The air is warm and the breeze is cool. The shelves above the counter are overflowing with guaze and recipes for tinctures and syrups. I wear a smock over my prettiest red dress, the pockets filled with herbs and small bottles of rubbing alcohol. It's a pretty sight. Almost like those pictures one hears about from the Capitol. But today is reaping day. Nothing is pretty.
And because it's reaping day, it's the first time this year my brother willingly comes to see me since the accident. He walks in with only the slightest limp, his one crutch holding up most of his weight from his ruined leg that is wrapped in gauze even now, months later. His eyes are hard and his scowl is ruining his handsome face. Even he is damaged by reaping day.
I say nothing as he hobbles over next to the counter where I'm making a salve for his leg. He takes a stool, sits to rest his leg and simply stares at me. And I know why. It's my last year. The last year I must wait in anticipation for my name not to get called. But Sander worries. He always does even if he pretends not to for my sake.
"How are you?" He's much too polite as I move the salve from the bowl into three smaller bowls, using my work as an excuse to ignore him. But he keeps staring at me so I respond.
"I'm fine." My voice is too high, to forced as I finally meet his eyes. He knows I'm lying, but he won't make me answer truthfully. Not today. Sander's eyes soften as he take one of the small bowls I offer him. "How's father?"
He shrugs, staring me down. Our father is not okay. Not since Sander's accident. Not since his wife was killed. Sander thinks I'm stupid for even asking. Maybe I am. I turn around to place the bowls on the shelves behind me as Sander starts talking.
"He was supposed to go out early to trade with the baker and the butcher. He hasn't been back for two hours. I bet he's off somewhere getting drunk, and he's going to leave us alone again until the reapings over today." His voice is causal, but there's a slight edge of venom that frightens me.
"Sander. You shouldn't say that. Father has had a hard time-" "We've all had a hard time! Don't even start with me Lavinia!" His quick change from normal volume to shouting is startling, but I've grown used to it in the past few months. It still upsets me though, and I can't help but let my bottom lip tremble in an effort not to cry.
Sander notices and he looks regretful at his outburst. "Hey. Why don't you go and make yourself look pretty? More so than usual, you know." He attempts a weak smile and tugs at my golden blonde hair. I give him a grateful smile and take off my apron before hanging it on the hook. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek before I run upstairs to the living flat.
I turn into the bathroom with our dusty little mirror and look into it. I see delicate bone structure with fair skin. Pale gold curls and chocolate brown eyes. I could be wearing a sack and I'd still be the prettiest girl in the District. But. But if I am reaped today that means nothing. These looks do not mask the nature of a scavenger, manipulator or murderer. I am too weak. Too kind-hearted and gentle for this. My beauty will be worthless unless it's hiding a monster behind it. I suppress tears once more as I grip the counter as if it's my lifeline.
My thoughts on reaping day are never cheerful.
No comments:
Post a Comment