Hope's Lost (51st Hunger Games)

Chapter 2- The Elephant in the Room

          Once Grafa, Randal, and Terra had left, I looked at my log and found all the ships made it to shore, including my father’s. I placed my ink pen down and sighed, placing my hands upon my head and walking around the charred, burned wood under the mirror where only fifteen minutes earlier there was a blazing fire for my friends and I to sit by.

          My father had entered the lighthouse after docking his boat and I pretended to busy myself with cleaning the fire pit. His large boots pounding the stairs as he made his way up only confirmed his entrance. He walked inside, greeting me, and sitting down. “How much did you haul in?” I asked as I picked up a platter to remove the warm, burnt lumber and replace it with new pieces of wood. My father sighed as he removed his cap and placed it against his chest before fanning his face with it. “Those damn Peacekeepers need to stop interfering with the work. Those maggots scare the fish away.”

          I smiled at my father’s remark, continuing to dispose of the wood. “Need any fresh wood?” My father asked as he watched me work with promise and quickness. “I sent in a request to the Capitol today for more. Since I am running the only lighthouse here in District 4 I would think that I shouldn’t shame my District with something as trivial as a mere backup of supplies.” My father laughed joyously knowing that his pride had been passed on to his daughter. “That’s my girl. Always on top of things.”

         The curls in my hair sometimes liked to bunch up and stick out with my emotions for some reason, and could assure anyone would’ve noticed the fact my orange corkscrew curls were rising proudly against my head. It felt honorable to know I didn’t do some kind of standard job in my District. That I was special. The mere age of fourteen I was running a lighthouse. My father stood up, but suddenly stopped in his tracks. “What’s that on your finger?” He asked me. Nervously, I held my hand out to show the ring off to him.

         “It’s a ring.” I said smartly. My father shook his head at me before asking in an angry tone, “Who gave it to you?!” Startled I answered quickly, “It was Terra!” My father, knowing it was my birthday usually never even spoke of it until they came home where a big surprise would be waiting, but this to him was serious. “Hope! You know you can’t walk around with this on! Your mother is sick, probably even dying by now, and it’s from the gracious help of the Capitol that she is still alive even for a few extra moments.”

        There was the elephant in the room. My sick mother. Most oppose the Capitol though they are forced to like it, but that still gives them some leverage to have some kind of opinion about it. Me? I’m eternally bound to the Capitol. Saying anything against it means that drip full of life-saving medicine would not hold my mother to this Earth any longer. “Wearing this,” My father held up my finger and wagged it in front of my face. “Means that the Capitol will start thinking, ‘Oh, she has money, seems like they can buy medicine for her themselves.’ And that’s not what they should be thinking.”I nodded sadly, knowing that I will never be able to wear it.

        Father cupped my face with his hands. “You are a beautiful, strong, young woman Hope. Just like your namesake I know you will do great things. There will be hard times, and these are just one of those times. I want you to know that once you prove to me that you can power through this that you will be the Hope of District 4.” Nodding again, I walked away, picking up the last packages of wood that would be used before the next batch came in the day after tomorrow. Sadly, I didn’t know that the day after I wouldn’t be there to fill the fire pit.

          “Have you decided what you will be wearing tomorrow? I expect you not to dirty this family’s reputation by wearing some rags or clothing that your friends Grafa and what was his name, Randal wear?” This ticked me off. “Just because Grafa and Randal are in the Lows doesn’t mean they have a dirty reputation! They are my friends and they are proud of their heritage, just as you are of yours!” I ranted. My father fell silent, brushing his fingers through his coarse long beard.

         I looked at him coldly. His obsession with reputation, pride, and a matriarchal household sometimes made me want to run off somewhere and scream to the top of my lungs where nobody was listening. The smell of the ocean and the cold seeped through the shutters. Our very presence caught a disturbance in the glass, fogging it. Winter here in District 4 is only cold at night; at times otherwise it would be very warm, even hot. “Let’s go, Hope. It’s your birthday today after all.” He said sullenly, as though he were sad or even angered at the fact his child’s birthday was on the day before the Reaping.

        As we walked home, it was almost as expected. Expensively dyed streamers hung all around the house, food stocked in our ice chest, and two presents wrapped on one of the living room’s three armchairs. One from my mother and the other from my father. I smiled. It was just another birthday, but each felt new though having the same margin to begin on. No harm done. I got over what he said about my friends and grinned as I made my way towards a plate of raw salmon. It was nothing like the potato Randal had stolen for me earlier in the evening, but the present was taken with thankfulness because of the rareness of that type of fish in this area.

       After I filled myself to the brim, my father and I made our way over to my small wooden armchair and gave me his present. Opening it, I felt unsatisfied and my appetite was ruined even after I already ate. It was a sea green dress I was to wear for the Reaping on the next day. This was my birthday gift. Panic filled me as though this dress were some kind of sign to tell me that I wouldn’t be safe. The Hunger Games never worried me. District 4 was like a dam and the Hunger Games were the floodwaters. And now, the water is seeping through the dam slowly into my consciousness.

         “Well? Do you like it?” My father asked. “It’s… Fine.” I answered, not knowing what to say. The realization hit me later when I thought back to this moment, that my father was literally almost giving me the birthday present of death and expecting me to like it. Not very satisfied with my answer, he still put on a false, grinning face and handed me my mother’s present. It was smaller than my father’s box with the dress inside, but it held much more meaning. Opening it, I found a small vial of liquid. No note, no nothing. Just a vial.

         My father and I understood this symbolism though. They had given her the cure. That was the best birthday present I would’ve asked for. Beginning to tear up, I stayed strong. I wouldn’t give into emotion in front of my father. It would hurt both our prides. Placing the vial back down inside the minuscule box, I hugged my father and made my way into our shared room where I slept on the floor and he on the small bed he once somehow was able to share with my mother. I was tired, and the whole day in waiting for the Reaping and hearing about it made me sick to my stomach. Rest was my remedy, I needed only to rest and sleep.