The numbness had enveloped my right hand by the time I looped patiently the enmassimg ball. Looking up briefly towards Neysa, my mouth opened to offer praise yet the faded frosted cranberry hue stung my tongue as if an allergic reaction. Her hands shook uneasily as she pushed her ball, and after half an hour passed the ball was now at the height of my hip. Taking a step back, I offered a half hearted smile at Neysa’s work, despite the uneasiness that loomed over her face. “What do we do now Two?”

I’ve asked myself that question so many times before there was no point in figuring it out. I started with a plan, since papa always said you have to be prepared for the worst. You can’t be surprised when it happens, since that's how they’ll get you. In Two and at the academies, any amount of softness you have the compress with calloused hands into a metal block, one that will be melted and welded into the larger framework of Two. There's a certain comradery that it’s an us versus them mentality towards all. It's part of the career dogma taught early on, but also from the hunger our district has. It's risen and crept to the height of curled lip snarl, evident to any who cross its path. We’re the tired battered lapdog of Panem. We crush and compress our young in academies to serve and appease the Capitol however they desire, but they turn their cheek knowing we’ve let them down. Districts who weren’t supposed to thrive produced more trophies from these elaborate games than the factory produced victors of our own. And to boot, they were more likeable too. Even at the center you could sense the divide between Bryze and Antoinette towards the others.

Reception of Two has always been covered in frost, and my warmth had been gone long before. The coldness crept up my neck when I left you to die alone, frostbite catching my fingers as they clung at the back of a peacekeeper to hide. I thought maybe she would show up finally, after leaving me all those years. It was comical to think a mere phone call could summon a ghost. But then I couldn’t feel my hands anymore when he came and took me away. The frost spread to my wrists as handcuffs were placed on me. No amount of tugging and bleeding would let them slip off me, since the one time it did he just tightened it further, grasping my baby fat cheeks between his thumb and index finger. Thrax’s voice always smelt of burnt chemical ash, reminding me of how dad smelt like when he came home from work. “This is for your own good D.D., I know you want to go back but you need to understand. You’re mine now, got it?” The indents of his fingers caused me to wince from the pressure, I uselessly tugged away as he stood back, lighting a cigarette.

Every night I planned my escape, thinking if I cut deeper the blood could slip them off again. “There’s nothing there for you, and no one will come for you. Besides, if you get put into the system and taken to some orphanage you won’t make it out alive.” With a lopsided smirk he’d puff out clouds like the plumes that came from the district’s nut. I lived far away from it, but you could always see the plumes no matter the weather above the hill lined trees. After spending so long in a room without walls, you lose sense of everything. Like a feral descent into just staying alive, just like what Two wants of you. They want you primed, readied like a well oiled machine that is fueled off that primal fear. I can’t tell if his smile and dazed eyes were of pity at the shackled child before him, or of humor since I always tried. So much he thought my wrists would break at some point. That I considered breaking a pinky just to slip through with the right amount of blood. “It’ll hurt now doll, but you’ll thank me later. This is for your own good.”

The first weeks I always screamed after every visit, hoping my pleas were loud enough for the others to come. And some did, yet Thrax would pull them back and slam the door shut. Eventually I grew too tired of crying, lost my voice from screaming. And for a while I stopped speaking. No matter how hard I tried, I knew there was nothing I could do to find you. I did my best dad, I hope you don’t hate me for not ever finding you; for giving up until the shackles came off. Until I stopped trying to run away.

Snow had a habit of pulling me within, the chill of that room and the chill that licked my limbs that day never leaving me. Neysa’s bloodied snow body had sent me back to that place, so much that I had stayed silent too long after her words to almost remember what I would say next. A canon interrupted my thoughts, causing me to look up at the sky as snowflakes started drifting down onto us. They weren’t malicious in a frantic downpour but lazed in a waltz. “We live” I breathed, watching the snow above. Turning my gaze back to her, my amber eyes poured into her as I continued. “We don’t stop fighting, no matter how tired we get, until twenty two have rang out. Because they won’t stop coming for us Neysa.” Crouching down, my hands bitterly shaped a new ball, pushing it while I spoke. “Not all the mutts will be as friendly as Apricot there. Tomorrow will be worse than whatever those were out there on the ice. We got lucky we weren’t whoever that was.”

As I spoke of luck, it's almost as if it summoned two gifts, the synchronous beeping drifting towards our feet. Looking up at her, I picked up the plump ball and carried it to the central mass. “For now, let's just enjoy this while we can. Help me out, will you?” Hesitantly, Neysa stepped forward, and with some strained lifting the frosted cranberry mixture scoop sat above the sorbet below. With a haughty grin her way, I raised my eyebrows coyly before picking up the last scoop. “Now for the final touches.”

In its final form, the balls stood slightly over my height at six feet, chuckling to myself as I stepped back. “Our ally is almost complete, first we need to give him some eyes.” Fetching my own canister, we opened the parachutes in unison, rotating pits in our palms. My ashy palm held the pit her way after strolling to her side, head cocking as I pondered. “What's this?” Yet the excitement that spread across her face told me it was something priceless, her stammered explanation causing me to laugh gleefully. Patting her back, I motioned her towards the snowman. “These will be perfect then.” Rotating the pit between my fingers, warmth spread across my chest thinking of him. I may have nothing of you, but this was just enough.

Pressing a kiss against the chilled peach pit, I then pressed one into the left side of its face, poking a hole to guide Neysa for the other eye. “In order for any snowman to be complete, my dad always said it needs to be made with love.” I smiled to myself, laughing briefly with the shake of my head, sprinkling Neysa’s shoulder with strayed snowflakes from my hair. “It’s silly and just a thing they tell to kids. But now we need to dress our ally for him to be complete.” As Neysa placed the other eye, we took a step back to admire our handy work. Yet in doing so, a gale of frost swirled around the snowman, both of us stepping further back as we brought our arms up to cover our eyes. “Is this supposed to happen?” I heard Neysa ask, earning a fervor shake of the head. “No-”

Another voice interrupted my objection, causing both of our arms to feebly fall. Before we stood a man made of snow, legs stepping towards me as confusion stammered over my lips. “Happy Birthday!” he exclaimed, arms widespread as they wrapped around me, leaving a magical scarf to worm its way on my neck as he pulled away from the hug. With the tip of a magically appeared hat, he skipped away, us following clumsily behind. Our ally then offered a goodbye before skating away merrily on the ice, leaving two confused kids behind. “My birthday is in April…” I trailed off in confusion, giggling nervously to my ally next to me.