Dawn On The Dusk

Dawn On The Dusk Of All Winter.

Epilogue:

Sometimes I can shove it all aside and just pretend it doesn't exist. Live a normal life. Go into town, and chat with people. Cook a meal for dinner and eat it. Ruffle my nephew's hair and remember his bright blue eyes sparkling. When I visit my sister, her eyes will light up, and she'll say “One of your good days, uh?” and I'll smile or nod. Today however, is not one of those days.

Chapter One‐

“Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!” those yellow lips grin. His absurd bee yellow hair wobbling high above her head. “Now, for the ladies.” he smiles, a sugar sweet smile.

I roll my eyes. Downing the bottle of putrid smelling liquor.

Throwing the bottle half across the room. Bouncing harmlessly against the rug. Mocking me.

“Careful.” Comes a too-high voice. I snicker. His big blue eyes squinting at me, confused. I push off the couch, my vision swimming. My legs wobbling. “Sit down! You're sick.” His small hands find my sleeve and pulls me down. I squeeze the bridge of my nose. My head bounding.

He's too little to realize, I'm not sick. Just drunk.

I still don't understand why his mum insists she leaves him here once a week, or I just don't remember.

“I could get the doctor?”

I wave his suggestion away.

“No.” I huff. Folding my arms on my chest.

My eyes watching the flickering screen.

“Isn't it interesting?” he muses, like he's a 50 year old.

“What?” I mumble, not really expecting an answer.

“The reaping, the games. The whole thing.” I rub my eyes. Trying to rub the fog from my mind.

“Interesting?” If he was even half normal, he would be screaming in his sleep, like all the other kids do. But no, my sister just had to give birth to a weird one. Who's interested in the games. Like there's something to be studied.

“Oro, the way he dresses, and always says ““and may the odds be ever in your favor!”” He may be weird, but he can do a half good reenactment of Oro's line.

“Sure kid.” I run a hand down my face. Sleep tugging at the corners of my consciousness.

“And the way–” I stumble my way toward the kitchen, hitting my shoulder for the umpteenth time on that brown piece of shit, in the doorway.

I shove away from it, catching the doorframe with my hands, before it slams into my head. I shove my way through the doorway, hitting my foot at the table. “Shit!” it sending a sharp pain up my leg.

“Ow! Language!” I hear from the front door. I roll my eyes. Muttering profanity under my breath.

I slid onto the bench closest to me, holding my foot. “Shut the door!” I yell, to the woman ruffling the boy's golden hair. Her smile sliding off her face when she hears me.

“So…” She side steps her son, waving him back into the lounge, her eyes, pitying me. I roll my eyes. Pushing to my feet, shuffling my way around the kitchen.

“I hope that was the only time you swore today?” She sets down her basket on the table. Arching her eye brow. “Sure” I throw a moldy piece of bread into the trash, and move onto the next cardboard.

“I just don't want him to pick it up, it's a bad habit that's all.”

“Sure, sis.” I sniff a piece of cheese I found at the back of the cardboard, and throw it the same way as the bread. “Sis!” she cries, disgust not hidden well. “What?” I turn, irritation lacing my voice. “Want me to pick it up?” I move closer to her, my nose filling with her overly sweet floral perfume she drowns herself in, like she's worried she'll get infected by me, and one day wake up smelling like old liquor. She wrinkles her nose, as if just to confirm my suspension.

She waves her finger at the bottle I'm holding. “Cant you find something else to drown yourself in?”

“Like what? The bath tube?” she rolls her eyes. “Dont joke.”

“Oh I'm not.” I swing around, anything to get away from that smell.

“I seriously have thought of drowning myself in the bath tube. Sure it'll be awful, feeling the life slip through your hands, your lungs screaming for air. But it'll also be–”

“Stop. I cannot sit here and listen to you go on and on about killing yourself. When you know full well id never allow it.” I look at her, barely keeping my look of disgust off my face. There's been plenty of times I could have. Hours where I've contemplated it. Imagined it. But…something held me back. I just don't know what. Maybe i was just a coward. “Youre not my mum.” I shoot back, in a poor attempt of sarcasm. “No, I'm not. I'm your sister. And i care about you. And if you even turn that tap on, I'll kill you.” She takes it literally. “Well, guess I'm gonna smell like hell then.” I lumber away from her mad splutterings, and take my seat beside her son, his eyes bright. Stuck like glue to the screen. I shake my head. Swirling the rum around my mouth. My eyes grazing over the next two too the slaughter. The girl, looking out at the crowd. Her glare faltering for a moment, like she saw someone she loves. The boy looking scared, his brown hair half covering his eyes. His eyes darting around the crowd like hes searching in vain for his family.

Like they just forgot to show.

I pity them all. Well, I should say I did.

Now I just…see kids with no chance.