✄ .・。.・゜✭・.
out in the open, no one to save me
the kindest of whispers are cruel
━━━
██ 003. / NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK
█ ✄ ... / IT WOULDN'T BE Reaping Day without the mellow hum of the sewing machine, rising with the sun.
It had to be older than Paisley herself — a rickety old thing, made of cheaply-procured iron and smothered in peeling black paint. The intricate designs that used to cover the surface had worn with time, the mechanisms slowly becoming stiff, but still — it did the job just fine. Most homes in Eight had one, but there were few occasions that they really got any proper use. Mostly, they were just used for repairs — fixing bursting seams, or adjusting clothes as children grew bigger to save wasting money on anything new.
She must have been up since before dawn, because little light seeped through the paper-thin curtains as she worked. It wasn't until she had been at it for hours, that the sun finally greeted her to bathe the room in pink. Ever so slowly, the monotonous hums of the machine were met with the melodic chirping of the birds, whistling together along with the wind. With a yawn, Paisley pulled the scraps of fabric Gus had given her yesterday out of her pocket, laying them flat on the table to survey them with closer inspection. There were at least a dozen of them, all of various shapes and patterns, but Paisley only needed three or four — just enough to finish the handmade skirt that she had been fretting over for days. She really didn't think she'd get it done in time.
It was a little after seven, by the time the rest of the household began to stir. Burton appeared first, followed closely by his wife. Somehow, his stern and yet sluggish face retained its tough composure, despite the dark circles framing his drooping eyes. Neither of them said anything, instead navigating around the kitchen to complete their tasks in silence.
It would be obvious to anybody looking, that between them, the Fawn family had hardly obtained a wink of sleep that night. But it wasn't the exhaustion that was making Paisley feel so unwell.
What unnerved her the most was the animosity. The excruciating tension in the room that was thick enough to cut it with a knife. The Fawns never went into a Reaping angry — ever.
It was their one unspoken rule.
Paisley's eyes situated themselves just a centimetre above the machine, giving herself enough coverage that she could observe the room without anybody catching her staring. Her father's attention turned towards the kitchen counter, filling the teapot with water from the stove, whilst the quivering strain of her mother's fingers attempted feebly to fix the buttons of a blouse. It was at times like these that Paisley's mind fought desperately for the memory of what her parents used to be like — before the darkness of depression had stolen all their light.
She had been so little, she could hardly ever place it. But sometimes, if she concentrated hard enough, Paisley's mind could just about make out the silhouette of her mother's smile, bright and beaming like a daffodil in spring. It was faint, like the fleeting remnant of a whisper, but it was there — enveloping her in a warm embrace.
It might have been a memory, or it could simply be a figment of her imagination — she could never really be sure. All that Paisley really knew was that the image wasn't real any more.
It couldn't possibly be, because she hadn't seen her mother's smile in an exceedingly long time.
The youngest Fawn appeared then, but there was little sign of weariness on her perfectly joyful face. Instead, she bounded into the room with force, the usual light and spirited energy springing in her step. As she entered, some of the tension in the room immediately eased, and she made a beeline for her sister without a second thought.
Underneath the dim light of the morning sun, Polly's face glowed with a rose-tinted hue. "Have you finished it yet? Aw come on, let me see!"
"Hey, watch it, nosey! Keep your greasy hands away from the goods, or you'll crease it!" Paisley tittered, gently nudging her sister's hands away from the machine, "No, it isn't ready yet. But almost — you can see when it's finished."
"Boring", Polly groaned, twisting her arms around Paisley's neck in an affectionate embrace.
Slowly, Paisley dared her eyes to dart upwards, shooting a subtle glance at her parents before honing her vision back onto her work. Polly's jovial vitality had — as usual — warmed them, but beneath a newfound smile they still seemed sad.
She leaned her body backward, resting the back of her head just below her sister's chin. "You should start getting ready soon — or at least try your dress on. We'll need to know in plenty of time if it needs any adjustments."
Polly loosened her grip and ducked her head, "Yeah, about that... I kind of already have... I can't get my dress on — like, at all."
"What?"
It was their mother's voice, finally breaking herself free from her self-proclaimed silence.
"It doesn't fit anymore! Not even a little."
"I'm sure she's just being dramatic, Mom", Paisley rolled her eyes, adjusting the angle of her body to better face her sister, "Go and try it on again — I'm sure I can just take it out a couple of centimetres, maybe loosen a few of the seams."
Lisle cut in, "Have you tried pulling it over your head, Doll?"
"I've tried everything!", Polly insisted, "Over the head. Up from the waist. Nothing. It's just far too tight, there's no way it's going on. What — why don't any of you believe me?"
"Well — go try it on anyway", Paisley prodded at her with a knowing look, "I'm not trusting anything until I see it for myself — we all know how much you hate that thing."
Polly let out a heaving sigh, her shoulders slumping up and down in over-dramatisation. Reluctantly, she trudged back across the room, stopping just before she reached the bedroom door.
"Fine — but when I come out here and prove you wrong, you're all going to feel really guilty for calling me a liar!"
The bedroom door slammed behind her, and the Fawns' front room once again fell into pain-filled silence. To mask herself from the awkward tension, Paisley picked up another sheet of fabric, this one a vibrant, mossy green, decorated with an intricate floral pattern. The piece had already been cut to the perfect size, so all Paisley had to do was slot it into the precise position she wanted it, taking a few of the pins threaded through her sleeve to hold it into place.
The machine was operated by a metal wheel, which once turned, would trigger the needle to move up and down. Paisley's foot rested on the bottom beam of the table, allowing her to stabilise her movements as she braced herself to guide the fabric through. As she pushed, a sharp gasp of excitement unconsciously escaped her lips.
