Gold Rush

Games & Secrets

Games.

That was the synopsis of my life. Some for practicality, some for pass-time.

Like the who-can-make-their-cookie-last-longer game. Back when we were younger and managing to convince everyone we were twins, Avery and I pretended that by telepathy we finished them at exactly the same time. Truthfully, we counted to 10 before every bite. That was my favourite because it made me feel like we really were telepathic. Deceiving others but it didn't matter. Because we had each other.

There were others I liked.

The marshmallow game, which was Avery's favourite, because it involved eating marshmallows whilst wearing puffy jackets indoors. And I liked when she was happy.

Or I spy. Where the answers were so obscure you could never tell if it was the Eiffel Tower or Buckingham Palace. Even though we both really knew we hadn't (and probably never would) set foot outside of our little town.

And others not so much.

The flashlight game was the one we played when the electricity ran out.

The quiet game. Who could stay silent the longest whilst the land Lord came to inspect our one-person-apartment.

Hide and seek. Where we pressed flush against the wardrobe, precarious objects stacked like jenga blocks, moments away from collapsing, digging into us from all angles. We were always found an hour later, sweating, just after someone had started crying and the other couldn't breathe. I don't think my mother liked that one either. She let us go to the park after though. For some fresh air and to play the let's pretend game. Where we got to pretend we were eating ice-creams. But they were games none the less. And games are fun. Right?

Avery was never very good at that one, she was much too impatient, gullible to the ideas and could only be bribed by the possibility of a lollipop from the cafe. Part of me hated it- how our mum had only trusted me to keep those secrets and how little attention Ave payed to the gravity of our situation.

Yet I knew to be grateful, that my sister had never held the burden. I suppose she understands now, but then? Then I had been completely alone, nobody understood what it was like to loose the one person I would lay down my life for, yet feel guilty and blame for ever feeling that way.

Until I met Libby.

Our longest-lasting game was called I have a secret, because my mother said that everyone should have at least one. Now I know why.

Most days she guessed ours. Avery was easy to read, and I didn't like to have secrets from her so I kept them light and easy to guess. Most of them.

We played every week, right until 2 years ago. When one of her secrets landed my mum in hospital.

The next thing I knew, she was gone.

My mother was the queen of fabricating games. She told us that nothing was impossible when we had our minds. That our sight may be fixed but we could never be bored if we chose to use our minds- her gift to us to perceive things differently.

That was my fifth birthday present. Back when I clung to every word she said, mesmerised. She had that effect on people. The way she sounded so self-assured, so magnetic. Sarah Rocier was perfect, nobody in our little town could doubt that.

What they could was her integrity. With a woman of such power, she held the weight of the world in a single breath.

It was not until too late I sensed I had made a mistake. By abandoning her tedious games, I admitted defeat. Now I may never find out what stories she was too mysterious to share.

Like the identity of the man I would have called my father in another, perfect, fake life.

If I had not given up. Perhaps our lives would be far from different now. Perhaps I would have had more to say of her brilliant accomplishments at the eulogy. Instead I had watched with tearful eyes as Avery spoke words of commemoration.

Truth be I had spent weeks with my pen poised above an empty page. A void I could not fill. I had told Libby I was too anxious to speak it to a crowd. Which was partly true so I wasn't technically lying.

But that morning I had slipped my little, hello kitty notepad under the wedge of her door, full of scribbles. Meaningless. Essential. A mix of the two, perhaps.

And watched as yet again my sister was given the applause.

That's how it was. Her in the lime light and me, steps away watching her every move. Calculated but that is what got us by.

And I liked anything that helped us to survive.

I suppose I was more like my mother than I liked to think.

And I do not just mean by our genetics. Of course we look alike. Our dark, wavy hair, sparkling blue eyes, electric and illusive.

Nor our hobbies. Yes, I could play the piano exceptionally, yes she had taught me. And my dancing was perfection. I had been raised a ballerina from the moments she had saved up her wages for a pair of second-hand, tattered pointes.

But our minds. That is what they said we shared. That small, secluded village.

Avery was the one they saw; her passion, the fire she lit from the spark in her eye. She was reckless. She didn't care what others thought of her.

But it was me they heard. My words, with great pain and gratitude for what they agreed upon, I was just like my mother.

Despite my jealousy and our tedious bickering I knew, I would do anything for Avery. Anything to keep her safe.

Even if that meant keeping the secret. Of course it infuriated her. I cannot blame her. But I would rather she hate me than have her ruined. Because anger is raw and that is better than no emotion at all.

For after years of living unfeeling, my world changed for the better, on what should have been the hardest day of my life, when hazel eyes offered me a fresh start. A chance to live outside of the shadows.

And in my new life there was no room for error. Because now I had to be worth everything to deserve Libby.

Even if that meant choosing her.

I know that to love both my sisters it is to live a life of twisted lies. Often it is impossible win. But what Avery doesn't know, doesn't hurt her, at least that's what Libby and I agreed on.

So I smile until my head hurts, I spin until I am breaking apart and I lie until I start to believe my insanity. Because that is all I know.

A vicious cycle of pretence, perfection and secrets.

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Author's note:
Welcome to my book and thank you so much for reading this far. This is my first time writing so it's not the best but I've been thinking about it ever since I started reading the Inheritance Games.
Xoxo gossip girl 😉