Writer Games | Masquerade of Martyrs & Family Ties

Task Seven: The Flood /SF - Hettie Burris [4]

Through the dreary  darkness that encompassed the arena, Hettie Burris and Dove Evans  huddled together in the cold. Sopping wet, their clothes held more water  than they had had to drink during the Games. Sustenance falling in  sheets and torrents battering their flimsy raft, Hettie felt the rise  and fall of the water beneath her, pushing and pulling as though trying  to tear them apart. Dove was wide-eyed, staring fearfully out across the  raging waters, the chilled liquid seeping into her bones as she sat  cross-legged on the wooden planks, her tiny teeth chattering.

Hettie held her arm  around Dove. The swirling water was inviting to Hettie, her eyes  captivated by the darkness beneath her. Taunting her, the waves sprayed  droplets into her hair and into her eyes. The sky was blackened, charred  like the remains of a burned crop, but still, Hettie knew the storm  would soon stop depositing rain, and the ground would be fresh and  things would grow anew. Like droughts and like downpours in Eleven,  things always rebounded, people always thrived, and things were always  better in a month, a year, whatever it took to fix things. Hettie let  Dove rest her head against her chest, her heartbeat echoing to Dove. The  child, young and afraid, was loved by her in the arena. She knew how  much her brother loved her, yes, however Hettie felt the pull of  protection towards the girl. Who would care for her at home? None cared  for the girl so much as she, more of a mother to Dove than Dove had  experienced in her entire life. The thought made Hettie sad, few tears  mingling with the rain so that they were indistinguishable from each  other.

Hettie searched for her  reflection in the swelling water, finding it and watching her wandering  eyes scan her own appearance. She looked tired, as though she had aged  ten years in a matter of days. Her smile was weak, laughter lines etched  deep as were the wrinkles that lined her forehead. Within a span of a  week, her life had taken a turn around, her years diminished as the  waves grew bigger. Through the reflection, there stood in the deep abyss  a mass which resembled a figure a lone person floating through the  water. She knew, however, that it was not a real person, or, at least, a  tribute. None were luminescent nor did any tribute have the dark skin  that this person had. And as the figure slowly ascended near the  surface, Hettie found herself staring at her own body. She was  captivated by the sight, obviously caused by sleep deprivation, Hettie  reasoned, until the woman's eyes opened and she opened her mouth,  letting out a shriek in the water that sent Hettie and Dove's raft  flying across the waves, smashing against debris and water exploding  over top of them. Dove gripped tightly onto Hettie's sleeve as the water  pooled just above their raft.

As the waves battered  the raft, Hettie shielded Dove, bearing the weight of the storm but not  backing down. If she were to survive, she knew she needed to be  resilient, to be strong not only for herself, but for Dove. Nothing was  over until it was over, losing hope meant losing willpower. Hettie  thought back to the drought last year in Eleven as she murmured to Dove,  trying to keep her warm even in its futility.

The drought had been  carnage, leaving behind no sustenance. It was the worst year, and Hettie  couldn't help but think of it time and time again. She had taken  several jobs then, her family poor without their garden. Her husband was  working on fixing the fields, but fixing something would not provide  food for her children. Job after job, menial jobs to skilled jobs,  Hettie took them all. She was aged, sure, but even though at time it had  seemed like there was nothing to do, Hettie made sure there was always  something coming home. She had questioned whether the few pennies coming  in on the hard days would amount to anything, the sadness and pain on  her children's faces still etched in her mind. Never again, Hettie had  promised herself, would she let her children feel the worry and sadness  of their mother coming home with nothing. So she had made do. Clothing  needing repairs could be mended, anything but essentials were not  bought. It was a hard life, but it was one people in Eleven had to deal  with.

No matter how many times  she had thought of the futility of it all, her children brought her  back. Dove, now, was bringing her back. Her family, her children's  faces, sparkling and bright, they were what pulled her back. Everything  could be achieved, but nothing could be done if one didn't try. Failure,  Hettie knew too well, was how to succeed. She felt herself battered and  bruised but bruises don't last, however her actions and her skills did  last.

Still, there was always  the nagging part in her mind, as she stared deep in the water, that  nothing really mattered, that working hard didn't get her anywhere but  tiredness. It was a cycle that she could never break. To be happy meant  to be secure, but to be secure meant she needed to be able to support  her family, which at the best times in Eleven was difficult. She shook  her head. Eleven was not her priority, the waves and Dove were. That was  life though. Having to change and adapt and sacrifice, they were what  made a human a human. Building up and tearing down, she knew that it was  all a part of being human, of making connections and loving people so  much she would die for them.

Her mind was shocked out  of her thoughts by a wave, crashing against the raft and toppling both  Dove and Hettie off. She felt herself submerge into the water, cold  bitterness nipping at her bones and her lungs screaming for the air that  did not come. She scrambled her way above the water, breaking into air  as she stared frantically around, searching for Dove. Just like that,  she had disappeared, gone in a moment. Hettie submerged herself again,  her eyes open underwater as she tried to search for the tiny figure, but  there was nothing. She gasped for air above, swimming over to the  discarded raft, feeling the waves batter her over and over again. Dove  was gone. And Hettie had broken her promise. She wondered whether it was  a sign telling her to give up, whether it was finally time to stop  playing the game and let go. But still she told herself: one more day.

One more day because  life always threw something hard before something good. But as the waves  pushed and receded, Hettie knew that good always came after bad, but  that the bad came after the good. And so she sat on the raft, alone,  riding along the waves as she waited for the sun to break out again.