This was the final piece...
After this square, what had somehow fallen into a year long project would finally be complete. Paisley couldn't quite mask the sheer joy that came over her as the sense of accomplishment kicked in.
"I've finished it...", Paisley shrieked in disbelief, almost in awe of her own creation, "I've actually finished it — for a while I thought it was never going to get done..."
"That's great, Dear—"
"Well — at least one of us is going to have something to wear today, eh!" A voice called out from behind the bedroom door.
Polly marched back into the room, a tight bundle of burgundy hanging just above her hips. The stark white of her night shirt was still peeking through from underneath, the dress struggling to cover even half of her growing frame. Even from across the room, Paisley could see the tension that was tugging on the threads, the seams practically begging to let out. It appeared that for once, Polly actually had been right — the flimsy piece of fabric wouldn't even move past her waist.
"See — so unless you all want me parading into the Square naked, this thing—", Polly tugged at the bulging skirt, "—isn't going to work. Now, I don't think they've ever explicitly outlined that rule, but I'm pretty sure nudity isn't accepted in the dress code."
"Oh God!" their mother fretted, rushing over to examine her youngest with flushing cheeks, "What are we going to do now, Burt? There's no way she can wear this... Oh, why didn't we check earlier? I could kick myself..."
Polly shrugged, reaching over to take an obnoxiously large bite out of an oatcake. "Beats me."
"No, no — maybe we can make it work", Paisley reasoned, though there was hardly a trace of certainty in her squeaking voice. Jumping up from her seat, she walked over to her sister herself, slowly examining the bursting fabric with the odd tug and shove, "If I can take it out a little up here, she might be able to just pull it up to her shoulders."
"But there's no way it'll fasten up — she can't exactly go out with the back completely open..."
"No... but I could try and attach a different sheet of fabric to the inside, maybe? Or if we used some ribbon, it would lace up — you know, like a corset?"
It seemed silly really, but Paisley had always wanted to design.
She never would, of course — not with the ill-fated luck of where she had been born. Working in fashion was solely a Capitol trade, with the exception maybe of District One, and even the handful of tailors Eight did have tended to stick to a few simplistic designs. No, the people of Eight existed to create the fabric, not to give it any kind of use. Whatever was leftover, they got to keep, but most of the bulkier materials went straight to the workshops to be mass produced into essential items. It was only when individual hands managed to scavenge the scraps, that those who did possess that extra spark of creativity were able to make anything worthwhile.
Polly's eyebrows raised, "I see your vision and all, Pay — but I really don't think we have the resources to pull that off."
"How could this even happen?" Lisle wept, her hands flailing in the air as she spoke, "This one fit you fine last year."
Burton called over from the kitchen stove, "Well, she's a lot bigger than she was then, love."
It was true. Over the past year, Polly had been through an extreme growth spurt. Her curves were slowly developing, her limber body growing larger, and she had gained at least three inches of height in the past month alone. A little over fourteen, and yet she already matched the height of her sister. Both of them.
It was obvious this dress would never fit. There was just no way.
Paisley let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing her arms down to her sides. "Okay... it's fine — I'll just take her into town. I'm sure they'll have something her size down at the drive."
"Is there even time?", Lisle continued to fret, "All the way into town and back, this close to the Reaping?"
"The Reaping isn't until this afternoon — if we leave now we should be back for... ten thirty, at the very latest. That still gives us, what? A good half hour or so to get ready, at least?"
"I don't know, Paisley..."
"It'll be fine! Besides, what other option do we even have?"
"Maybe something of mine will fit her?"
"You don't have anything else, Mom..."
"Alright", their mother reluctantly sighed, "Fine... Go throw some clothes on, Polly — quickly. You're going to have to leave immediately if you want to make it back in time..."
Polly threw her head back and let out another groan of frustration, this one sounding even more theatrical than the last. She turned to her sister, "Fine — but if we're going to miss breakfast, I'm not leaving town unless you buy me a muffin!"
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Today was no ordinary day.
That much was obvious, because for once, the streets of District Eight were not swallowed in the immutable hum of machine noise. Instead, the factories stood still, the smoke billowing out of the chimneys running sparse and thin, and a faint veil of blue was even visible across the fog-filled sky. Bramhall Green was busy, even... Not eerie or ghostlike like the night before, but vibrant, and bursting with life.
As they walked, skin simmering beneath the summer sun, the two girls found themselves overwhelmed with smiles and pleasant calls. Neighbours, shouting good morning as they claimed their clothes from the line, or waving as they went about their daily chores. Dozens had gathered behind the water pump, buckets sloshing as they wandered back and forth. At the end of Paisley's row, those in line for the showers stretched right to the end of the street, jabbering away to each other whilst they waited, as if they didn't have a care in the world.
It was funny, really. Looking at the friendly scene around them, nobody would have a clue that the day's connotations came with such dread.
But still, this early morning quiet was the only time the neighbourhood ever really had to chatter. On a regular day, they were too busy — shuffling towards their factories or locked away behind closed doors — to say anything at all. And that wouldn't do at all, because the people loved to speak...
Even as they turned the corner onto the perpendicular street, the girls were met with as much vivacity as their own block of flats. Families poured out onto the pavement, clean clothes draped over their drooping shoulders, and greeted one another with little sign of any strife. At the end of the next street, a wearied woman with several needles tucked into her raven hair collared onto them, waving as she collected clothes from the front yard.
"Morning Chenille", Paisley called out sunnily as they reached her front yard.
"Paisley-Anne! What a pleasant surprise to see you around here!", the woman exclaimed, the strained crinkles on her cheeks creasing as she greeted them with a grin, "Oh, and this couldn't be little Polly, could it? My God, haven't you shot up? You must have grown at least three inches since I last saw you."
