' he muttered. I smile at his apparent irritation, he never gets annoyed, but when he does it makes me laugh. I dig my fingernails into the fruits tender flesh, and popping a delicious segment into my mouth. We stay silent for a moment, savouring the sweet, citrus taste on our tongues.

I take his hand, and lead him to the low brick wall outside my parents shop. It was shaded there, beneath the veranda.

'Are you nervous', I ask after a while, my voice quivering. He squeezed my hand, but looked out at the street with apparent interest, and waited a moment before answering.

'Not for myself', he murmurs, and when he sees my curiosity, he continues, 'It's Johnny's first Reaping, he's terrified. My Aunt is beside herself.'

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 'He doesn't know that he's safest one in there. If his name is called, I'd volunteer in a heartbeat.' His voice was almost a whisper as he continued', 'Johnny is all my Aunt Clara has got in this world, it's brutal how easily the Capitol could take that away from her. But I'd never let that happen.'

'But what about your Mother.' My voice is so quiet I am surprised that he heard it.

'Nicky and Vernon will be able to look after her just fine', referencing his brothers, 'I'm not saying she wouldn't miss me, or that she wouldn't be angry if I volunteered. She would. But I couldn't sit back and watch him fight knowing that I could have fought in his place. He's strong, but you have seen the trolls they get in from One and Two, he wouldn't stand a chance. And you never know, maybe I could win.'

'Thats so... noble of you'

His answering smile is humourless. 'Its not noble, it's what any decent human being would do. It's a shame that a persons humanity is so often masked by fear.'

I squeeze his hand, and rest my head upon his shoulder, and I feel the tense muscles loosen.

'Happy Hunger Games...' I whisper, so only that he could hear.

He stares at me a while and smiles. '... And may the odds be ever in your favour', he replies with a chuckle.