More than the Ear can Hear (Open)

There's something about the winter blanket of pristine white snow with the sun reflecting off its surface and making the world look like a bright, happy place that makes me want to vomit. It's this feeling in the pit of my stomach, a rock that sits firmly in the center of me, aching for the days that we hardly remember ever existed because they were too long ago and so much brighter than the days in which we live.

During the summer, I can make the most of things. In the summer, i can convince myself, even if only for a few minutes, that the world is right and that it's worth keeping myself alive. But it's in the winter that I learn the most, I've found. Winter puts many others at a disadvantage, the way that sound carries over snow. You can give your position away by the sounds you make, and when it carries right on over the fluffy white stuff, you're a goner. And you could say that I'm at a disadvantage because I can't hear my enemies coming up upon me when everyone else can hear every sound I make. But I'm quiet, and I don't speak. I've learned to move swiftly and quietly though, mainly out of necessity. When you're at a disadvantage you have to learn to make up for your disability.

You can hear me, but can you smell me? Because I'll know you're there before you can hear or see me, and I'll always be prepared for you. Always. Even in this winter world of snow and sludge, I'm better prepared than you are. I can just about guarantee you that I could lay out out dead before you even knew I was present. And I intend to use that to my advantage, should my name come up in the reaping. My eyes, my sense of smell, my tactile sense is so much stronger than anything a hearing person possesses that I may be less disabled than you think. Someone once told me that a deaf person can do anything except hear. I believe that wholeheartedly.

I don't miss it.

Right now what I miss is the summer, the feeling peace I get when the sun is out and the air is warm. I'm not sure whether or not I'll see the next summer in district six, and I've been trying hard not to think about the possibility of death. My whole world has been focused on getting into college, and if I'm smart enough or good enough, I'll make it there when I'm done with my Capitol education this year. Then my real life starts, thank goodness.

Do I believe in goodness any more? I'm not sure, but I know that if there is any goodness at all, it's my mother. She's the best thing I've ever had in my life and I'm so blessed to have her, even though I know that I have to give her all of myself. She deserves it. I have to make it through this reaping and through the next games. But I've spent too much time focusing on the skills I need for survival. Now is the time to focus on the skills that I'll need for the rest of my life. I live in District Six. Survival isn't a life skill; it's a skill of childhood. I'll make it through. I have no doubt that if I'm reaped, I'll come out the victor. It doesn't bother me any more. My chances are higher, but the pool is bigger. In the end, I'll make it through. I always do.

The air is cold and I wrap my poncho more tightly around me as I make my way from the school building to the small building that my mother rents to do her inventing. She's been working on a special project lately, and I want to see what she's been putting together. I'm shivering, teeth chattering so hard that I swear I can hear them, but I know that's just an illusion of the sensation. I taste cold, and I think for a moment that it's blood until I pick up on the fact that it's probably just the icy air that has that metallic taste to it this time of year. My lips are chapped, but I don't have the thought to stop and put something on them to soothe them. Instead, I simply go on intently walking in the direction of the shop, hoping that I won't be interrupting her this time, but eager to find out what the project is and if there is anything that I can do to help.