Ceaseless Fire
Written by: SydneySparklesong
Edited by: Katniss
I open my eyes at the smell of herb soup. I hate herb soup! I only hate it because it’s made from plants, and I love plants; or any living thing really. It was the day of the reaping. I could tell this because we always have soup for breakfast on the reaping and only because it’s the best we have since the loss of my father. Ten years ago on a peaceful afternoon at the farm, a candle fell over by the cows and the barn caught on fire. Smokey flames were flying everywhere! My mother and I just barely managed to make it out that gray day. As the fire slowly came to an end, my mother and I waited forever for him to come out of the life-threatening smoke. But he never did. He was the farmer in our family. I smile at the thought of him....He would always let me have the last drop of milk from the cow and give me the chicken leg. He would call me 'Angel’ and hug me tightly on bad nights, because he always said I was such an angel. It’s almost impossible to live without him and I can never stop thinking about him. I got out of my torn bed and opened my dusty wooden drawers. I pulled out my special reaping day dress. It was a soft blue cotton dress made by my mother. It had dark blue buttons down the chest and it was lacey on the neck. I can remember wearing this dress everyday on the reaping for two years of my life. It’s one of my most prized possessions because my father got it for my mom. Sometimes…it still smells like him, too.
"Morning mom," I said yawning, with a mouthful of air.
"Good morning, sweetie." My mother said in a softly-toned voice with deep brown eyes and pretty wavy hair. She’s always been pretty. My father must have loved her a lot. It’s obvious why now.
"You forgot to milk the cow last night," she moaned. I silently groan in my head…I hate that cow. I shrug off the thought and finally respond,
"Sorry mom." I mumbled. Our cow was named Portia she was an adult female cow that we have had as long as I could remember. I yawned once more as I trotted into the kitchen and got some old banana bread. The bread had raisins and nuts inside it. At first, it tasted like tree bark, but it was either this or starvation. I stuffed the cold, crumbling bread into my mouth and chewed quickly. Through the whole entire night last night hunger was gnawing at my stomach. I finally had the food I yearned for.
"So today's the reaping you know." My mother said and she brewed some hazelnut coffee.
"Yes I know." I moaned as I sat down on a dirty wooden stool eating my bread. I look around our small gray house. Why can't we earn more money? If we had more money we could be living in an average house and not a small cottage made entirely of wood.
"Well I better go get ready." I whispered to myself as I swallowed my bread. Even though the bread was rotten I wanted more. Hunger struck my stomach; I would never eat food so quickly ever again.
I walked into my room and looked into my broken mirror. I have had this mirror since my father died. We found it in his room the day after his death, but when we found the mirror it wasn't shattered instead it was perfect at least until I dropped it. 7 years of bad luck… At first I was mourning because of my actions, but I decided to keep it and forgot it ever happened. I mean it’s still a treasure, right? Then I tied my messy brown hair in a ponytail. My bright, blue cyan eyes seemed to glow in the mirror and my peach skin looked shinier than it should. Then the thought of the reaping struck me. I know I won't get picked…I’m only fourteen years old… I thought to myself a bit but in the back of my mind there was this voice screaming that I still had a good chance. I knew it was right Then I walked out of my room once more and said, "So are we ready?" in a gloomy tone. My mother just nodded a deathly silent nod, and opened the door.
-End of Chapter 1-
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Chapter 2
"Adabelle Harrison!" The announcer yells! "No!" I screech, "NO!” Not me. The audience was dead silent, no volunteers. None at all. Tears flooded from my eyes, as I walk through the aisles of children. Everyone of them had a look of remorse, their last look at me before my cold, lifeless body appeared before them in a coffin decorated with roses and other things that I once treasured. Before I step onto the stage I look back at everyone, hoping for volunteers but, no one answered. A panged expression creeps across my face as I know it, and I drop to my knees and weep a loud, sobbing death cry. It was over I was going to the games.
My shoes hit the ground. I mean I probably won't get picked, If I survived the last two years of reaping then I can certainly survive this one! Then I realized we were almost there and that it was just a small daydream; A frightening daydream at that. I shake the thought away and continue looking forward. The first thing I notice is a large maple tree. I remember when my father and I used to come out here. I’d climb to the top and cry because I was afraid of heights. He, my daddy, would come up and carry me down without a fault.
We arrived at the town square faster than I imagined... The square was decorated with banners that had the Capitol's seal on them. Some were blue with red stripes and some were green with yellow stripes. There were also balloons along the rim of the stage. All of the balloons were pure white. Probably couldn't afford to buy colored ones, this is District 11 after all. This is the one time where the Square actually appears to be full of festivity. Unfortunately, this is just another year where a child met his or her death. This is the square where dreams, hopes, and family die away. Of course we don’t die here. We die in an arena that can differ from any sort of climate. One year it was an arctic wasteland. That year was bloodless and not very entertaining for the idiots in the Capitol.
When we get up to the check-in table there is a tall, tough looking peacekeeper. She was in a white suit with a big white helmet that had the Capitol’s seal on it...That seal pops up everywhere.
