Ocean Tide Chapter 2

Hi there! Continuing to post my fanfiction on here, so some of my non-FF.net friends can read it! I don’t own the rights to Hunger Games, this is just for the sake of fun. Enjoy, and if you can, please review! Thanks to Kat for editing for me 😀

My father is waiting for me by the docks, holding a box of tools and a mop. “What the hell did Kione want?” he asks as I reach him. “He passed, and said something about two fish tomorrow. What’s that all about?”

I’m surprised Kione had the nerve to mention extra fish to my father. He’s a tall, broad man, with well-defined muscles from years of pulling fish from the ocean. While he’s usually a kind-hearted man, he’s not someone to mess with. I’ve seen him pick up and throw Kione before, for leering at my mother. Kione was being incredibly bold to mention that.

“I promised him two fish tomorrow. He was beating up little Annie Cresta.”

My father swears under his breath. “Kione has no brains upstairs. That little girl is harmless. Everybody knows her father can’t stand another tragedy.” He spits on the sand. “That man doesn’t deserve those fish. Make sure you give him something really bony.”

My father’s fishing boat is at the end of the docks. It’s the biggest one there, but still only big enough for a crew of four or five. At least it’s the best-looking boat on the docks. Even though my father owns it, it still is Capitol property. All of the fishing boats are. Most of the money we receive from our fishing goes into repairing the boat. My father spends all his time taking care of it, so the Capitol doesn’t take it away from him.

We board the boat, and I’m hit with the smell of rotting fish. The deck is coated with sand and kelp. I notice one of the rails has been bent out of place. My father shoos away some gulls that have taken roost on the railing, then sets to work unpacking the toolbox.

“Where’s the rest of the crew?” Usually, when the boat is under repair, everybody pitches in to help.

“I gave them the morning off. I’m just cleaning for the Capitol inspection tonight. Since they’re having so many busybodies in the District anyways, they’re doing inspections early this month.” He straightens up and grins at me, the grin everybody says I’ve inherited from him. “It is such a shame that you had school yesterday. You missed all the action.” He pauses for effect. “We caught a shark.”

I check my father’s face, unsure if he’s joking or not. “Oh come on, quit it. There’s no way you did.”

“A real shark, not one of those Capitol mutts they have patrolling out there.” He hands me a mop. “Shark fins are in high demand in the Capitol right now. I think we’ll get some extra money from them.”

“So we can finally fix that leak in the roof!” For the first time that morning, I felt a spark of hope. If the odds were in our favor, we could be looking at some extra food on the table, at least.

“Not so fast. I need a new sail first. Hopefully we will be able to at least get your mother a proper brace for her knee.” He looks positively cheerful at this thought. He turns to the railing and begins to work on straightening it out. “Get to mopping!” he calls over his shoulder. “Your mother wouldn’t like it if we were late for breakfast!”

XxXxX

The sun is well into the sky by the time we finish with the boat. We walk home, observing the signs of life from the village. Nobody is outside still, but windows are being thrown open to air out the houses.  People have hung their dressy clothes outside, hoping the sun will remove some of the continual dampness that clings to them. From some windows, the smell of breakfast cooking drifts out. If one wasn’t aware of what day it was, and the tragedy that was soon to follow, my village could be mistaken for a wealthy one.

Inside my house, breakfast has been laid on the table. My mother stands up from her chair shakily, and my father rushes over to steady her. She smiles at him, and for a minute I am caught up in how beautiful they look together. Before my mother’s knee injury, she was the best swimmer in the District. People often joked that she was secretly a mermaid, with her aquatic ability and good looks.

Mother hobbles her way over to the stove, brushing off my father’s attempts to help her. She returns with three bowls of hot grains. This is our standard breakfast, but today she’s topped it with little berries. Next, she brings over flat rolls spread with a thin layer of cheese, and on top of that was a layer of smoked fish my mother had saved for the occasion, however somber. We sit around the table and begin to eat, but the conversation is lacking. The formal breakfast has caused the realization to set in. Today could be my last day here.

After we eat, Father cleans up the plates, and Mother pushes me upstairs to bathe and get dressed.  After scrubbing myself clean of the dried salt water, I pull on long pants that used to belong to my father- they drag along in the dust- and button on a nice shirt. I’m not used to wearing shirts. I spend most of my time in the water, in the sun, fishing; shirts were unnecessary most of the time. The collar is itchy. Mother has been carried upstairs. She comes into the bedroom and combs my hair flat. She looks at me in the mirror and our eyes meet. Wordlessly, she puts her arms around me. We stay like that for a minute, before Father calls us from downstairs.

