Filed To Story: Sunrise on the Reaping Book PDF Free
“Happy birthday,” she says when we come up for air. “Didn’t expect to see you until after.”
She means the reaping, but I don’t want to talk about it.
“Hattie let me go early,” I tell her. “Gave me this, too – a present for my big day.” I pull out the bottle.
“Well, that won’t be hard to trade. Especially today.” Besides New Year’s, today’s when most people get drunk. “Four kids . . . That’s going to hit a lot of families.”
I guess we’re going to talk about it. “It’s going to be all right,” I say, which rings hollow.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Maybe not. But I try to. Because the reaping’s going to happen no matter what I believe. Sure as the sun will rise tomorrow.”
Lenore Dove frowns. “Well, there’s no proof that will happen. You can’t count on things happening tomorrow just because they happened in the past. It’s faulty logic.”
“Is it?” I say. “Because it’s kind of how people plan out their lives.”
“And that’s part of our trouble. Thinking things are inevitable. Not believing change is possible.”
“I guess. But I can’t really imagine the sun not rising tomorrow.”
A crease forms between her eyebrows as she puzzles out a response. “Can you imagine it rising on a world without a reaping?”
“Not on my birthday. I’ve never had one that came without a reaping.”
I try to distract her with a kiss, but she’s determined to make me see. “No, listen,” she says earnestly. “Think about it. You’re saying, ‘Today is my birthday, and there’s a reaping. Last year on my birthday, there was also a reaping. So every year, there will be a reaping on my birthday.’ But you have no way of knowing that. I mean, the reaping didn’t even exist until fifty years ago. Give me one good reason why it should keep happening just because it’s your birthday.”
For a girl who’s quiet in public, she sure can talk up a storm in private. Sometimes, she’s hard to keep up with. Lenore Dove is always patient when she explains stuff, not superior, but maybe she’s just too smart for me. Because while it’s a fine idea, thinking about a world with no reaping, I don’t really see it happening. The Capitol has all the power and that’s that.
“I didn’t say it was just because it was my birthday. I said -“
What did I say? I can’t even remember now. “Sorry, you’ve lost me.”
Her face falls. “No,
I’m sorry. It really is your birthday, and here I am going on about who knows what.” She digs in her pocket and holds out a small package wrapped in a scrap of dove-colored fabric, tied with a ribbon the same dappled green as her eyes. “Happy birthday. Tam Amber made it. I traded eggs for the metal and helped him design it.”
Besides playing a crazy good mandolin, Tam Amber’s the best hand forger in District 12. He’s the go-to blacksmith for new gadgets or broken parts for old machines. Burdock has a dozen of his arrow tips that he treats like gold, and some of the richer folks in town have jewelry he made from actual gold or silver, melted down from heirlooms and refashioned. I can’t think what he’d make for me, but I eagerly untie the bow.
The object that slips into my palm doesn’t register at once. It’s a thin strip of metal, shaped like a C. My fingers naturally grip the curved back as I examine the colorful animals facing off at the opening. The head of a snake hisses at the beak of a long-necked bird. I flatten out my hand and see that their enameled scales and feathers travel around the piece until they merge and become indistinguishable. Two small rings are welded on, one behind each head. For a chain, maybe?
“It’s beautiful,” I say. “It’s to wear, right?”
“Well, you know I like my pretty with a purpose,” Lenore Dove replies cryptically, making me work it out myself.
I turn it over in my hand, then grip the C again, this time covering the animal heads with my fingers. Then I see its purpose. The smooth steel edge isn’t solely decorative.
“It’s a flint striker,” I conclude.
“It sure is! Only you don’t have to have flint. Any decent sparking rock like quartz will do.”
At home, we have a beat-up old striker passed down through my ma’s family. Ugly and dull. On long winter nights, she made me practice with it until I could reliably get a fire going, so we wouldn’t have to waste money on matches. A penny saved is a penny earned.
I run my finger over the fine metalwork of the feathered neck. “I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”
“You won’t. That’s what it’s made for.” She touches the snake’s head, then the bird’s, in turn. “It takes a lot to break these two. They’re survivors.”
“I love it.” I give her a long, soft kiss. “And I love you like all-fire.”
All-fire is Covey talk, but that expression is ours. Usually it makes her smile but she’s dead serious now. “You, too.”
We kiss until I taste salt. I don’t have to ask why.
“Look, it’s okay,” I assure her. “We’re going to be fine.” She nods but the tears keep trickling. “Lenore Dove, we’re going to get through today, just like last year and the year before, and eventually move past it.”
“But we won’t really,” she says bitterly. “No one in Twelve will. The Capitol makes sure the Hunger Games is burned into our brains.” She taps the bottle. “Guess Hattie’s in the right business. Helping people to forget.”
“Lenore Dove.” Clerk Carmine doesn’t holler, but he has one of those voices that carries without needing to. He stands at the edge of the Meadow, fists shoved in his patched overalls. He’s a fiddler and protective of his hands. “Better be getting ready.”
“I’m coming,” she says, wiping her eyes.
Clerk Carmine doesn’t comment on her state, just shoots me a look that says he holds me responsible, then turns on his heel. He never paid me much mind until Lenore Dove and I got serious. Since then, nothing I do seems right. I once told Lenore Dove I thought he just hated love. That’s when she revealed that he’d been together some thirty years with the fellow in town who replaces busted windows. They have to keep it quiet because loving differently can get you harassed by the Peacekeepers, fired from jobs, arrested even. Given his own challenges, you’d think Clerk Carmine would be a champion of our love – I’m certainly supportive of his – but I guess he thinks Lenore Dove could do better.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.