edney queen {district twelve} fin~

My hand searches for him as I wake. Fingers brushing softly against his head. His nose rises drearily to meet my hand, the cold dragging against my skin. A dry tongue pulls against my palm, further freeing me from sleep's grasp. "Good morning sweets." My voice cracks as I speak, being met with his own uneven whine. Beneath my skin, my stomach gives unsteady jolts. Clawing at me with desperate strokes as it begs for food. 

I sit up, my head protesting the sudden movement, sending my vision in throbbing spirals. Another whine, he's worried. I can almost feel the anxiety that rises of his pelt in waves as he sits by my bed, frantically panting. "I'm okay." I assure him, even if the complicated phrases are lost upon him. The tone of my voice does little to calm him as he pushes his head underneath my hand, another whimper escaping the frail animal. 

"Must you be so stubborn.?" I chuckle, the room I shared with my sister finally coming into some semblance of focus. Pale eyes fall upon the dog which sit by my feet, pink tub wagging comically out of black lips. (I have named him Bud. Not like that of a baby flower, but that of my only friend), His ribs, much mike my own, protrude from brindle fur. My fingers curl around the cornflower top which drapes over my exposed bones. Immensely smaller than that of my siblings, they've always assumed it was simply the stature with which I was born. 

They are wrong. 

I pull up the top, a finger tracing the small indentation where other's stomachs usually protrude. In all of my eleven years I do not think my body has ever looked normal. I was always small, weak.. And it only got worse when I found the starving pup on the side of the rode. (Was it truly only three years to this day?). What little food had entered my gut was given to the starving thing, any regard to my own well being loosing whatever weight it had once held. (No pun intended.). 

They don't know, I don't even think Bud truly understands what I am doing for him. But I have never truly cared for myself.. In truth, I don't hate myself, nor am I overly fond of the body which I have been given. I am nothing more valuable than a took at other's disposal. As nothing is more fulfilling than helping others, least of all helping myself.. 

Bare feet stick to the splintering wood, warped and rotting from unpatched holes in the roof.. Upon a table lay various mismatched plates, a paper thin slice of bread adorning it. Oh how the beast within my stomach rejoiced. It jumped and gurgled, the ungodly sounds radiating through my abdomen, bringing with it a deep pain. My willpower is the only thing containing the beast, as shaky hands reach for a single slice. My skin is much like that of the chipped porcelain plates, far too white to be natural. Undernourishment had stripped it of any color it had once contained, leaving a bright white canvas with bright blue splotches of paint carelessly thrown onto my face.. Lips once a vibrant rose, have paled to that of a light pink, swelling as my hunger becomes much more severe. Tender to the touch as if revolting against its lack of food. 

Yet unsteady hands half the brown slice. I slip some to the dog, sat so loyally at my feet. "Enjoy it, boy." my hand once again graze his fur, smiling as I watch him snatch up the cooked grains. The other, considerably smaller portion sates the beast for a split second. Nothing feels better than the dry grain as it tears against my parched throat. A smile breaks the skin upon dried lips, the jubilant whine coming from my friend enough to make me forget the deep growling slowly returning in my abdomen. 

I wonder vaguely if my brother would awake soon. The twin would always take me to the riverbank, allowing me to leap upon the slippery green things before catching one himself. He would present it to me with such pride I would always take the thing within my grasp, stroking it's slimy skin with a an extended index finger. I loved them, despite their unwelcoming physique. As their heart beats rapidly within their cage. Something we all have in common. And something which makes me love them. 

And if we share the same monotonous beating, what makes us better than them. 

I wont eat them, Not even the game bought by my parents with such strain, (as it is less than legal), I will not chew nor swallow. Careful hands hide the dried game, slipping it to the pet which always lay at my feet so faithfully. 

I am unimportant. Disposable. That is how I justify giving myself so willfully for others. What am I but a girl? I have no special talents, like my brothers, nor men who chase after me, like my sister. I am a plain girl, curves yet to run against my waist. My legs bowing out from each other as if a magnet pushes them apart. What am I but imperfection. 

And perhaps, somewhere deep inside I love the deep pangs. To feel as though I, a worthless girl, have somewhat of a purpose. To give to others. 

To be worth something.