Through the dreary darkness that encompassed the arena, Hettie Burris and Dove Evans huddled together in the cold. Sopping wet, their clothes held more water than they had had to drink during the Games. Sustenance falling in sheets and torrents battering their flimsy raft, Hettie felt the rise and fall of the water beneath her, pushing and pulling as though trying to tear them apart. Dove was wide-eyed, staring fearfully out across the raging waters, the chilled liquid seeping into her bones as she sat cross-legged on the wooden planks, her tiny teeth chattering.
Hettie held her arm around Dove. The swirling water was inviting to Hettie, her eyes captivated by the darkness beneath her. Taunting her, the waves sprayed droplets into her hair and into her eyes. The sky was blackened, charred like the remains of a burned crop, but still, Hettie knew the storm would soon stop depositing rain, and the ground would be fresh and things would grow anew. Like droughts and like downpours in Eleven, things always rebounded, people always thrived, and things were always better in a month, a year, whatever it took to fix things. Hettie let Dove rest her head against her chest, her heartbeat echoing to Dove. The child, young and afraid, was loved by her in the arena. She knew how much her brother loved her, yes, however Hettie felt the pull of protection towards the girl. Who would care for her at home? None cared for the girl so much as she, more of a mother to Dove than Dove had experienced in her entire life. The thought made Hettie sad, few tears mingling with the rain so that they were indistinguishable from each other.
Hettie searched for her reflection in the swelling water, finding it and watching her wandering eyes scan her own appearance. She looked tired, as though she had aged ten years in a matter of days. Her smile was weak, laughter lines etched deep as were the wrinkles that lined her forehead. Within a span of a week, her life had taken a turn around, her years diminished as the waves grew bigger. Through the reflection, there stood in the deep abyss a mass which resembled a figure a lone person floating through the water. She knew, however, that it was not a real person, or, at least, a tribute. None were luminescent nor did any tribute have the dark skin that this person had. And as the figure slowly ascended near the surface, Hettie found herself staring at her own body. She was captivated by the sight, obviously caused by sleep deprivation, Hettie reasoned, until the woman's eyes opened and she opened her mouth, letting out a shriek in the water that sent Hettie and Dove's raft flying across the waves, smashing against debris and water exploding over top of them. Dove gripped tightly onto Hettie's sleeve as the water pooled just above their raft.
As the waves battered the raft, Hettie shielded Dove, bearing the weight of the storm but not backing down. If she were to survive, she knew she needed to be resilient, to be strong not only for herself, but for Dove. Nothing was over until it was over, losing hope meant losing willpower. Hettie thought back to the drought last year in Eleven as she murmured to Dove, trying to keep her warm even in its futility.
The drought had been carnage, leaving behind no sustenance. It was the worst year, and Hettie couldn't help but think of it time and time again. She had taken several jobs then, her family poor without their garden. Her husband was working on fixing the fields, but fixing something would not provide food for her children. Job after job, menial jobs to skilled jobs, Hettie took them all. She was aged, sure, but even though at time it had seemed like there was nothing to do, Hettie made sure there was always something coming home. She had questioned whether the few pennies coming in on the hard days would amount to anything, the sadness and pain on her children's faces still etched in her mind. Never again, Hettie had promised herself, would she let her children feel the worry and sadness of their mother coming home with nothing. So she had made do. Clothing needing repairs could be mended, anything but essentials were not bought. It was a hard life, but it was one people in Eleven had to deal with.
No matter how many times she had thought of the futility of it all, her children brought her back. Dove, now, was bringing her back. Her family, her children's faces, sparkling and bright, they were what pulled her back. Everything could be achieved, but nothing could be done if one didn't try. Failure, Hettie knew too well, was how to succeed. She felt herself battered and bruised but bruises don't last, however her actions and her skills did last.
Still, there was always the nagging part in her mind, as she stared deep in the water, that nothing really mattered, that working hard didn't get her anywhere but tiredness. It was a cycle that she could never break. To be happy meant to be secure, but to be secure meant she needed to be able to support her family, which at the best times in Eleven was difficult. She shook her head. Eleven was not her priority, the waves and Dove were. That was life though. Having to change and adapt and sacrifice, they were what made a human a human. Building up and tearing down, she knew that it was all a part of being human, of making connections and loving people so much she would die for them.
Her mind was shocked out of her thoughts by a wave, crashing against the raft and toppling both Dove and Hettie off. She felt herself submerge into the water, cold bitterness nipping at her bones and her lungs screaming for the air that did not come. She scrambled her way above the water, breaking into air as she stared frantically around, searching for Dove. Just like that, she had disappeared, gone in a moment. Hettie submerged herself again, her eyes open underwater as she tried to search for the tiny figure, but there was nothing. She gasped for air above, swimming over to the discarded raft, feeling the waves batter her over and over again. Dove was gone. And Hettie had broken her promise. She wondered whether it was a sign telling her to give up, whether it was finally time to stop playing the game and let go. But still she told herself: one more day.
One more day because life always threw something hard before something good. But as the waves pushed and receded, Hettie knew that good always came after bad, but that the bad came after the good. And so she sat on the raft, alone, riding along the waves as she waited for the sun to break out again.
YOU ARE READING
Writer Games | Masquerade of Martyrs & Family Ties
ActionWriter Games: Masquerade of Martyrs: last updated February 3 2015 Writer Games: Family Ties: last updated April 14 2015 Reuploaded with permission from AEKersey 2019