Polly shrugged, "Four by now I think, actually."
The older woman tittered as she shook her head. "Is that so? Well, isn't that something? Not so little anymore, eh... What are the pair of you doing out so early, anyway? You wouldn't be after that grandson of mine, would you? Because I'm afraid I'm keeping him pinned down today— far too much to do..."
Chenille Buckle — Gusset's grandmother.
But Paisley had spent so much time in the elderly woman's company over the years that she may as well have been her own. Conversation like this was natural for them, but on the morning of a reaping, the two families would usually be far too busy to cross each other's path before meeting later in the Square.
Seeing the two girls pass by at this hour must have definitely come across a little strange...
As they talked, Paisley couldn't help but notice how Chenille's fingers trembled, her knuckles raw and shredded from the shining gashes of a whip. Unfortunately, the cause of the wounds was all too clear. During peak hours, any worker who dropped a thread lost three pennies of their wages, but those who couldn't afford to lose that much took three lashes instead. It didn't happen often — only when the timing was unfortunate enough that you got caught, but still, poor Chenille was withered and weak — it was impossible for her to keep up.
Paisley could only imagine how the poor woman must feel. Worthless, knowing that she no longer had the strength to properly provide for her family, and ashamed, because she was forced to walk around every day with the scars to prove it.
Reluctantly, she bit her tongue, doing the best she could to keep her gaze away from the horrid scars. Instead, she smiled, gesturing to the clump of fabric slung over her left shoulder, "Oh no, no — don't worry Chen. We were just on our way into Hamelin — emergency dress swapping."
"Well, that's nice isn't i—"
"Nonna! What's taking you so long out there? You're supposed to be helping me with Ma's treatment—", Gus appeared in the doorway, a wooden bowl and a dishcloth resting in either hand. His usual work attire had been replaced by a casual green shirt, covered by the tea-stained apron he had tied around his waist. When he saw her, his back immediately straightened, eyebrows knitting together. "Pais? What are you doing here?"
"Just passing by on our way into town. Pol's dress doesn't fit — we were hoping they might have something for her down at the drive..."
Almost instinctively, Gusset dropped the dish he had been holding and trudged towards the front gate, fiddling with the knot at the back of his apron. "Well hang on a sec — I'll come with you."
"You certainly will not, boy!", his grandmother quipped, waving the pair of stockings she had been unclipping in front of his face. In the presence of her grandson, her warm exterior had instantly become stern, and Paisley had to cover her mouth with the back of her hand just to suppress the need to laugh. "I need your help getting your sister ready. Besides, what is your mother supposed to do if you go galavanting into town, help herself get out of bed? Pfft. I can't get everything around here done by myself, you know!"
"But—"
"But nothing — you'll have plenty of time to talk to Paisley tomorrow. Now shoo! Help me take these clothes into the house so I can try to flatten out the creases."
"What? You can't expect me to let them wander into town alone? Weren't you the one that raised me to be a gentleman?"
"No, that was your mother. I raised you to be productive."
"She's right, Gus...", Paisley cut in, "You're much more important here — your mother needs you. Besides, we'll be fine."
"...Promise?"
"Cross my heart."
Reluctantly, Gusset let out an exaggerated sigh. "Alright — I'll just meet you later, then?"
Paisley nodded, watching as Chenille shot the boy a smug look and shoved the stack of clothing into his empty hands. He gave her one last glance, frustrated, before disappearing back into the house.
"You laugh all you want, Paisley-Anne. But his grandma only has to look after him until he grows up. His wife gets him for the rest of his life."
"What—"
"...You two have a safe trip now. Lovely to see you again, Polly."
Her eyes were small and twitchy, but Paisley could have sworn she caught the old woman wink at her before she turned around, limping off towards the front door. As soon as Chenille was out of sight, Paisley felt a sudden wave of tension convulse through her entire body. It wasn't like the teasing was anything Paisley hadn't experienced before — implications from both of their families that the young pair seemed a little too close were all too common — but for some reason, that morning, something about the whole thing just felt off...
It was just because of the day. That must have been what was making the entire situation feel so muddled. By tomorrow, everything would be just fine. Normal, even. But today?
Well, today was no ordinary day.
"Come on Pol — we'd better get a move on, before they start clearing out."
For a while, they walked in silence, taking in the temporary instance of a fresh breeze. The walk wasn't too long — a little under an hour, but it pleased Paisley whenever she got to wander through the parts of the district she rarely got to see. They didn't exactly have the prettiest home, and it had nothing on the marvellous glamour Paisley imagined of districts like one or two. But, it had character — in its own cosy, dishevelled sort of way — and it was always possible to find the beauty in it, if only you knew where to look.
And so, Paisley found herself noticing the myriad of colour as the clothes from the washing lines blew like bunting in the wind. Or smaller moments, even — like the sound of children's laughter, infectious as they splashed one another with water to cool themselves from the crippling heat. When her eyes fell to her feet, she noticed that underneath the glow of the sun, the grey dust that littered their pavements looked like snow.
By the time the two sisters arrived in District Eight's central town — Old Hamelin, the time on the big clock tower read eight thirty. Perfect. Despite their temporary distraction, the journey had still landed them in town much earlier than Paisley's calculations. The stress must have added an unwitting brisk to their pace.
As soon as they had passed the bridge though, Paisley immediately found her bearings lost, suddenly overwhelmed by the vast amount of empty space. She must have been here a thousand times before, at least, but it never seemed to get any easier. She was much more comfortable navigating the clumpy maze of her own town's streets, cosy and confined — she had never gotten used to this.
