Silent Irony [Tori]

When I was eight, my mother showed me how to make poison.

At that time, when I was still living in District 9, I'd been dubious on whether or not I even needed the knowledge. My brother Roy had left us, and my father was dead; soon enough, we'd probably migrate to 5. And in turn, I would be able to drop my pretense as a hunter and live to take care of the wildlife. It was ironic how I was born in a place where we killed animals and managed to end up in a place that tried to keep them alive.

But still, Janine Soleil insisted, and I'd dutifully reported to my lessons in the forest each day. District 9 had an animal population that was constantly changing drastically, but their plants were well alive. My mother showed me how to create the deaths of many animals through herbs; the berries of a mistletoe, the bulbs of a daffodil. She showed me how to take the smallest of unhealthy symptoms and turn them into death. She'd said that, someday, I would be grateful to her because I would need those skills.

Well. Mother was wrong.

Now, passing through the district market, I swung my bag of herbs absently around my side, letting it bump against my legs. It took me a few seconds too late to realize that I was bleeding, that the thorns of the stuff in my bag had somehow punctured through the plastic covering--and the cloth over my skin. For a moment I kept on walking, just glaring at the small wound. Then, muttering to myself with words that didn't even make sense to myself, I took a seat on one of the open benches of the market.

"Not the poisonous one, not the poisonous one..." I reached inside the bag and pulled out a plant stained scarlet in a few spots. It took me a minute to examine it, and then another to determine, dryly, that it was safe, and that I wasn't going to die. Not that that would happen anyway. I'd hallucinate first.

My gaze flickered back to the plant, only to realize that it looked oddly familiar. Eyebrows raised, I turned it over in my hand. The brightly colored petals, the smooth texture...

"Primrose," I said with some surprise. Great. There were bunches of primrose growing outside my house. I should've realized it immediately. My lips curved up in a smile, small and wry.