Streetlight Diaries {Open}

Sarah Strauss


I am a tree.

I wish that I was saying that metaphorically, like about being graceful and something.

But no.

I really am.

I guess I should count myself lucky that most girls stop growing at this age.

Five foot eleven is enough to make me visible for miles.

But I don't want to think about that anymore.

It's a cold day in the district today, though not intolerably so, and yet mom still thought it was a good idea to send me down to the hob to get some more food. I hate the winter. There is always less of a selection available around this time of year, the illegally hunted animals leaving in search of better feeding grounds and what few crops that can be found in personal gardens withering up and dying from the frost. Like I probably will if I don't get to my destination soon. I've bundled myself up as best I can; which is to say not all that much. The sweater I'm wearing is thin as are the pants, but its better than nothing. Pop's a miner like pretty much every other guy in the district barring peacekeeper, so its not like we can afford much. My brother Erik would say that that would all change if he won the hunger games and got rich and famous, but I've always thought he has a few screws loose. Who in their right mind would want to get reaped?

Well. I guess careers would, but this is district twelve. We haven't had a victor since I was nine years old and it doesn't look like we'll be getting another one anytime soon. Everyone likes an underdog except, you know, the Capitol. Though you wouldn't think that if Erik was talking to you. Heron, Aranica and Arbor are his heroes. Me? I've never seen any of them. Victors are a pretty reclusive lot for being famous. You'd think they'd want to squeeze every last drop of fame out before fading into obscurity. Or maybe they want to be forgotten. The week that they get called back to the Capitol to mentor people must be excruciating. I shake my head and keep walking towards the Hob. It isn't that far of a walk for me, so I guess I should be thankful that we don't live on the seam. I'd like it even better if we could live in the merchants sector, but Pop has never felt like starting his own business.

Still, since he's an overseer we're not completely dirt-poor. More like clay-poor or something. Pretty soon, I make my way into the Hob. There's not that many people in here, but that's to be expected for this time of year. The pickings are looking really meager in terms of food. Beer and other things like that are always readily available but the things that you actually need? I scan a section of meats and curl my lip up in disgust. No venison or birds; My choice is between a heap of field mice or squirrel. The latter isn't all that bad; kinda stringy but not inedible. Mom did say she wanted enough meat for a stew though, so I might have to get some mice too. I don't have any food of my own to trade, but mom is parting with fabrics that she couldn't find use for. That'll have to be enough. I pick a plump looking squirrel and tuck it under my arm before looking over the mound of mice. As I do so, I bump into someone that I didn't see with my peripheral vision.