Compared to the narrow streets of their own town, Hamelin was huge, if not only because the few buildings it accommodated were so spread out. Heaps of land existed between the centre's few sights, with long winding pathways all leading their individual corners towards its central square. And yet, even deep into its midst, the long necks of the factory chimneys were still visible, faintly protruding into the morning sky. Perhaps the only thing that even slightly challenged their height was the steeple on top of the Justice Building, which held that very herculean clock that grimly reminded Paisley their time was running out.
At the sight of its haunting face, she shuddered, a cautious hand prodding at her sister's back.
"Let's go quickly, shall we?", she questioned, anxiously gnawing at her bottom lip, "All this open space is making me feel a tad queasy..."
Completely nauseated, actually — but she was trying everything she could to push the feeling down. The last thing either of them needed was a pool of vomit to add to their list of problems. Still, the sight of the ill-boding square was enough to send anybody heaving. Already set up for the day's events, and yet, completely void of the people to fill it...
Paisley's stomach never had been the strongest.
"Oh hell no", Polly's nose scrunched as she took a strategically large step to the left, "If you're going to be sick, would you at least make sure to avoid my shoes this time? That isn't a scenario anybody should have to deal with twice."
"I'm fine", Paisley gulped, adjusting her cotton headband to push back the front strands of her auburn hair, "Just... walk a little faster. The sooner we get out of this heat and into the Hive, the better."
Despite the vacant silence of the Square itself, Paisley could already make out the rampant buzzing coming from behind the Justice Building's walls. She led her sister down a slender alleyway to the building's right, skirting past the fabric warehouses to reveal the real centre of Eight's activity.
Holla's Patch — an enclosed strip of land nestled behind the central square — was something of a hidden courtyard. It was believed to have been put there by the patron of District Eight herself (hence her namesake), as a reward for all her people's hard-work. It was a fair enough assumption to make, if you considered the context of her tale. According to myth, Mother Holle appeared at winter time to reward the industrious, showering them with gifts. These days, opinions on the fabled woman's actuality tended to vary. To some, she was exactly that — a story. But to others, she was divine, encapsulating everything that their tiny district was all about.
But Eight was filled with all kinds of stories. That their people had descended from great and noble kings. Or that if they tried hard enough, their thread could be woven into gold. Whatever kind of make-believe helped people forget the reality they were stuck in.
Paisley let out a deep sigh of relief. Much better.
This was where the district's real personality had hidden itself away — where, separated from the dismal lull of work, the friendly, excitable pool of activity was always teeming. Holla's Patch was home to things like the market stalls, where individual vendors were free to flog an abundance of handmade treasures, and to the artists and musicians, who could perform to their heart's content.
But most importantly, Holla's Patch was home to The Hive.
"Head straight inside, Pol", Paisley instructed, nodding towards the hexagonal box ahead of them, "We don't have time to linger — we're just here for one reason, remember..."
"Fine. But just so we're clear, I'm choosing my own dress this time — no flowers or ribbons or frills", Polly physically shuddered at the word, "I want to actually look good."
"Pol, it's a Reaping dress...", Paisley chuckled, "You're not meant to look cool — nobody else will either."
"But you get to look cool, with all your fancy handmade clothes — all I get is silly little girl dresses."
"Alright, well how about this? We'll pick you up something simple today, and then between now and next year, I'll... add a little flair to it."
Polly's eyebrow raised, "A little flair?"
"Yeah — a little bit of edge, you know. That's what you want, isn't it? Something a bit more interesting?", Paisley teased, using her two forefingers to playfully jab either side of her sister's waist.
She squirmed, ducking slightly to avoid her sister's taunting, "I guess..."
The building ahead of them was shaped like honeycomb — an assortment of hexagonal boxes, all clumped together to make a wide but stumpy cluster of grey brick. Hundreds were flying in and out of the front doors, swarms of people scrambling around one another and filling the air with the light buzz of chatter. The front doors had been propped open, and the foyer that made up the base of the building had been covered head to toe in clothes. Piles of them — in bins, on tables, all sorted and labelled based on size, category or style.
Above the open doors was a poorly-drawn image of a worker bee, the paint on the wooden planks turning yellow, and underneath it read three carefully inscribed words.
Aequitas et Labore.
Through equality and hard-work.
Paisley guided Polly over to the far left side, where a middle-aged woman with straw-like hair was sorting through stacks of socks with her daughter. The woman threw the last few pairs onto the pile before handing the bin over to the child, gesturing for her to carry it over other side of the room.
"Hello there", she smiled as the two girls approached, "Lovely weather out, isn't it? Is there anything I can help you two with this morning?"
"Yeah, actually... I don't suppose you have something Reaping appropriate that would fit a rapidly-growing fourteen-year-old, do you?", Paisley asked with jest, handing the old dress over, "We have a perfectly good dress in exchange — only had a few uses."
"Well, of course! And that's very kind of you, but not necessary. The clothes here are for everybody — no payment or catch. Though, donations are always appreciated, of course. There's a stack of things about your size just over there — some of it is a little big, but nothing a few stitches couldn't solve."
"That's great! Thank you so much..."
"Happy to help! Take whatever you need."
Paisley nodded politely, moving to rummage through the donated clothes, but her mind couldn't help but wander to the other times she had sought the centre's helping hand.
The Hive was a community-run building, built with no intended purpose other than to give the people of Eight whatever they might need. They held all kinds of district-wide events here — sports games, concerts and clubs, and when occasions called for it, parties with dancing and gifts. But most importantly, the centre was used for aid. Charity functions like today's drive — where people volunteered their time to give away food or clothes — were more than common, running almost every other day.
And there were methods of psychological support, as well.
