Jabberjay

The hard-packed earth is cool against Haymitch's bare feet as he meditates on the pre-dawn stillness. Like the other Coal Miners of District 12, Haymitch awakens before the tolling of the morning bell.

Their home is small and furniture is sparse, the kitchen boasting a rusted water pump, low cabinets, a simple wooden table and a soot-stained woodstove. There is a single bed where there had once been two. After their mother died Haymitch had made the decision to sell one, and for a short time the money had given him the means to fill his sister and brother's aching bellies.

Haymitch watches them, Coram's deep breaths stir the dark tendrils of Calamine's hair, the hunger in their eyes hidden by softly closed lids that occasionally flutter in dream. He's roused from his thoughts by the rumble of his belly and begins to dress. He had never had the luxury of nightclothes, but after his first day in the mines the coal residue on his clothing had ruined both Coram's best shirt and the bed sheets, forcing Haymitch to spend precious coin on a new set. Luckily, they had been able to use strips from the ruined shirt to line his overlarge mining boots. He had grown since his father's death, but not enough to fill his father's shoes. The cloth had given his raw and blistered ankles much-needed relief.

He opens the kitchen cabinet and appraises the meager heel of bread, the shriveled apples and thimbles of goat cheese with a frown of disappointment. He fixes himself a small breakfast and, ignoring the dissatisfied murmurs of his belly, gently rouses his brother

"Time to get up."

Coram stirs and mumbles incoherently. His movement waken Calamine who rubs the sleep from her dark eyes.

They all share the olive skin, grey eyes and curly black hair that mark the residents of the Seam. Marking them related to everyone, yet family to none.

Calamine gives Haymitch a sleepy gap-toothed grin, "Good morning."

It was painful that time past both so slowly and so quickly. Slowly because of the hunger that dogged his step and the responsibility that stooped his shoulders. Yet, quickly because of the time between Reapings. Calamine, at nine, had four more years. Coram only had one.

Haymitch smiles back and ruffles her hair gently.

"Good morning Cal."

He usually left them to sleep longer, but it was the end of the week and the Baker had promised them the week's leavings. The bread was stale and unsellable, but it had been years since Haymitch had tasted the sweetness of fresh bread. It wasn't charity; Haymitch had paid for it in hard labor and bookkeeping, but the Baker still demanded they make their pick-up early. He didn't want others knowing of their arrangement, lest other urchins crowd his door.

"You guys know the drill, pick up from the Bakery. Drop it off. Straight to school." Haymitch appraised his siblings seriously.

"Straight to school. Don't think I don't know about last week's little pond adventure."

Calamine giggles but Coram's ears burn red.

Coram wanted to share in Haymitch's responsibilities and was shamed by any evidence that marked his youth. Haymitch just wished circumstances had not forced either of them to grow up so quickly, he barely remembered his own days at the pond.

***

There are only two castes that rise before the sun. Bakers and Coal Miners, and the differences between them could not be more pronounced. While Baker's children's cheeks shine rosy with health, the cheeks of Coal Miner's children hang gaunt and hollow from want. While Baker's aprons are dusted in aromatic flour, Coal Miners' ragged shirts are covered in the bitter darkness of coal dust. And only Coal Miners flood the streets before the first rays of dawn, like so many lost souls.