Jeopardy: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Mystery - Perry

Perry

When Mother finds me face down, sniffing the carpet, she doesn't seem surprised. She stands in my doorway with her hands on her hips, trying hard not to smile.

"I think I probably know the answer," she says, "But Perry, what are you doing on the floor? Again."

"Testing gravity!" I explain, "It still works!"

"Oh good. I do worry that one day you'll stop falling over and gravity will stop working. Come on, get moving. Everybody else is already starting to go to the square."

"But -"

"Perry!" She instantly switches on her mother-voice, the one that means 'do as you're told or no supper tonight'. Though that means that I'm at home tonight.

I pull myself up off the floor and dust myself down even though there's no dust on the carpet; Mother cleans it every day because dust makes Father cough. It doesn't stop me from tripping over it at every available opportunity.

"That's better," she chirps, wrapping me in a quick, squishy hug, "Your clothes are on your bed. Try not to crease them." And she bustles out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

I sit on my bed for a while, looking at the towers of smoke out of the window. The machines make a nice rhythmic chugging noise in the background. They must be very noisy up close and I'm glad that I don't have to work in them. I've seen some of the children who do and they're very dirty and thin and they're always coughing. They look like they've never seen a bath before. Some of them even have limbs missing, which is disgusting.

My clothes are folded neatly on my bed. Mother must have put them there when I was getting some bread. I wish I could make District Eight bread. It's all plaited into a braid, sometimes longer than my hand, but whenever Father tries to show me how, I can never do it. Last time the flames in the oven were making pretty patterns, which were much more interesting to watch.

My trousers feel very uncomfortable as I fiddle with the buttons on my shirt, having to redo them three times before they finally line up right. It's a nice shirt, very soft, but it doesn't feel very warm and outside, a few drops of rain are starting to spatter against the windows. It always rains here. It's always cloudy, anyway.

My trousers feel uncomfortable because they're on the wrong way around! I stop a moment to laugh at myself. My laughter sounds so funny that I laugh even more, and soon I'm rolling on the carpet, giggling, even when I almost hit my head on the table by my bed.

Eventually the laughing subsides and I try and put my trousers on the right way around again. Then I can't find my shoes. I know what they look like; black and glossy because Mother will have polished them, but I can't find them anywhere. I try looking under the bed, earning a knock against the metal leg for my troubles. It hurts for a moment, so I sit still and watch the colours swirl until they go away. I try looking on the bed but they're not there and that would have been uncomfortable to sleep on if they were. I can't go to the reaping with no shoes or I'll look like the factory children!

Then I glance in the cracked but clean mirror on the back of my door and start laughing so hard that my tummy hurts.

I'm wearing them.

This time, the giggles last for at least five minutes. They sound a bit empty on their own in my little bedroom, but Mother won't find it funny. She thinks it's funny when I fall over but not when I lose things, because she thinks I'm pretending to lose them to try and be funny and then she loses her temper and shouts and everything is my fault.

Anyway, now I'm ready. I look in the mirror and check my hair. It sticks up in small tufts, so I try licking my hands and flattening it, but that doesn't work either.