A Job for Two ((Timtab))

I'm up before the sun, as usual. I don't have an alarm. I once did, but dad trashed it the minute he heard it ring. Figures. He was too drunk to notice how expensive an alarm clock was. I blink my eyes, roll over, and look up at the ceiling. I immediately regret it. One of the fresher wounds on my back stings in protest, and I sit up with a grunt. I need to start wearing a shirt to bed. I run a hand threw my black hair, then glance out the window. The sky is grey, but the sun hasn't started its climb just yet. I get dressed quickly, putting on a pair of working jeans, a black T-shirt, and a brown jacket that used to belong to my dad. He hasn't found out about the jacket yet. If he did, I'd either get another beating, or he'd have forgotten already that the jacket belonged to him.

I don't bother combing my hair. It looks fine the way it is, and even if I did comb it, it would be ruffled again by the end of the day. Instead, I zip up the jacket and tip-toe down the hall. I pass my dad's room. His snoring sound like thunder, and I can see a bottle half full of liquor on his end table. His room is a mess, and I don't take a second look. A shudder runs down my spine, and I quickly head down the stairs to the kitchen. I find two eggs in the practically empty fridge, and a piece of stale bread on the counter. I brush a fly of the bread and pop it into the rusty old toaster, then grab a pan from under the counter and heat up the stove. I can't find any butter, so I just put the eggs on, hoping they won't stick to the pan. Yesterday at about noon, when dad was fairly sober, he said he'd go to the market and get some food. Of course, he didn't. I can imagine he'll say the same thing today, then go out to some party, get drunk, and forget all about it.

Suddenly I can smell smoke, and I realize the toast is burning. I dash over to the toaster, wave the black smoke out of the way, and pull the toast out. I drop it as soon as I do, putting my finger in my mouth. It's still burning from the heat. I groan, then bend down and pick it up between two fingers. I put it on the counter, then search the bare cupboards for a plate. I find one, and even though it has a chip on the side, I use it. I turn of the stove and slide the eggs onto the plate, followed by the toast. I don't have anything to put on the toast, but I'm used to that. The only utensils we have are a few forks and two knives. No spoons. I'm late for work, so I don't even bother to use them, and instead eat with my hands. I finish quickly, and Im just leaving the house when I hear dad waking up. "Miss Kendra will get him somethin' to eat." I tell myself, then open the creaky door and step outside.

Even this early in the morning, its hot. The sun has not been merciful this month, and I know this day will be just like any other. There's a fine must in the air, and the humidity emphasizes the smell of pine trees. I stay away from other people, keeping to the edge of the road. I've never talked to any of the workers, but I know them all by name, what their jobs are, and who is in their family. And I know about their family members, too. I don't talk much, so instead, I listen and gather what information I can. I probably know more about District 7 than anyone else. Jack walks by, holding a brown paper bag. I know what's in there. His lunch. A small slice of cheese, an apple, and a ham sandwich. Boy, I wish I had enough money to afford that. I can see Samuel, with his younger brother Ben, headed for a building in the distance. Their father died five years ago, and their mother can't work, so they earn the money themselves. I often see them nailing together chairs and cutting smaller branches off of the trees.

"Hey, boy!" I jerk my head up to see that I've arrived at one of the lumber yards. The smell of sawdust hits my nose, and can hear chainsaws working away in the distance. The headman was the one who called me. Mr. Gib, it's what the other more important workers call him. I nod my head, indicating that I've heard. Most people would say 'yes sir', but my voice is so quiet he'd never hear me. "Go load those boxes onto the flatbed. I want 'em ready by ten, on the double! Station master'll be here to pick 'em up by then. I nod again, then hurry over to the crates. I lift one up, and right away I know what's in them. Lumber. Smaller sized logs. They'll be sent to the Capitol, to be used for fires. Unfortunately, no one in District 7 gets the wood. 

At about eight, I'm half way through, and I'm sure I can finish by nine thirty. That means I can get some extra work in, which means more money, which means more food. My forehead is wet with sweat, and the sun is almost all the way up. I let out a grunt when I feel another sting on my back. "Stupid whip," I mutter to myself. Dad must've given me a real good beating last night. I reach down for another crate, wincing, when suddenly it seems about half the weight in the box is gone. I look up, puzzled, and nearly jump out of my skin when I see a girl holding the other edge of the crate. I steady it, then take another look at her.

Briar is her name. I've seen her before, and I've heard things about her, too. She's got a little brother named David, and a little sister named Willow. Willow's barely a toddler, but I've still seen her in the lumberyards before. She's got a mom, unlike me. Her dad died awhile ago, and her mom got remarried to a man named Caleb. I've seen Caleb before in the lumberyards, working just like everyone else. But he's not normal. Three years ago, when I was fourteen, I saw him walking Briar home. It looked like he was just trying to be a good dad, but then I saw him try to hold her hand. Try to kiss her. I knew Briar didn't want to do it, but she was much smaller then Caleb. I didn't see anymore. I had turned away and run home. I didn't want to see anymore. Briar's voice interrupts my thoughts.

"The foreman sent me to help." I nod curtly, my expression blank. I carry the crate over to the flat bed with her help, then toss it on with the others. My back is stinging like crazy, and it's almost impossible to lift things, but I need the money. I have to keep working.

OOC: That was a lot more typing than I expected...-_- sorry about that! Hope it's okay that Jay knows so much about Briar. I can edit some out if you want.

The next few loads are killing me. My back still stings, the crate edges are digging into my hands, and the weight is dragging down on my arms. My shirt has been soaked through now, and it's sticking to my body. I took of the jacket a long time ago. Briar and I are lifting another box, and I must've winced, because she's looking at me with a concerned frown. "Are you okay?" I nod, tossing the crate onto the flat bed and wiping my hands on my pant legs. Really, I'm stalling, but I hope she doesn't notice. I've got to think up a lie, and quick. 

"I'm fine." I grunt. "I was climbing a tree yesterday and fell on my back. Must've been a bit worse then I though it was." It's a lie, and not a very good one, but I hope it's convincing enough. I don't want anyone to know about my dad. If they ever did, the Peace Keepers would probably say he was unfit to care for me, and then they'd put me in an orphanage. I'd rather starve. I don't want to be stuck in a building with two hundred other kids, all with thin little bodies and bony hands. I shudder just think about it.

I manage another crate, and then I need to rest for a minute. I lean against the flatbed, then push myself back up, wincing in pain. I growl angrily and clench my fist. How can I earn money like this? How can I stay out of the orphanage if I can't work? Answer: I can't. I have to keep working.