Free counselling sessions for those in need, or community support groups, for those who simply needed somebody to talk to. Assistance for things like depression, or grief — even for those tempted to numb their pain with alcohol or drugs. That way, nobody in Eight ever lost themselves to the severities of their strife. Nobody ever felt alone.
It was almost poetic, in a sense. The cruelty that their poor little district faced was designed to suppress them. To break them down until they had no fight left to give. But if anything, the severity of their rules only made them stronger.
Community was everything to District Eight. The very beating heart that kept their blood pumping. It had to be, because it was pretty much the only thing any of them really had left — each other. The spirit of camaraderie, and treating those around you with as much affection as your own blood — it was that very kindness that kept their feeble ship afloat. Besides, it made sense. They were all the same, after all. All victims to the same hours, the same rations, the same routines... And no matter their background, they were all sentenced to the same punishment — forever chained together as slaves to what they owed...
They had nothing to ever be jealous of. Nothing to fight each other for, not even out of spite. So they looked out for one another, and took care of each other, because if their small little community was all that they had, they were going to make it worthwhile.
They were simply one body. One mind.
Strong, and united. Working together until they died.
"Here, Pol", Paisley called out, tossing Polly a long-sleeved garment in an earthy shade of olive green, "Try this one on."
"Sure", Polly shrugged, pulling the piece of fabric over her head. It sat bulkily over her other clothes, but thankfully, it seemed to fit well enough.
"Seems to be okay... Is it comfortable enough?"
"Feels good to me — nice and plain, no godforsaken ruffles. Now, can we get out of here and go home? I'm starving..."
Paisley chuckled, "Yeah, sure. Take it off, and we can get going — I'm just going to go see if there are any scraps that are useful."
Polly didn't seem to have any reservations, stripping the dress off brisky and abandoning her sister inside the building to go explore. As soon as the young girl was out of sight, Paisley went back to rummaging through the bins, absentmindedly scavenging for anything else worthwhile. She wasn't sure what exactly she was looking for — more than likely nothing — and it struck Paisley that perhaps what she was really looking for was just an excuse to avoid going home.
But it wouldn't be any use. She couldn't avoid it — not for long, at least. At some point, she would have to face the music.
She thanked the woman and her daughter again — suddenly overcome with guilt for having never managed to actually catch her name — and set out to find her sister before the hour grew too late. The number of people buzzing around the patch had slightly dwindled by now, but the energy was still surprisingly warm, and Paisley still struggled to spot her sister across the manic crowd. After several moments of frantic scanning, Polly's face finally came into view.
There was a momentary instance of relief, before Paisley's straining eyes were able to make out exactly who her sister was talking to, and the feeling of discomfort bubbled in her stomach once again.
"Polly!", she called, heedlessly pushing her way through the moving crowd. The youngest Fawn didn't hear her at first, too deeply engrossed in conversation with the three eldery women, who had perched themselves behind a wooden wheel. When she was finally close enough to touch, Paisley reached out, piloting her sister away with a suggestive yank at her sleeve. "Polly — what are you doing? Are you insane? Messing with the Fates on a day like this—"
"Dude, relax. I was just getting my fortune told...", Polly's eyes widened, almost in shock at Paisley's over-reaction, "Since when are you superstitious, anyway? You're starting to sound as paranoid as Mom..."
"I'm not paranoid, it's just..."
There were terrible superstitions about spinsters, but it hadn't always been that way. Long before the Dark Days — before the Capitol had bulldozed over all of Eight's sacred land to replace it with their factories — spinning was what their industry relied on. At least, that was what people tended to believe, anyway.
But these days, finding yourself still stuck in preindustrial ways had dangerous connotations — especially for women. Spinsters were unmarried, older women, who couldn't afford to do anything else. They were witches and tricksters, who casted spells or toyed around with curses until they brought misfortune to those around them. Some people claimed that even passing a woman spinning brought on inescapable bad luck.
That was why the three women in front of them had eventually christened themselves the Fates — because they claimed they had to power to spin the thread of life.
If you asked Paisley, the whole thing was nothing but a load of dribble — just another excuse for the people in power to treat women like crap. But on a day like today, it didn't matter what she believed. She wasn't prepared to take any chances.
"I'm sorry — I didn't mean to snap", she sighed, "I just... I don't think we should be messing with fate right now. This time of year..."
"You're right. And what do three old fossils know about destiny anyway? Let's just go home", Polly responded casually, and the lightness of her voice eased the tension in Paisley's shoulders.
It was obvious enough that her sister was just trying to make her feel better, but she didn't really care. So long as those three women weren't pulling out their scissors to cut her thread short, that was all that mattered.
Seconds later, the two girls were walking back along the hidden pathway, finding themselves back in central square. For a moment, the walk was silent — even Polly having fallen into a wistful quiet. But upon glance, Paisley couldn't help but make out the brooding contemplation, puzzling her sister's face.
"Hey, Pais...?", she said eventually, her voice contained.
"Yeah?"
The words sounded surprisingly timid, with a feeble hesitance that so rarely escaped her dauntless lips.
"I was thinking about what you said — you know, about this time of year? And I was thinking, maybe we could talk about what happened last night. About what Parker said... about Preston..."
Sometimes, when she watched the constant joy beaming on her sister's face, Paisley's stomach couldn't help but churn with envy. Not because she didn't wish for Polly to be happy, but because it didn't seem fair, knowing the very innocence she lacked, her sister still possessed.
Polly was lucky. She had only been four when their brother had died — far too small to really feel the agonising weight of what they had lost. Too small, even, to really remember that night at all, apart from the echoes of loud noises or a couple of mismatched shapes. And unlike her, Polly had been smart enough to follow Parker's instruction when she had told the girls to stay put. She hadn't hurled herself down onto the street that night, and so she hadn't seen the flaming image of a bullet, flying through her brother's skull.
