Life after the Reaping (Khefty)
Jun 2, 2012 22:37:48 GMT -5
Post by Jack Lexington on Jun 2, 2012 22:37:48 GMT -5
The days go by after the reaping and people in our district go back to their daily duties-get on with their lifes, just like they do every year.
Not me though. The first couple of days after the reaping I’m on the verge of biting the dust myself because the doctors office wasn’t exactly sterile and his ‘operation’ has left me with a pretty severe infection, which came into full bloom when I arrived at my parents home.
All I said to my mother was that I want clean clothes, nothing more, nothing less.
She keeps coming back and asks whether I need anything, tries to tell me that Noreen will be alright, which we all know is not true.
I remain silent and think of her once I’m over the worst struggle for my own life. Turns out the pills which the doctor gave me are called “Antibiotics” and do help me to stay alive.
After a few days of trying to talk to me both mom and dad give up and go about their usual business and only come and check on me during lunch and dinner times. I’m living on soup because that’s all I can stomach.
The only one who never leaves my side is Storm. Absentmindedly my hand plays with his furr but I think he’s the one who helps me keep my sanity.
After a good ten days I even make a trip in front of our house just to notice how shaky my legs are and how unstable I stand on my own two feet, maybe a side effect of the “pain cure” I discovered for myself: Dads whiskey. I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed yet how little is left in that big ole bottle.
Blinking against the bright sunlight, which assaults my eyes, I lean my back against the porch. My eyes fall on a few flowers next to our porch steps. Lilacs. Noreen planted them in her secret garden...who knows maybe she planted these ones with my mother.
My face is emotionless as I stare down at the small petals but inside I’m tearing up. Only two more days until the games start. Maybe only two more days for her to life.
I swallow hard against the lump in my throat and with some effort bend down to pick that flower.
The pain in my abdomen is still very noticable but nothing compared to my insides. Angrily I squish the flower in my hand and throw it onto the ground. If Noreen can’t live, the flower doesn’t have any right to.
There’s so much anger and resentment inside of me I don’t know what to do with it so my best way is to step off the porch, grab the axe from our wood block and swing it above my head to hack everything to bits that I can reach. Needless to say I don’t get far until my father comes charging outside and rips it from my hand. “What the hell are you doing, Jack?”
I”m so darn frustrated that I smash my bandaged fist into his face as if that would help anything and then run away like a little kid.
My dad is so taken back by my action to beat me back or even follow me but he calls after me. “You”d better get a grip on yourself soon, son.”
I’m alone again, behind the wood shack hiding from the world, hurting and thinking whether I can stand to watch Noreen go into the blood bath at the Cornucopia when she’ll step off the platform....
Two days later I sit propped up on some pillows next to my father and mother with emotionless face while exactly that event is being broadcast on national television.
All the time I’m holding my breath and my emotions inside and when she finally runs away from it a tiny hint of a smile plays on my lips. Noreen is still alive.
Not me though. The first couple of days after the reaping I’m on the verge of biting the dust myself because the doctors office wasn’t exactly sterile and his ‘operation’ has left me with a pretty severe infection, which came into full bloom when I arrived at my parents home.
All I said to my mother was that I want clean clothes, nothing more, nothing less.
She keeps coming back and asks whether I need anything, tries to tell me that Noreen will be alright, which we all know is not true.
I remain silent and think of her once I’m over the worst struggle for my own life. Turns out the pills which the doctor gave me are called “Antibiotics” and do help me to stay alive.
After a few days of trying to talk to me both mom and dad give up and go about their usual business and only come and check on me during lunch and dinner times. I’m living on soup because that’s all I can stomach.
The only one who never leaves my side is Storm. Absentmindedly my hand plays with his furr but I think he’s the one who helps me keep my sanity.
After a good ten days I even make a trip in front of our house just to notice how shaky my legs are and how unstable I stand on my own two feet, maybe a side effect of the “pain cure” I discovered for myself: Dads whiskey. I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed yet how little is left in that big ole bottle.
Blinking against the bright sunlight, which assaults my eyes, I lean my back against the porch. My eyes fall on a few flowers next to our porch steps. Lilacs. Noreen planted them in her secret garden...who knows maybe she planted these ones with my mother.
My face is emotionless as I stare down at the small petals but inside I’m tearing up. Only two more days until the games start. Maybe only two more days for her to life.
I swallow hard against the lump in my throat and with some effort bend down to pick that flower.
The pain in my abdomen is still very noticable but nothing compared to my insides. Angrily I squish the flower in my hand and throw it onto the ground. If Noreen can’t live, the flower doesn’t have any right to.
There’s so much anger and resentment inside of me I don’t know what to do with it so my best way is to step off the porch, grab the axe from our wood block and swing it above my head to hack everything to bits that I can reach. Needless to say I don’t get far until my father comes charging outside and rips it from my hand. “What the hell are you doing, Jack?”
I”m so darn frustrated that I smash my bandaged fist into his face as if that would help anything and then run away like a little kid.
My dad is so taken back by my action to beat me back or even follow me but he calls after me. “You”d better get a grip on yourself soon, son.”
I’m alone again, behind the wood shack hiding from the world, hurting and thinking whether I can stand to watch Noreen go into the blood bath at the Cornucopia when she’ll step off the platform....
Two days later I sit propped up on some pillows next to my father and mother with emotionless face while exactly that event is being broadcast on national television.
All the time I’m holding my breath and my emotions inside and when she finally runs away from it a tiny hint of a smile plays on my lips. Noreen is still alive.
