reflections -- KIAH

For a while all I can hear is the sound of waves against the shore, the sound that I've listened to my whole life. It is so tranquil away from home, away from my disowning parents and my misunderstanding sister. I love Rose, but she doesn't know what the Games really were. She thinks the same as other kids raised by families who wanted them to be Careers - winning the Games was an honour that she deserves. She will volunteer. If I am not there to save her. If I die, and Rose still doesn't understand, then she'll suffer. She'll volunteer and she'll see the Games for what they really are. She is training already but she says it is hard. I remember her coming home and hugging me and saying, "Irene, the people there are mean. They kicked me."  And I told Mother and she said, "Rosie, you need to learn to be more strong. That's why we're training you as a Career."  It was horrendous. Who could say that to  their own beaten-up daughter?

It is quiet. I hope it will stay that way. I can sense something happening. Is...someone here? I keep my eyes shut just in case. Maybe if I wake up, someone will be ready with a knife. It's a ridiculous thought, but I keep my eyes shut anyway. But now I can definitely sense someone next to me. My eyelids flicker open and I turn my head to the side. I gasp and sit up. Someone is lying there right beside me, a boy. Maybe I scared him by my sudden reaction.

"Sorry!" I say quickly. "You scared me a bit. Sorry." Why do I keep on saying sorry? I am terrible with conversations. Maybe he thought I was hurt. I was being still, anyway. I dig my nails into the sand to prevent my embarrassment. How long had he been there next to me before I opened my eyes? I often lost track of time at the beach, early in the morning.

I feel strange. It's not every day people talk to me, or lie down next to me. Usually if they see a still figure on the beach, they'd either ignore it or mistaken it for a dead body or something. And then you'd have to get up and persuade them you're fine. It was hard to relax in public where people watched everything you did and judged you for it.  "It's okay. Don't worry about it, it's probably my fault in the first place anyways- I was the one who startled you- and for that, I am very sorry." I force a smile. I'm not used to talking to strangers when nobody else was listening. I don't know what's right to say and what's not. I don't know when to genuinely smile, when to fake one and when to not smile at all. Instead I, as a creature of habit, bring my nails towards my mouth, as I tend to bite them when I am anxious. Then I remember there's someone waiting for me to forgive them and I'm ignoring them.

"It's all right," I say, and he looks past me, instead of at me. I turn around to see if something is there, but it is just the sun rising into the sky. I turn back and he is already looking at me again. "Hey, are you okay?" I freeze. Have I made a mistake? Does he think I am being rude? "I mean you don't have to tell me... But you just looked a bit bothered, and sometimes I find it easier to talk to people when I am in situations like that." I wonder how he could tell I was anxious. I was bad at reading people. I could never tell what people were thinking, and that was why I feel insecure that some people may not be telling the truth when they call themselves...my friends. Unless they make it extremely obvious. Like once my mother leaned down to hug me and said she loved me, but her eyes were not focused on mine, they were looking right past me. As if I was nothing.

"I'm fine," I lie. I figure it is better to lie than to rant about my problems to this man. I can't guess his age. Maybe 18, 19? He looks just, maybe a few years older than me. As demonstrated before, I am not good at making first impressions. They are usually completely wrong. I have to get to know the person before I can truly know what they are thinking. "Just the general stress. The Reaping's coming up soon." I hope it isn't a sore topic for the man. Maybe he lost family in the Reaping, and I will pay dearly for this mistake. He looks like an easily forgiving man, but I don't know, because of what I said about my first impressions.

I smile again. "Have you got a name?" I ask. Because sometimes you just need to make small talk to change the subject.

I don't completely believe that he completely believed my 'it's fine'. But he doesn't seem to press the topic further, which is good. After I ask him if he has a name, he replies with,  “A name I do have. Most people like to call me mysterious, but you can call me Jev.” He tilts his head to the side. “What about you? Have you got a name?”

"I do," I reply,  trying to maintain eye contact. I break my gaze from him and down to the sand. I ran the grains of sand through my finger tips, trying to stall time for as long as I could without him interrupting. Then I return my eyes to his, the sand left in my hand. A ghost of a smile appears on my face. "Irene. Irene Waters." Suitable name for someone from District 4. It is pure coincidence that my last name is Waters and I live near the sea. I've heard enough jokes about it from people at school. They used to call me Waters. Especially when I was usually to be found crying when they said mean stuff to me. I never cry any more. I refuse to be broken. But I may cry, if Rose is reaped.

"So, Jev," I say, returning my gaze to the sand and rubbing it between my finger tips. The feeling of sand against my skin is still one I  am thankful for. That I am still alive today. "What brings you to the beach so early?"