"Next," The peacekeeper says as if she was bored. The line moves up a little bit and I’m about two people away from the frightening prick. I never liked needles or anything sharp in general. I guess it’s one of my phobias. It’s a pity, really, because I have to have my finger pricked for the next four years.
“Next!” the lady Peacekeeper repeats. I then realize she’s talking to me.
“Sorry,” I mumble and I put my finger up to her small, thin hand. She takes a small device that pricks my finger. I grit my teeth. It wasn’t much pain at all, but it reminds me of the pitchforks that stabbed some of the people when they fell in the barn fire. The thing that pricked my finger returns to safety in the device. After a quick buzzing sound the device reads “Adabelle Harrison, 14, District 11,” and the rest of my information essential for proof that I was there. Everyone that is eligible for being a tribute is separated by age; the 18 year olds in the back, 12-year olds in the front. I find a somewhat cozy spot in the middle of the reserved area for girls my age. Quietly, I wait for the reaping to start. While waiting, I catch the eye of my best friend, Isabella. She gives a quick nod as a sign of good luck. I take a deep breath and give her an ‘its OK look,’ she nods again and turns away. A few minutes later the announcer steps onto the stage. Our District 11, Cloee York escort has bright blue hair that flows down her back in waves with pink highlights. She always wears a luxurious black gown with silver rims, and what looks like forever tall high-heels. It must take her hours just to get ready, because honestly, it must take a long time to look as ridiculous as she does.
"Welcome everyone Welcome!" Cloee trills,
"Today I will choose one brave young man and women to compete and represent District 11 in the 47th annual Hunger Games," she goes on, “but first…a treat all the way from the Capitol!” A treat? Since when was a reminder of us being almost demolished from the face of the earth a treat?! I have no way to suggest that it is...The Capitol Anthem plays and a video featuring bombs, bullets, guns, deaths, coffins, and more goes off. It’s gruesome to look at and almost an annoyance to be reminded of. The video is somewhat a slap in the face to the districts, just because it reminds us of what we almost became; dead.
The Capitol seal appears again and the video flashes off. Cloee purses her lips and trots back to the mic.
“Wasn’t that just,” she ponders for the right word for a moment “delightful!” she shrieks triumphantly. I want to scream no, but that would result in a bullet to my head. Someone screamed ‘no’ about five years ago; and believe me, that’s not something you can unsee. Cloee recaptures the audiences’ attention by squealing like a pig,
“Well…Ladies first, as always!”
She always says the exact same thing every year. I would suggest changing it once in a while so the audience doesn't get bored, but that’s not going to happen if she keeps being as dumbfounded as she is now. Cloee scoops her hand into the gigantic clear bowl and pulls out a tiny paper. She unfolds the stained white paper and reads the name aloud,
"Adabelle Harrison!" she yells with excitement.
My eyes open wide, she had called for me. I knew my face had gone white as paper, but I pull myself together as I walk up the isles of teenagers and children. Deep breaths, keep your stomach in, and don’t cry. If I cry, the other tributes will take note of it. The reaping; had sounded way worse in my daydream on my way there, but I guess I knew it was coming.
"Any volunteers?" she squawked. The audience was speechless; I bet they knew what was coming too. I grimace at my mother. First my father, and now me…I wonder what’s going through her head right now. Probably what she’ll do with herself once I’m gone. She shouldn’t think those thoughts because I’m going to win. For her. For District 11, I have to. I’m not much of a survivor, but I know if I really pay attention in training, I might be able to pick something up! What if it’s…not enough? If it’s not enough then I’m dead for sure.
"OK then, now for the boys." Cloee snaps me back to reality.
I looked into the rows of boys, and wander across the faces of the boys I went to school with. There was Quinn who was the most athletic. Then there was Indigo, the most creative
"Adrian Forewell!" Cloee yells.
My eyes widen. I know him. He was my best friend in Kindergarten. We had this giant fight back in fifth grade over something stupid. I’m not entirely sure what anymore, I think it was over who got the better pay in District 11, me or him. After that, I talked to Isabelle more and him Quinn. It was a shame because we used to gather together. We used to sing songs together. We, him and I, were inseparable. I look at him in the eyes, and smile. He still had the same brown eyes that made me melt. A tall muscular man with ashy, dark brown hair and brown eyes would certainly not have any issues retrieving sponsors. In a way I’ve waited my whole entire life for this moment. The moment where we would then realize we were but ignorant, stupid children. Never did I think that we would meet again during our deaths.
"Any volunteers yet again?" Cloee howled. The audience seemed quite again. That means I am forced to fight with him, the man. I almost feel upset that after this, we won’t be alive together. "Now come one you two shake on it." She said with a grin. I reached out my hand to his and did my best remembrance shake. Instantly, there was a spark. He gives me a reassuring squeeze, and I let go first. Cloee holds both of our wrists up and screeches in my ear
“Our tributes, Adabelle Harrison and Adrian Forewell!”
She then hassles us inside the Justice Building and shoves us into our private rooms. I hope the Capitol has got what they wished for. Certain death.
[End of chapter 2]
Subject: Ceaseless Fire - Written by Sydney Sparklesong 
April 9th 2012, 9:03 pm
