five am. [bruno & harper]

The light streaming in from my window is jarringly bright, reflecting of the raindrops that still linger there. I wonder if it's been raining all night, or if they have frozen there from yesterday. Either way, the light streaming in through the pane is deafening. Can light be deafening? I think it can, you know, because this light is and some lights are. Silence can be deafening, and cats can be deafening, so there is certainly no reason why light cannot. I'm glad that's sorted, because things like that can play on your mind all day, you know. Maybe not your mind, specifically, but certainly in mine. People say my mind is different but I don't think it is. Secretly everybody is as strange as I am, but they just hide it because the world doesn't accept people who prefer kittens to babies and prefer babies to adults and prefer adults to television. It's just the way Panem works and it's no more my fault than yours, it's just that I choose to embrace my mind and my thoughts and you don't. You choose to conform, while I compare light to kittens and silence. I sing, too. And tell stories, mostly to myself. When Myra could sit still longer than a minute (that is, before she could crawl) I told her stories, but then she began to brutally stab my characters, so I started telling them to Rowley. Fire was never one to listen, and I swear River doesn't understand the English language. So Rowley will burble away until he falls asleep. It doesn't dishearten me - he's only a baby - but I go on telling my stories, because the only ones that actually listen well are my cats. Always, they purr as I sing and they meow as I weave a tale from nothing. It's not my choosing - it's who they are, and they are kind and generous and interested in what my mind chooses to say when I talk. Now, the dawn light is still waiting to break over the hills and I begin to weave them a tale as I do every morning, as they are just awakening from their deepest slumbers or settling down for a morning nap.

Stories echo around my brain, but the one that stands out to me most is dark and tragic, one that I have never told. I glance around, picturing the person in my story - a girl who ran away from District Four on a boat, hoping to find a better place. I take a deep breath, for I am almost never so dark as this.

" Yet another wave sent the tiny boat spinning through the swell. Rain pelted down, leaving each and every passenger soaked to the bone. The sky above was brooding and solemn, with great flashes occasionally lighting up the world.

Ara turned her head and squinted through the rain. In the darkness the girl could just make out the remains of the sails, tattered and ragged, being torn up from where they were fixed and tossed into the air. They hung there for a second before being dragged down into the waves. In a second they were gone.

It was impossible to tell that she was crying; her tears were washed away at once by the thunderous rain. Choking back a sob, her hands gripped around the rail. The boat lurched again below her as another wave sent the salty ocean mist into her face. The stifled sounds of screams clashed with the churning of waves and the creaking of the old boat.

Suddenly a cry sounded from somewhere behind her. ‘We’re sinking!’

Despair and fear filled her, and she no longer felt the biting wind on her cheeks.

The great grey ocean swirled below her. Taking a deep breath of salty air, she pulled herself to her feet, feeling the boat jerk around below.

Carefully balancing, the girl made her way through the tangle of crying bodies, her eyes squinting through the rain for anything that could keep her afloat.

The water began to lap over the sides, and more screams rang out. With an almighty jerk, the tiny wooden vessel tipped to the left, sending bodies tumbling weightlessly into the ocean. Ara hung onto the railing with the little strength she could muster.

An empty barrel, possibly once filled with flour or fresh water, lay ahead of her. Forced to let go of the railings for a second, the girl lunged across the deck, slipping and tumbling to the floor. Her fingers gripped the rough edge and pulled the barrel towards her. Relief flooded her body as she locked her arms around the only thing that could keep her floating when the boat finally sank.

Another wave rose up above them, threatening to crash down at any second. Water rushed over the girl, sending her spinning through the wave and into the sea. The freezing water elapsed and she struggled to pull herself back to the surface. Gasping, she scrambled to regain her hold on the barrel.

Around her, people were screaming and thrashing. Hands grappled at her barrel, trying to fight it from her. Everything moving too quickly, Ara kicked out into the water, the cold already numbing her inside and out.

Somehow, in the darkness the only hope of life was taken from her and she fought against the swell with no avail.

Within minutes, a boat had come to take the survivors away. It's search beams lit up the stormy sea, salvaging the few survivors. By then, however, it was too late.

Ara was already dead. "

I speak my story aloud, and my cats purr. They stop as I finish, dismayed. Always my stories have a happy ending. I must be an a terrible mood today. Maybe I dreamed of something dark. It is decided. I must go for a walk to refresh myself. I climb out of my window and cross the path. I guess I could have used the door, but I don't feel as though today is a door kind of day. The morning air is fresh and cool on my cheeks, and I am glad to be able to breathe it. Maybe I will meet somebody as I walk aimlessly, trying to find some happiness.