There was a certain blessing in that, but that didn't mean there wasn't misfortune too.
To Polly, the hole that existed in her family had been there for as long as she could remember, and she didn't actually have any memory of what it had been like full. She didn't understand, and so when she was brave enough, she asked questions — questions that the rest of her family never wanted to hear.
Paisley tried to understand. After all, if she was in her sister's shoes, she would crave the answers too. But it wasn't fair, and she couldn't talk about her brother. Not today.
Not when it was exactly ten years ago — almost to the day — that the world had taken him away.
"Polly, I... I know that you have questions", she attempted to speak, but the words just couldn't seem to leave her mouth, "And I want to answer them, I really do. I just... I can't, okay? Not today... I'm sorry."
Her sister nodded, but she looked disheartened, and Paisley felt a sudden pang of guilt seething in her chest. It felt like something she had never wanted to feel — it felt like she had disappointed her.
All that Paisley could think about was that if their brother were here, he would have told her exactly what she should do.
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By the time the two Fawns returned home, there didn't seem to be a second left to spare.
They were straight out of the door again — racing towards the communal showers in an attempt to look even slightly presentable with the short time they had left. The showers had been heaving all morning, but thankfully, the girls were so late that most of the traffic had already died off. The rest of their congested street must have been tucked away at home by now, ironing out creases and combing through their hair. Nobody in their right mind would still be washing...
Paisley turned on the tap, allowing the slow trickle of tepid water to brush flaccidly against her skin. The soap her mother had provided was like washing yourself with a brick — solid and dry, rough against her greasy skin. Even after several minutes of scrubbing, the black marks littering her arms and legs had barely faded to a muted grey. It was no use —her skin was still filthy.
Polly must have finished before her, because when she exited the shower cubicle, the entire room sat empty. Her eyes bore into her reflection in the mirror, the surface of the glass marked and misty, and she sighed.
She knew she could be pretty, if only she wasn't so plain.
Back at the house, she wasted no time at all in racing to get dressed. At some point whilst she had been gone, Parker must have risen, because she was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with the twisted knots at the back of Polly's hair. She didn't say anything, instead working quietly, and that was enough to remind Paisley the exact reason why everything felt so wrong.
Fawns never went into a Reaping angry, but this year, they would be going into it at war.
Shutting the thought away with the bedroom door, Paisley attempted to run a brush through her tousled hair. Unlike the mousy brunette of her sisters — subtle and sandy like the colour of dirt — Paisley's hair was unique, with its coarse waves and coppery hue. Some days she appreciated it's originality, but others, it just felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb.
A worn wooden box sat in front of her, which when wound up, played a gentle, melodious tune. Inside, the wood had been lined with fading velvet, the opening of the lid triggering the spinning of a wooden figurine.
It wasn't much, but it held the few items of value that Paisley actually had. Her only pair of earrings — dainty and silver, hanging just below her ear. A couple of withered photographs. A drawing of herself — or at least, it was supposed to be, but she had always found the girl in the picture far too angelic to really be her.
She dodged past it, instead fishing for a couple loose pieces of wool. They varied in colour, but each was bright, and Paisley began to braid them into thin strands of hair. Satisfied, she turned her attention towards getting dressed, pulling the newly-completed skirt over the same blouse she'd worn for the last five years. Across that time, the cream shirt had been slowly upgraded — whatever small modifications she could to make the plain material more appealing. The gradual replacement of each button, or dainty patterns of embroidery sewn into the hems and sleeves.
Things that made it feel a little more her.
The skirt itself was far more captivating — vibrant and voluminous, fanning outwards and falling just above her feet. She had been working on it for at least a year, sewing together whatever scraps she could find into something that almost resembled a patchwork quilt. Dozens of different fabrics, in all kinds of colours, patterns and prints.
It may have been nothing compared to the magnificent fashions that the Capitol had, but with her limited resources, it was pretty damn good.
There was one final thing in the box — the item that Paisley would easily consider to be the most precious. A tiny four-legged creature, handcrafted from loose scraps of brown yarn. It had black beads for eyes, and its back was speckled in hundreds of painted white spots.
After a moment of hesitation, Paisley tossed it into her pocket — the tight feeling in her chest telling her she just might need it today — and slammed the wooden box shut.
"Aw, you look lovely, Dear", her mother gushed when she reappeared, the rest of the family having gathered themselves by the front door. Paisley glanced up at the clock. Eleven. Just over an hour until the Reaping, and that included travel, street traffic, and the agonising wait to sign in. It was no wonder her family had congregated — it was already time to go.
"Thanks, Mom. Let's head out, shall we? I wouldn't want to make us late..."
Outside, the streets of Bramhall Green were already overflowing, the entire population of the town moving together like a stampede. For a second, Paisley considered searching for her friends, but she knew it wouldn't do her any good. Even if she found them, it would be impossible to cut through — not without interrupting the flow.
The second time time around, the walk felt tedious and long, but that didn't exactly come as any surprise. It was the same exact journey they had taken only hours before, except this time, they had the additional weight of their parents' tantalising silence.
Perhaps she should be grateful, Paisley thought to herself as they walked. After all, the silence was probably far more enjoyable than the things they had wanted to say.
Hamelin faded into view a short while later, but Paisley wouldn't have even noticed if it wasn't for the clanging of the bell. At some point along the way, her mind must have fallen into a lull, because her attention had become far more concentrated on what was happening inside her head. Soon enough, though, her thoughts were broken — interrupted by the sound of a shrill voice calling out her name.
