ves camden. district four. wip.

manly-like.

humanish.

I wasn’t born. I just kind of showed up one day.

And She showed up with me.

Gran was great. Old, but great. She was very rich, in both wealth and knowledge, and extremely kind. Where she got her money from, I don’t know; she wasn’t as wealthy as those in the Capitol, of course, but I’d like to think she was better off than a lot of people in our District. When Gran died I realized nothing about her besides her love of pink pearls, her ability as a musician, and that she had a son. Then again, when she died I knew nothing about myself, either. I never questioned. I never had to wonder.

Gran raised us as if we were her own children. She was our mother, and we didn’t know any kids our age to know any better. She clothed us well, but never with clothes we couldn’t get dirty, and always made sure we wore sturdy shoes and sunhats. We were also homeschooled, even though Gran probably could have afforded to send us to the best school in the District. I’m glad she didn’t, though, because Gran was brilliant and She was too frail to go out in public.

Even as a young child, She was always very sick. Her chills turned into colds instantly and even the slightest pricks of her finger could turn very bloody very fast. I was always there for her, and I looked out for her. I could not take care of her though..the sight of blood or vomit closed my throat in the worst of ways..but I protected her the best I could.

We were very different. I loved to swim, but She was afraid of water. I wouldn’t have ever let her swim anyway, in case she got hurt somehow. When we were old enough to learn to read and write, Gran taught her how to play the flute. Gran tried to teach me, too, but I was too immature and could not hold a tune to save my life. She quickly became very good, though, and despite my brooding jealousy I loved to hear her play. In addition to this, She was very creative, always finger painting or singing or making up stories; I preferred to read, although Gran only owned three books, which I probably read over a hundred times each.

I was eight when Gran decided I was a little deaf. We were outside on a beautiful summer midmorning, and Gran was calling us in for our meal. We had one proper meal a day, usually fish or crab, which lasted us until a small snack of toast and fruit before bed. Gran always told us it was more than a lot of people ate in two days, but we believed she said this just to get us to eat everything. Anyway, she was calling us in and I didn’t hear. She called us again and again until she had to search for us. It was very unusual of me to not respond, so Gran tested my hearing by clapping softly and I told her she wasn’t making any noise. At first I had a hard time believing her..because I could hear Her just fine. Gran and Gran’s son were the only ones I couldn’t hear.

In the springtime, just after my tenth birthday, She and I both caught a cold that was passing through the District. I got over it quickly, but for her it turned into pneumonia. She became very sick..sicker than I had ever seen her. I stayed by her bed every second and would not leave for anything; Gran had to take our meals to us. At this time, I noticed Gran seemed much older than she usually did. Her wrinkles were more defined and her actions were much more careful and calculated. And She did not seem to be getting any better. One day, the house fell silent..I attributed it to my partial deafness.

After that day, the world sprung into life again. She was more boisterous and played outside much more often. Getting cuts and bruises seemed to harm her no longer. When she played the flute, it sounded as otherworldly and enchanting as ever.

Later that year, Gran passed away. Her son said she died in her sleep, peacefully, from old age. He also said that She would live with him and his wife and two daughters, both already almost eighteen. He lived not far from Gran’s house, and told me I could see her whenever I wanted. For a ten year old to be told he had nowhere to live, it was devastating. I asked Her to beg Gran’s son to take me in, too. I lived in Gran’s house, by myself, unable to prepare food for myself and unaware of where to get any. For a week I lived on my own, until the son came for me. He found me dirty and starving and very sad, and his compassion was immediate.

After I regained my strength, he pronounced that I was to be his apprentice. He was a fisherman and offered to teach me his trade. I agreed, although this meant my short-lived education was to be discontinued. I spent many long days with him on the boat, at first learning how to tie knots and fashion spears from sticks, and then learning how to capture fish and other sea creatures with hooks and nets. I spent the evenings listening to Her play her flute.

We were entered into the lottery when we were twelve, like all the other children. I expressed my concern for Her being easily killed in the Games to Gran’s son. And then…

He did not understand.

I did not understand his misunderstanding.

He said he didn’t know who She was.

Did he have amnesia? Did he not remember he chose her first? Could he not hear her flute, as we spoke?

I looked for her.

And She was not there.

I had to explain.

Vera and I were born in the same tribe of nomads: wanderers from District 7. We were left on Gran’s porch because our parents knew Gran was trustworthy. My mother adopted you when you were six months old. As far back as my conscious memory goes, Vera was frail. Gran was frail. But she played flute very well. As did Gran. Gran gave us good shoes and strong jeans. But Vera never got her shoes dirty. She didn’t wear them. Because she didn’t have them.. Vera was a great listener. I could talk for ages and she would always gladly listen. Most of the time she was in bed, so she didn’t honestly have a choice..and she loved to paint. Gran showed me some of your paintings. They’re really quite good. When she gets back I’ll ask her to paint one for you.Ves.. We really are related, you know. But by bond, not blood. And we are the best of friends. Vera does not exist, Ves..she’s just your imaginary friend.

I knew he was lying.

But he implanted a seed of doubt in my brain.

And it sprouted and blossomed.

Maybe She was not real. Maybe she never was.

Either way..I never found her. She disappeared, just like that. I could hear her small, comforting voice in my head. And at night, if I listened hard enough I could hear her flute whisper in the wind. But that was all. I felt like I had disappeared with her.

Camden praised me as a hard but silent worker. I became a skilled apprentice under him, and when I turned fifteen he offered me a job with his company. I politely accepted, and not six months later the company folded due to the bad economy. I was forced to take a tessarae for myself, after much deliberation with Her. I hadn’t heard her voice in a while, and our conversation was comforting. She assured me I would be alright, and to this day I have not been reaped.

Camden was not able to restart his company by my sixteenth birthday, so I dutifully thanked him for his graciousness and parted ways. I found work in a small store that sold frozen fish and live shellfish. It paid well enough for me to afford a closet-sized apartment in the poorer part of the District, and this is where I am today, living in the same place and working the same job. I haven’t touched a hook or line in about a year. She insists that I look for better work, mostly because I hadn’t had a new pair of shoes in two years.

Maybe, I told her. But I could sense my hearing was worsening. Maybe I’ll look for my parents instead.

vera (referred mostly to as She or Her) was in fact a figment of his imagination the whole time. his imaginary friend~