helena churchill, district six | finished, cb

People like to call me brave, but I just call myself practical.

It's not rocket science, what I do for a living. I don't cure diseases or solve mathematical equations, I rescue people. Well, my dog does, but you get the point. I'm just a lucky girl with a reckless streak. The kind that will take in a stray, and go looking for danger.

Save a family after a flood.

Hunt down a cat that snuck out of the window.

Find a boy that went missing years ago. Every last bone.

That's another thing that pays the bills. Hero and I recover bodies. Nothing too fancy, the real stuff is left for the adults and the peacekeepers, but it's still enough to start a few good rumors. Trust me, most of my classmates aren't rushing to invite me to their parties.

I try not to let it bother me. There's a lot to be grateful for. I'm only eighteen and I've got a stable job. Disasters are a routine thing in this district, and someone's bound to disappear every few months. Misfortune is a generous employer. I just take what I'm given.

Call me a survivalist. I know the woods like the back of my hand. When I turn nineteen, I'm gonna build a cottage out there, away from all these shiny buildings and black smoke. Just me and Hero, and all the mysteries of the world. All these questions I want to answer.

No, I'm not brave — but damn if my dreams aren't.