A Pocketful of Posies {Jack}

The heat made it much harder for Scutcher to maintain the garden. Luckily, the dense canopy from the thicket over head provided some shade, but even the usually damp earth of the thicket was starting to dry almost as badly as the parched earth that lay outside of it. The garden was vulnerable at this time; from dying of thirst, from the insects that were plentiful in the summer months and liked to chew on the leaves as well as other animals, seeking shade, trampling through the gardens and nibbling at the vegetables. But Scutcher was determined, now more so than ever to keep this place safe- to keep it alive for ever and for always. Though the flowers would wither and die, in the spring new life would burst forwards over and over in an endless cycle long after the people who had tended to it, who had sat here were dead.

He was going to plant more in the spring next year too, Scutcher had decided. It was beautiful now; those colours springing and vivid, sweet smelling and brightening the air but it needed to be better. If he could pour in enough of his sweat and yes even his blood- he’d cut himself on a piece of chicken wire earlier on in the day- then that would let Noreen’s twins know that they always had a place here; the best place in the whole entire world. Tallow was starting to get cross, the amount of time he spent in the garden- so was his father, though he was always cross. Perhaps arguably he was spending altogether too much time weeding and moving things around and trying to get everything looking perfect and pruned but it was helping…it was something to do.

The world was holding its breath and Scutcher didn’t know which way was which anymore. Tallow was doing her best but she was just as confused and antsy as he was, perhaps more than he was. Noreen was in the Hunger Games well and truly now and each moment that Scutcher spent in the garden, away from the screen he was sure was the moment that she was going to die. He should have taken a leaf out of Tallow’s book and listened to what she’d said…that he should forget about her because she’d already forgotten about him, because she’d never liked him but he couldn’t make his brain stop thinking about her. It wasn’t as though everything around him reminded Scutcher of Noreen because that would suggest that his memory needed triggering, when all he was made up of now was memories of those altogether too brief moments of friendship.

He wished he’d talked to her sooner, that they’d known each other longer. He wished he’d never met her at all.

But the garden was still here and it always would be, always hers, always for the twins even if they never ever came back to the district at all. They weren’t now, Scutcher knew that; gossip would have gotten around even if nobody had ever told him somehow the news would have gotten back to him but Scutcher really hoped that they would be. For some reason Tallow had snorted when Jack had brought it up, registering her obvious displeasure. “Please for fuck’s sake Scutcher don’t get worried about them babies. They aint none of your damn business and I doubt Jack’ll even get them…he aint in no fit state is what everyone is saying.” But he couldn’t help but be worried about the twins; just the way he couldn’t help but be worried about his sister. Some babies got put into bad places and without Noreen to guide them and to love them, Scutcher didn’t know if the twins would be too.

Scutcher couldn’t do anything about it though, could he? He was just a slow pig boy from district ten, no power, no smarts, no nothing. But he was good at gardening and that would have to be enough for the twins for now, probably for forever really- Scucther couldn’t kid himself on that front. He honestly and truly was doing his best though, even now in the sweltering heat he was working, shirt tucked into the back pocket of his jeans though it was doing nothing to cool him down, exapanding the flowerbeds a little, turning up the earth to make it fresher and easier to sow the seeds before watering the plants with what little water he’d managed to collect from the water butt that now sat at the outer edges of the thicket to catch as much water as it could.

Sweating, tired and always feeling a strange but familiar tug at his chest, Scutcher stopped for a minute and coughed thinly through his still aching, but much better ribs, and surveyed all that he saw. It was on its way to being wonderful at least. He hoped that would be enough.