Trials and Tribulations

Chapter One

It's in the wind, and the trees, and the rustle of the leaves, and the waves that crash hard and fast against the shifting sand of the beaches. It's in the voices of her family, in the hateful steps of the peacekeepers, even in the unassuming chirps of the birds in the trees. It's most notable in the clang of swords that echoes on occasion, reverberating across the water, whispering into the ears of the citizens. The call of death is heard anywhere you are in District Four.

From the mystical caves of District Twelve to the glimmering luxuries of District One, beauty is not something you find in Panem. Even The Capitol, the most captivating of all, is ugly in its depth, people with painted faces and heavy wigs walking the streets with empty insides.

But when trapped in a dire situation, when faced with growing far from large apartments, and fruitful smiles, one must find the allure in the little things.

And this is why Juniper Calloway is so mesmerized by the sun glinting off the water.

It spills like butter, tipping from the sky into the salty spray, lighting up the crystal-clear waters. The light splashes so intensely, so desperately, that it even touches the pale skin of Juniper's face, shining her golden, painting her bright. It all spreads and spreads, warming the roots of her hair that nears platinum, trickling to illuminate the piercing blue in her eyes. She leans her head back into it, letting the light wash over like the unpredictable ocean.

She sits away from the water itself, perched higher on the beach, letting the crabs scuttle over her legs so fast it's as if the little creatures have somewhere important to be. Juniper rips into the green bread she clutches tightly beneath her fingers, the color of the seaweed it's made from being a normality to her.

"Junie! I caught a fish!"

The gold of the scene wraps its enticing fingers around the net Penelope is holding onto for dear life, sunlight weaving across her face and body. She's got each side clasped tightly together, hands looping through the holes to entrap the struggling fish who's been caught in a terminal error.

Juniper gets up at the shout from her sister, mini wrap skirt flowing its sage green fabric just around her thighs as she stands. As she approaches the water, her feet sink deeper and deeper into the warm granules of sand, almost swallowing her up whole wherever she touches. The wind continues to whisper its ominous words as it blows at her hair, and Juniper smooths it down, letting the strands tickle at the bottom of her ribcage.

"Congratulations Penny," Juniper replies with a soft smile. Giving Penelope no warning, Juniper underhand lobs the bread to her, the girl catching it just before it drops into the water and begins degrading rapidly. "Good catch. Now go eat on the sand, if you spill crumbs here the sharks will come and get you."

Penelope's large green eyes widen, and she hurriedly passes the net to Juniper before scurrying to the shore, over to the blanket Juniper just rose from. No sharks roam this close to shore, but Penelope doesn't have to know that. Juniper just wants her sister gone when she kills the fish.

Juniper lifts the net out of the water and holds it in the air, fish laying loosely at the bottom. With her other hand, she reveals the handheld scimitar clutched in the hand behind her back. The brown leather slips familiarly into the palm of her hand, and Juniper handles it gently yet with practiced ease. She got it as a gift for her tenth birthday, the yellow outline of a wave embroidered into the case.

As she slides the scimitar out, Juniper runs the tip of her finger lightly over the blade, taking in the sharpness. Peering into the net, Juniper sees the medium-sized fish flopping around. She identifies it quickly as a flounder based on the brown scales. She intends to kill it quickly, wanting to end its suffering at the hands of asphyxiation. She tries not to watch it move frantically for too long. The less she knows about it, the less it hurts to watch the light leave its eyes.