breaking point [open]

Smiling all the while, Willow begins to speak more about the garden. I can fully understand why her father is proud of the place - it is quite lovely. She begins to tell about how the mesh was acquired, but trail off at the end of her sentence, clearly drawing a blank. But there's only one trading spot I know of - the "black market" of District Twelve. "The Hob?" I offer, in the brief pause that follows. Willow continues talking, chattering happily about the plants and their various uses and gesturing vaguely to point out a few specifics. I listen curiously all the while. "My favorite things are the flowers," I look up from studying one the plants Willow pointed out just minutes ago, my lips quirking into a slight half smile. "I can see why," I say. There all flowers here of every hue. "They have a very pleasant scent," I add, leaning to sniff a bright blossom.

A short pause, then Willow breaks the silence, this time speaking of her mother. There's a cheerless smile on her face while she talks. As I listen I can't help thinking of my brother. I can't help thinking that perhaps it was my brother's death that caused my eldest sibling to fall into his current state. Willow begins to apologize, bringing me back from my thoughts. "Oh - no. Don't apologize," I fiddle unconsciously with the string of my foraging pouch. "I understand," I say softly. "I lost my brother when I was young." I have no idea why I share this information with someone I just so recently met, perhaps it's just nice to have someone to talk to for once. Willow wears a look of humility on her face, and her next words sound terribly awkward. She offers me the opportunity to have a look around, saying something about making a trade. I nod vaguely, offering a small, gentle smile.

{ It's totally fine. :] }

I stand starring off into space, mulling over my thoughts. It has been so long since I've spoken about my brother. I refrain from mentioning him at home - we all do. My eldest brother has become a nasty drunk because of it, and every now and again my mother still weeps for him. Often on his birthday, I've noticed. I think perhaps she blames herself for his death, because he was out in the woods - we both were - trying to bring home something to fill our stomachs that evening. Willow's voice brings me back from my thoughts. My gaze flits to her and then away. I should have, of course, been expecting such a question, but I still hesitate before answering. "He was shot," I say, gazing fixedly at a point in the distance. "Peacekeepers. For hunting beyond the fence,"

There is, of course, more to the story.

My brother had taken me out in the woods as he usually did, so I could help him gather and practice with the bow he'd made for me. I was ten at the time, my brother - Jem, as I called him - was sixteen. It was just beginning to get dark when we headed back toward the fence. We weren't being as cautious as we should have been, and a stray Peacekeeper spotted us as we neared the District. My brother and I had just emerged from the tree line, Jem spotting the official first. He shoved me back toward the trees, hissing at me to run. I hesitated, not wanting to go without him (especially back into the woods at dusk, which still frightened me), but he pushed me again, and so I ran. I didn't get far before I tripped, falling to my hands and knees. As I huddled under some brush, I could hear the Peacekeeper yelling, and my brother's voice mixed in. Then came the gunshot. Then another. Then silence. I sat, trembling, in the woods until well after dark until I worked up the courage to leave my hiding spot. I had thought at the time that perhaps my brother had managed to escape, that he had been able to run, to evade the bullets. He was a fat runner. But that was just my naïve mind trying comfort itself. All I found when I approached the fence was some blood. I ran home blindly, and burst through the door sobbing uncontrollably. The next morning we got the official news, that James had been shot for 'poaching' in the woods.

That is the entire tale, though I stop at telling her it was for hunting. If Willow wishes to ask more then I shall tell her, but it is a painful memory to recall. Willow rolls over to me, offering a large, juicy looking strawberry. I accept it, biting into the sweet fruit. It's delicious - I've only ever had the ones that grow wild. There's a beat of silence as we both nibble a our strawberries. "Your mother..." I begin tentatively, "What - what happened to her?"