Stubborn Bulls & Porcelain Dolls [shrimp]

I didn't sleep very well last night, my nightmares having grown worse than before the Reaping. More screaming, more horror, and more of that scary man from the attic threatening to come in my room. Cleo said she hoped that he got me, but I know she didn't mean it. That was just Cleo being Cleo. But I still had the nightmares, still felt the evil just outside my door, attempting to claw it's way through the wood. Mostly I just didn't want him to ruin my drawings that I had hung on the door. I even told him this past night in a moment of bravery, "You can come kill me just please don't ruin those drawings on the door when you come in? I worked really hard on those!" Of course then I thought I heard something knocking in my closet and quickly retreated back under my covers with Silvie and Missy, but I was still a bit proud of myself. I was being brave and strong. I think Cleo would be proud, right? But I spent the rest of the night under the covers, letting Silvie's sweet lullaby engulf me for about the fifth time this week. I haven't been able to make myself get up and go to school either so I've just stayed in my room, drawing pictures, and hanging them on my door. They aren't very good, or at least I don't think they are with sharp lines and a bit of color spilling outside the lines (the teachers tell me you have to stay inside the lines, though I don't understand why) but I still hang them up on my door. Because the pictures are special. Lots of other girls spend their time drawing unicorns and rainbows and butterflies, but my most recent masterpieces are of us. Our family. And instead of yelling, we are laughing. And instead of wishing one another would die, we are holding hands. And instead of missing daddy and Cleo, we are one whole unit. I've drawn so many of them, using only the bright colors in my crayon box because the dark colors aren't allowed to stain our family anymore. Not anymore.

But as I climb on top of my dresser, setting out a piece of blank paper and opening up my crayon box, I find myself only staring at the paper. I can't make my hand move, can't make "pretty" things fall off the tip of my crayon and onto the paper, I can only stare blankly into the white abyss of parchment. The thought hits me, hard and painful, and I have to fold my legs into my chest and rock myself back and forth to keep the tears from falling. I'm here drawing silly pictures while Cleo is off fighting for her life. What kind of stupid fantasy world am I living in, thinking that drawing things will give me what I wish for? Everyone knows that only the stars can grant wishes. But when I look out the window, there are no stars to wish upon, only bright blue sky dotted with clouds. I swallow hard and climb off my dresser onto my bed, grabbing Silvie and Missy and pulling them to the floor with me, feeling my heart begin to pound. I try to hide the tears that are welling in my eyes from them, but they see almost immediately. And not only that, I can feel my cheeks growing warm and my heart beginning to ache just as it did as I hugged her goodbye. Silvie looks at me with those blue eyes of hers, like ice over a frozen pond - glassy and bright, and she crawls over and sits in my lap, holding my hand. "Ava, I love you. You know that right? With all my heart I love you." And then Missy comes to sit at my knee, holding my other hand and I start to cry. It's only softly, not like the wretched sobs that wracked my body at the Justice Building, but it's enough that the tears fall.

I hold tight to each of their hands, pressing my lips to the top of Silvie's head, my sparkling tears mixing with her soft, blonde hair. I have never been more sad in my life than I am right now. Not when I stole cookies and couldn't eat supper. Not when the kids at school pulled my hair and threw Silvie in a mud puddle. Not when daddy disappeared and we had to go to a funeral. (Though I know the casket was empty. I think the family just wanted to play a trick on me.) But it feels like a piece of me is gone now without Cleo in the house. No one else seems to care, or at least if they do I can't see it, but me? I love her. She has to come. She has to come home if only to tell me that the Monster Man in the attic is going to get me if I don't behave or listen to her or any other ridiculous reason. Without the queen, what power use does a pawn like me have? I dumped all of the pieces of my chess set out of my backpack when I got back from the Justice Building and set it all up, all the black pieces facing all the white pieces, and the only piece missing was the black queen, her crown shining in the Capitol by now. For awhile I cried because I knew exactly where the piece was and I was just so terrified for it, but then I just cried when I realized I had no one to play the game with and then cried even more when played with myself and just couldn't make the black pieces win for their lost queen. It was like they didn't even care if they lost, like they didn't want to win for her. I ended up scattering the pieces across my room, but keeping the knights and rooks on my bedside table because they were they were by far the coolest looking pieces. (And because the knight wants to save the princess in the tower. It's fun to make a story up sometimes.) But otherwise the rest of the pieces are still scattered across my floor, a kingdom once ready for battle now destroyed even before the battle could begin.

As my tears start to slow, Missy taps my knee, her soft touch not even catching me by surprise. I wipe away the dampness from my face and nose with my sleeve, but it really is no use because tears are still falling despite how the beating of my heart has slowed. She looks back at me, her dark eyes matching mine (only I'm certain hers are so much better than mine) and she asks, "Can you braid my hair, please?" And she tries for a smile, but I can tell that my recent dreariness is contagious and her smile only lights up part of her face before faltering. But makes me smile, even giggle a little, at how hard she tried; I nod. I let my fingers comb through her hair, already so perfect and soft and smooth from when I brushed it earlier. And as I begin to twist and turn her hair over in my hands, I start to feel the tears slow until only just a few are still falling every once in awhile. Is it bad that part of me just wants to forget it all? Pretend I didn't have a sister so that I could pretend I never knew the girl who was Reaped? It sounds horrible when I think of it like that in my head; it sounds like I am a selfish person with no heart of soul. It makes me feel evil, like the man in the attic, and I don't like it. So I force myself to remember as I braid and twist and pull her strands of dark hair through my hands. I remember her name ("Cleo Sullivan!") booming through the square. I remember handing her that black queen, I remember her voice, so full of false hatred. I remember her looking so strong walking up on that stage, just as beautiful and confident as she always was. Some all? people call her cruel and cold-hearted, but I know she has her warm spots, even if no one else believes she has them. And I want her back. She will come back. She has to. I told her she had to. She will.

But the reassurance to myself doesn't stop the tears from falling, and a few tiny sobs still escape my mouth as I begin to sing a soft melody. I'm not as good as Silvie, but the sad melody makes me feel better. Or worse. Whichever feeling is less selfish.