Watercolors (Open)

Orange. Red. Pink. The late afternoon summer sun splashes the colors across the sea and sky alike. the light breeze coming off the water ruffles the hem of my sundress, tickling my nose with the end of my hair. I frown and brush it away, digging my toes deeper into the warm sand, letting the day's heat sink into my feet. The gentle roll of the waves is soothing, like a sleeping giant pulling in deep breaths and letting them out slowly. Apart from a few birds in the air, the afternoon is quiet. In the distance further down the beach, I can see the workers hauling in the day's catch. Fish and crab and shrimp, ready to be processed and packed away for the Capitol. With the Games approaching, they'll have need of the delicacies my district provides. Parties to cater, tributes to feed. The whole spectacle beginning again.

Gracefully, I pull the brush across the canvas in front of me, leaving behind a trail of vibrant blue. Now that the Reaping is over, Mother and Father aren't keeping me as close to home. I know they fear me being chosen. I'd be lying if I said I didn't fear it myself. Like any good citizen, I line up. I get my blood taken and my name goes into the bowl. Blessedly, I didn't know the tributes this year. I never seem to really know anyone that's been sent to die. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. It doesn't mean it doesn't affect me. Fear grips me every time. The icy cold kind that rushes through my veins, paralyzing my body to the point I think my heart my stop. The only thing that keeps it beating on, that keeps it from freezing, is the ember of anger I carry there. I’m not an angry person, anyone could tell you that. But for one thing. My parents lost a friend. They fear losing me. Every year, I get to watch them relive that grief and it tears me in two. Knowing there’s nothing I can do to ease their recurring pain. Realizing that no matter what I do, avoiding tesserae, I could be chosen. The Capitol could take me from them too. That anger keeps me from shaking.

But it’s over now. At least for a year. It’s time for me to pack away the anger and the fear. Lock them up tight and move on with my life. Looking down at my painting, I realize it's become more of a mass of black and blue, swirling together into some kind of inescapable abyss. I sigh and set it in the sand beside me, raking my hair out of my face and adjust the single braid at my shoulder. Hiding the anger away seem to get a little harder every year. Hugging my knees to my chest, I lay my chin on them and stare out at the water, waiting for the sun to finally sink. Waiting for the day to finally be over. Like tomorrow would be any different.