A Story from District 4

Chapter 4

Isla

I set my jaw and stare out at the horizon as Hector climbs the stairs of the stage, his familiar footfalls felt as though they were stampeding on my heart. I try my best to zone out of the situation, try my hardest not to hear the happiness in the Capitol woman's voice, or the hollow, emptiness of a Hector's. I want to put my hands over my ears, to muffle the world around me like a child, but I don't. I don't look up. I don't even move. I can't afford to dissolve into tears, not here, not in front of all these cameras.

I notice a shift beside me, and realise that the Mayor is talking again, reading from the long Treaty of Treason. This is better, his monotone is easier to ignore.

'A sick coincidence', I think, 'Such a cruel twist of fate'.

All those thousands upon thousands of names, and she chooses the two people Hector and I would give our lives for. It would have been easier if she had chosen me first. No child should ever have to be reaped. Ever, and now Pearl has to watch her sister fight in the Hunger Games. Her face seems to be plastered on the inside of my eyelids. I try not to blink.

Somebody taps me on the shoulder, the Mayor. I note that the anthem is playing through the speakers. He motions Hector and I to shake hands, and for a moment I don't think I can. I don't look up at his face.

I take a deep breath, and reach for his hand. It's warm, familiar, slightly callused, and from force of habit I glance up at his face. It's grey, empty, controlled. I wonder if my face looks the same.

He smiles reassuringly at me, and my control slips. I bite my tongue, in an fruitless attempt to regain my strength, but a single tear falls from my eyes. I can't smile back, I can't. I taste blood.

I am aware that the whole of the District, perhaps the whole of Panem, is watching my face, waiting for my resolve to crumble completely. I don't give them the satisfaction.

When the anthem ends, the Peacekeepers lead us through the front door of the justice building. In some small corner of my mind I notice how grand it is. White marble, high glass ceiling, crystal chandeliers. How can they afford this when I have seen children starving in the streets. The thought makes me nauseous.

The Peacekeepers train their guns off of us, and before they could stop me, I launch myself at Hector. I wrap my arms around his neck, bury my face in his shoulder, hold him tight as the sobs begin to rake through my body. I feel him still in shock, but recovers and pulls me closer. He rests his cheek on my hair. I can't be sure, but I think he cries.

After a moment, we are dragged apart, and I am led forcefully into a room off of the great reception. It is luxurious, but not spacious. The ceiling is low, but hosts a delicately painted montage of mermaids, sailing ships, sea monsters and blonde women holding tridents. A great, overstuffed couch sits in one corner, a low ornate table in the other. There are no windows, and the lack of natural light made me feel claustrophobic.

Sat upon the low table was a large floral jug, crystal glasses and a bowl of fruit. It felt like they were mocking me, like they were saying, 'Yes, you are going to die, but while your waiting, have a grape'. I had the sudden impulse to throw one of the glasses against the wall. What is the worst that they could do, fine me, lock me up? This idea was almost laughable.

Instead I slump against the couch and stare at the ceiling, letting the last of the tears dry up. I can't afford to cry properly, not yet. I have to appear strong for my family. I know it will probably be fruitless, but I don't want my family to worry. Most of all, I don't want my family's last memory of me to be one where I have given up.

I hear shuffling outside of the room, and the door bursts open. My mother runs in and throws herself against me. She squeezes me tight, tears streaming out of her eyes like a broken faucet.