I’m pushed out the front door into the crowded streets. People have finally emerged from their houses and are heading towards the square. The movement is mechanical and forced. People stare ahead and file obediently towards their designated areas. I’ve heard sheep behave the same way, but I’ve never seen one of those in my life.

I’m swept along with everybody else. I look back to find where my parents have gone, but they’re already lost in the crowd.  I feel a pang of sadness. If I get selected, I’ll only get to see them one more time. Suddenly I’m regretting my silence at the table.

Those of us who are of-age are checked in and herded into our appropriate areas. I stand amongst my classmates and friends, trying to smile and laugh with them, but it’s forced. I can see it too, in their eyes. That fear that today could be their last day in this District.

And then the mayor is on the stage, addressing us, reading the story of how the Games came to be, like every year. I’ve memorized the story, and I find myself unable to focus on anything he’s saying. My heart is pounding; I can hear my pulse in my ears, racing like I’ve been swimming with a strong current. I can’t get enough air, and my palms start to sweat. This is it. Fredrick Himpleton is stepping up to the microphone now. For a moment, I am distracted by what he’s wearing- everything is turquoise, except for his hair, which is a white-blonde and spiked up like a puffer fish. My body vibrates with the adrenaline that comes with the nerves as I watch him saunter over to the girls ball, plunge his hand into the mountain of names, pull one unlucky slip out, and strut back over to the mic. It looks as if he is having trouble undoing the tape on the slip, and when he finally unhinges it, he calls a name.

“Ariel Stone.”

A pale sixteen-year-old with stringy red hair slowly removes herself from the crowd. I’ve seen her before in the halls of school. She isn’t a Career, but I’ve seen her throw small stones and watch them wedge their way into targets from over a hundred yards. She’ll go far in the Games. You can tell by the look on her face that she’s holding back tears, like she knows no one will volunteer for her. It’s not like she is the most popular girl in school, not someone the town would really miss. She wasn’t very nice, come to think of it. But, I guess that has to do with the tragedies of living in a world like our own. Her parents were murdered by the Capitol. Taken, and tortured for months before the were executed, and the only explanation the Capitol would give was that her parents frequently disobeyed laws and that we should be glad to be rid of a pair like them. I know it was because they attempted to start riots at the Reapings, tried to get us to start an uprising towards the Capitol. My parents told me, they used to be friends with Ariels parents.

I’m brought back from the land of memory to Fredrick calling for volunteers, and nobody steps forward, just as I suspected. Ariel doesn’t look too happy about this, but she also seems to know that no one would volunteer for her. Our old victor, Mags, steps out and gives her a reassuring touch, trying to comfort her, but Ariel shakes her off.

Fredrick then steps over to the glass ball with the boy’s names. His hand hovers, like he’s selecting a piece of candy, and then he daintily selects a paper from the surface. He returns to the microphone, and makes a big show of unfolding the paper. The suspense is killing us, and one twelve-year-old boy falls over. Everybody is momentarily distracted by this, and Fredrick uses the distraction as an opportunity to read the slip, a smile playing at his lips. He must have reached the desired effect.

“Callan Reed!”

I’m momentarily frozen, and then the name sinks in. It isn’t mine. Around me, I can feel the other boys relax, relieved that they’re safe. The fifteen-year-old boy steps forward, cracking his knuckles. A few of his mates clap him on the shoulder, shake his hand. He walks to the stage grinning, clearly he is excited for his moment of glory. Fredrick starts to call for volunteers, but Callan just waves his hand at him, telling him there is no need. Anyone who did volunteer for him would be foolish to do so. He’s clearly a Career, broad and muscular and unafraid. He grins at the camera as it zooms in on him.

“We might have a Victor this year,” the boy next to me whispers. I nod in agreement, still numb. Mags is our only living victor. The few Victors District Four had the glory of claiming have all died, except for Mags. They’d succumbed to the addiction of morphling, or even committed suicide. It’s a gruesome fate. I wonder if Callan could survive it, if he wins. He looks tough enough, and I think he has a very good chance of coming home.

The Tributes turn and shake hands as Fredrick thanks the crowd, and they are all escorted from the stage into the molding Justice Building. The crowd breaks around me, children running off to the safety of their families. I hear many sighs of relief, tears of joy. There will be much celebration tonight, from the families of those who were spared for another year. I wonder how the Tributes will be acting tonight? Can they really celebrate, even as Careers, under the circumstances? Their families will not join in on our celebrations. They’ll most likely pull the curtains to, and grieve, privately. Next week, their children will be fighting to the death, and there is a very real chance they won’t be coming home alive.

And I get to live for one more year.