"Paisley Paisley Paisley!", the voice kept calling, until she felt the impact of a tiny body colliding into her legs.
"Woah there", Paisley gasped, glance shooting downwards towards the child resting at her feet, "Hey Girlie. You've gotta watch where you're going, you know, or you'll crash."
"Sorry...", the young girl hummed, dramatically drawing out every syllable, "You look pretty."
"So do you", Paisley smiled, reaching down to scoop the four-year-old into her arms. She giggled, reaching out a puny finger to poke at Paisley's nose.
"Twyla! What have I told you about running off all the time?"
It was Gus who was calling, pushing through the breaking crowd to tail his sister's path. The family had parked themselves one street away from the Square, where the queue for sign in already appeared to be running rife. As he approached, she stumbled. He looked good — freshly polished in his navy shirt.
Twyla's nose crinkled, "But— I found Paisley! See!"
"I can see that", Gusset retorted as he reached them, tickling the nape of his sister's neck. He paused for a moment, eyes skirting upwards to meet Paisley's, and his expression softened. "Hey."
"Hey."
Unsure of what other words to say, his attention turned instead to greet her family, and several seconds later, his own mother and grandmother emerged from within the moving crowd. It was Chenille who greeted Paisley first — mumbling some annoyance about the stifling humidity of the weather — and then Gus's mother reached up to touch her cheek.
"Paisley", she spoke softly, and Paisley fought back every urge she had not to react to just how ill the dishevelled woman looked.
"Elsie — it's good to see you."
"Oh you too, Doll. Even if the circumstances are so unfortunate...", her voice trailed off, the words stirring discomfort in each of their faces. Instead, she smiled, fingers squeezing Paisley's cheek. "But don't you look adorable? I haven't seen this ensemble before — is it new?"
"Yeah um, kinda... I made it."
"Is that so?"
"What did I tell you, Ma?", Gusset boasted, throwing a proud arm around Paisley's shoulders, "My girl is a genius!"
Paisley's cheeks flushed, and through her bashful smile, she prayed her embarrassment seemed like it stemmed from the praise, rather than from anything else. She didn't have the emotional capacity that day, to address the fact that Gus had just referred to her as his girl.
For the second time in ten minutes, her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the bell — a clear sign that the time they had was abruptly running out.
Nobody seemed to find the words to speak, so instead, the two families broke into a flurry of flustered hugs. Paisley embraced both sets of adults separately, moving from between her mother's arms to awkwardly linger in Parker's personal space. She wanted to hug her — she really did — but something about the sullen look on Parker's face meant she didn't know how. She settled for a smile, watching as the eligible and ineligible groups began to split off.
The adults walked away together, the two mothers breaking into lifeless chatter. It always troubled Paisley to remember that some time ago, the two women had also been best friends, no different from the relationship between Meryl and herself. They still were, of course. But everything was different now, with Elsie's health so weak, and her mother so mentally distressed.
When they reached the sign-in tables, Gus pulled Paisley into another embrace, lightly pressing his lips against her cheek. He whispered something about finding her after and left to join the line of boys waiting to sign in. Suddenly, it was only Polly that Paisley had left, and the reality of the situation was just beginning to sink in.
"Paisley! Polly!", a hysterical voice rang out, "Wait a second — please!"
Both of their heads whipped frantically to their left. It was Parker, legging it towards them with more emotion than Paisley had seen from her all morning. It was a messy move — running. Erratic and disorderly and brave. But that was her sister, wasn't it? Unruly to the utmost degree.
"I couldn't let you go — not without... Without... You know what I mean", she panted when she reached them, hand on her chest in an attempt to catch her breath. Unable to find the words she needed, Parker reached over to grab each of their hands, inviting them to huddle together. For a second, all three pairs of eyes met, and with a knowing nod the two sisters knew exactly what Parker had been intending to do. Slowly, she took in a long, drawn-out breath. "We three Fawns vow to protect one another..."
"...love each other..."
"...and stick by one another."
"Come hell or high water — because there is nothing in this world strong enough to tear our sisterhood apart", Parker finished, a fiery assertion burning in her eyes. Finally allowing herself to exhale, she held her hand out towards the centre of their circle. "We vow."
"We vow", Polly mimicked, reaching out to place her own hand on top of her sister's in a dramatic swoop.
Paisley hesitated for a moment, meeting Parker's eyes with a regretful glance, before copying the motion to give both of their hands a gentle squeeze. "We vow."
It was a silly, frivolous little chant that they had made up when they were children, but over the years, it had become somewhat ritualistic. Without it, Paisley hated to admit that she wouldn't really have felt safe. It just... wouldn't have felt right.
"Good luck — both of you", Parker said, giving each of them a hug before disappearing again, catching up with the parents she had just left behind.
As they make their way to the back of the line, that dreadful feeling convulsed through Paisley's chest again. There were so many people there — thousands of them — and suddenly, she felt completely overwhelmed. Earlier, the people of Eight had seemed so blasé. So friendly with one another, even with the unsettling situation they were soon to face. But now, everything around her seemed so mixed up. These people were not outgoing, they were scared — their faces indistinguishable behind the brightness of the summer sun. Perhaps one of them was about to get picked, but she would never know. Suffocated by the sheer immensity of hanging faces, she felt unnoticeable. Unimportant. A reminder that to her district, she was nothing but another trivial face.
At the very least, this many years down the line, the sign-in process was simple and painless.
Wait your turn. Prick your finger. Next.
The feeling was so familiar to her that she hardly winced, the spot of blood blending into the other calluses on her nimble fingers no problem. She gave it a tactful blow, shaking her thumb around to ease the slight throbbing, and it was done. The final step she had to go through, before disappearing into the endless sea of girls, and all she could do was wait.
