Quiescent. (A Hunger Games Fan Fiction.) (Under Editing.)

Quiescent

The grey eyes staring back at me are tired. Fulfilling them is hate, anger, regret, sorrow, and the most prominent, fear. Fear for my life. Fear that my death would be at the hand of some sadistically altered human being in a treacherous arena. Or that I would die only 14, showered in fame then whisked off to my death in an abnormally disguised fashion. I study my face, hollow eyes, blank expression, and curled brown hair.

Here in district 8, most people follow my same features. The smog is terrible, the muckiness is almost as distracting as the poverty. You begin to lose the life we retain, it fades away with the rising smog every day. Everyone here is anorexic, not by choice of course.

My bony features would probably be envious in the Capitol, not that I wish to go there, anyways. My pale white skin looks like a ghost in my small box of a bathroom and I rinse my face in the freezing cold water wishing out of everything that the games would have never been invented. I feel the water dripping down off my chin and I leave the bathroom.

Wooden walls, wooden floors, I guess you could say that if we got termites we would be homeless for sure considering everything is made of wood, including my bed. At least I have something to sleep on unlike the rest of the district. My dad is the manager of the textile factory. It pays well, so that means we can afford a little more than just food. As if on cue, my stomach grumbles forcing me to leave my humble abode.

The hallway brings back a reminiscence of my childhood and I remember everything from the time I could walk, to the time of today. My childhood was loving and being cared for. I wasn't an angel but considering I am a mute I could never cause any troubles with the foulness a mouth brings.

I sense the remnants of a breakfast cooking, like every reaping we feast with the possibility of death looming over our heads.

When I make it into the kitchen my mouth waters in dissatisfaction and I rush over to the table. I pull out an old wooden chair and I notice my mother standing awkwardly by the stove. She is looking at me expectantly as if waiting for something. Her blond hair ruffles in the gentle breeze and her blue eyes are like gems. Always watching, always caring.

She notices me staring at her and motions for me to eat the food in front of me. I swivel my attention to the food in front of me and dig in. The food is splendid, and it's smell alone has me drooling. The presence of my mother standing near me is forgotten as I taste grease resonating my hunger.

I soon finish my breakfast wishing for more and I pay my mind to my mother.

"Good luck." She whispers to me across the kitchen and I take this as my time to leave. She will be close behind me, praying and hoping for my safety. I get up and walk over to her. I pull her into an embrace and I nuzzle myself into her shoulder. She takes this as an 'I love you' and hugs me back.

We break from our brief connection and I give her a longing look before I turn, saunter to the door, and step outside.

The air is chilled and slightly smoggy from the factories and clothing processors. That's where my father will be. Doing a quick check up on the factory to make sure everything is as planned before he comes to the reaping with the rest of the district. I walk down the desolate street with carefulness as if I would be disturbing the peace.

Silence has always been a part of my life. I am a mute, after all. No one knows why though. They always thought something was wrong with my brain. Maybe there is, I don't know. I learn like a normal kid, It's just there is a mental barrier between me and my voice. If we had the money my parents would get me checked on by a doctor but with the poverty taking over lately, they never could.

I feel the clamp of my feet against the wet-rimmed street and I hope that my fate is not to die in the weeks to come. It's only a short walk to the square and I get there rapidly. Passing the old and worn-down buildings with ease. The square is packed with people and grotesque peacekeepers from the capitol. The slightly creaky stage is leaning a bit in the breeze and the crowd is murmuring in disapproval. After 2 years of this process it almost comes naturally.