SUPERNOVA! she cried, as the world before her exploded into seemingly millions of stars-glowing, waiting for the touch of it's owner. Sitting upright, the woman couldn't pull her eyes from what sat. And she knew it was a horrible trick.
Nova Pete...
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CHAPTER THREE EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED !
THE NEXT MORNING COMES VERY slow. The sun doesn't show through the windows, unlike the Capitol. The sky lays a horrible grey, soaked in eternal elephant-ivory darkness. The only clouds seen through glass are clouds of smokey air, wet in vapor and rain droplets. The land is white and gray all the way to the massive hydronic dam, only as far to be seen near Victor's Village. No, the sun doesn't show and hasn't for years. An eternal decade.
When Nova opens her eyes, she's almost startled to not see the bright, shining, burning ball of gas. It's always been in the Capitol, land of all lands—rich of all rich. There it shines orange and amazingly bright, and it's hypnotizing. Her district is not the Capitol. Five's ugliness makes her almost depressed.
Nova's bronze legs are pained under the milk-colored silk sheets. Her shoulders are, too, feeling as if she's covered in invisible bruises. She knows that it had been the best sleep she'd had in a good three months; no kicking, no moaning. Only herself and the soft blow of smoggy wind, a bird's chirp-like song here and there, the zips of oncoming trains a mile away.
The day keeps rolling on slow as Nova eyes her hands, looking at each finger, feeling how cold, how hot, how soft, how hard. How long her nails are, how wrinkled the skin is near her stressing veins. She can hear a tree rustle outside, which reminds her of a season of the past, maybe a fond memory, maybe not.
Nova gently pulls the blankets off of her waist, and with a throbbing soreness, sits up from a lumpy bed. Her hair is a straight sheet of darkness today, her top and night-pants ruffled at her knees from the shifting in the night. Her cheeks are an unusual, morning red as the familiar smell of breakfast comes from downstairs.
Nova knows that she's an early riser in the day, that the grey light has only just replaced the black, choking darkness. When she's home, Peter and her father rise late in the morning—making it unusual for the first meal to be made at grey-dawn.
She slips out of bed with horrible doubt, feet touching, slamming the freezing floor with a PANG. In the Capitol, she feels the need to be graceful and gentle.
But Nova Peters is not in the Capitol.
Polluted District Five is her home, which makes her feel more reckless in youth. At twenty-three years old, she hadn't felt that way in a long time. The reminder that she didn't have to be constantly careful to feel relief. A promise.
The smell becomes stronger when Nova quickly walks to the door, twists the knob, and opens it with a strange force. The white door swings open and shuts behind her when she steps out of it, taking small steps down the slabbed-stairs. The pictures of family pass by. She knows she's lucky to have these memories framed—because others couldn't always be.