"Oh, Pais! There you are", Meryl greeted, as Paisley finally found her section in the ordered crowd. She was standing with a couple of other girls their age, Braeden and Kay, but the other two seemed completely immersed in their own conversation. As they hugged, Paisley could feel Meryl's body trembling. "I feel sick to my stomach — everything about this day just feels so off."
"Yeah — I know exactly what you mean..."
The stage in front of them was starting to fill, but Paisley couldn't bear to give it a proper glance. She knew exactly what to expect — two large bowls, overflowing ominously with slips of paper. Somewhere in those thousands, three of the slips read Polly's name. Over a dozen of them read Gus. What if it was one of those slips, waiting to be pulled from the top?
She shifted her focus to the back of the stage, where several chairs had been placed either side of the double doors. Paisley had always thought the Justice Building resembled some kind of castle, with its arched windows and tall, turreted roof. But it was an observation that only fed into the outlandish suggestion that their people were once bred from kings — something Paisley herself considered to be ridiculous.
Slaves did not wield their chains, because they had once been hailed like royalty.
The suggestion seemed even more absurd, if you studied the people sitting beside it. On the one side, Mayor Whelan and his wife, though they looked far more robotic than they did royal. And then to their right, the district's measly two victors. The totally unbalanced Woof Rawling, who had been growing gradually more maniacal over the last twenty-five years — and beside him, the only pupil he'd ever managed to bring home.
As soon as the glaring clock rang twelve-thirty, a forceful push sent the building's doors barrelling open. The woman that appeared next was nothing short of a vision — a dazzling figure in fluorescent clothing, glistening under the golden rays of the sun.
Here we go.
The district's escort — Aurelia Blush — couldn't have been much older than the kids themselves. At least, that was what crossed Paisley's mind, as the girl strutted up to the front of the stage. Every year, the escorts only got younger, as if the Capitol's most promising young stars were accepting the job as the first stepping stone of their career. It was sickening, really. To them, this was nothing but another gig — a role they had to play, to fulfil their ambition of one day appearing on the big screen.
Aurelia looked the part, too — Paisley admired, as she identified all the ways the woman had catered herself towards the latest trends. Her hair was feathered and curly, perfectly framing her youthful face, and her eyelids were painted a glittering shade of cobalt blue. Her silhouette was perfect — slender and sleek, with her top skin-tight to compliment her flared-out jeans. But it was her shoes that struck Paisley as the most extreme. Round-toe boots with a platform heel, made of a turquoise vinyl that was decorated with shiny silver stars.
Those people would wear anything, if it meant they looked good enough for TV.
"Welcome, District... Er...", Aurelia spoke coolly, her eyes skirting to the number scribbled on the back of her hand, "Eight! District Eight... I'm simply elated that I'm blessed enough to see you all again today. Are we all ready?" She received nothing in response — not a single word. The escort blinked. "Okay.... Well — Happy Hunger Games, District Eight, and may the odds be ever in your favour."
Her voice was sultry and charismatic, but behind her spider-like lashes, it was obvious the escort was fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Paisley scoffed.
What sort of reaction had she been expecting? She could have at least pretended like she cared.
One ridiculous video later, and Aurelia's attention turned to fixing the front of her feathered hair. Mindlessly, more words escaped her glossy lips. "Well — wasn't that swell? And now, onto this year's lucky tributes! Ladies first..."
Paisley stiffened as Meryl reached out desperately to grab her hand, realising just how much the poor girl beside her was shaking. She was always like this, but something about this year's trembling felt so much worse.
Perhaps that was why Paisley had been feeling such unease.... Maybe it was Meryl's name Aurelia was about to call out. Her body shuddered at the thought.
Aurelia's claw-like fingers circled the bowl, building up apprehension as if she expected the crowd to give her a drum roll. Her heel was tapping against the stage in monotonous clicks — the same unsettling pattern that reminded Paisley of the ticking of the clock. Underneath the deafening silence, the sound felt like a sharp pain bleeding into Paisley's ears.
In one fatal swoop, the escort's hand glided upwards, waving a singular slip of paper above their hanging heads. As she walked back towards her microphone, the crowd turned rigid, and Paisley watched as Aurelia's nail toyed playfully with the paper's seal.
Beside her, Meryl held her breath.
The escort cleared her throat — each syllable that left her mouth next moving in slow motion. As she spoke, everything around them fell unnaturally still, Paisley's eyes squeezing shut as she pleaded not to hear her best friend's name. It seemed so blatant now, that she could practically see the words forming from Aurelia's lips.
Not Meryl. Please — not Meryl.
"...Paisley Fawn!"
And then the world stopped turning, and Paisley's lungs fell void of any air.
Today wasn't any ordinary day. It would probably be her last.
❛ should i ask myself
in the water, what
a warrior would do? ❜
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AUTHOR'S NOTE... i'm already crying and we haven't even reached the real emotional stuff yet. or maybe i'm crying of relief because this chapter was so difficult to write, who knows. lord knows i don't have a guilt complex, anyway, or i wouldn't keep putting my characters through THIS SHIT. there's a lot going on in these early chapters and tbh it's been giving me a fat headache so that's why it's taken such a long time to write. however, it is full of a lot of fun things that i've been excited to share so i hope you enjoyed it!
i loved getting to show the district itself a little bit more — i'm obsessed with D8s strength coming from their community. i also loved showing more of the fawn family. i know their chant is a little cheesy but they came up with it when they were children — leave them alone!
the next chapter should *hopefully* be shorter and a little easier to write. we'll get to finally meet paisley's district partner as well (aka my son), and for that i honestly cannot wait...
anyway, lots of love!
dani x