If words had wings... {Morgana}

[Delphin]

If words had wings,
we'd write to the stars,
and we'd never come back.

The library wasn't the greatest place in District 8. In fact, it was uncommonly shabby. Located in a small building, just west of the District school, it lay just on the cusp of town and seam. The paint was beginning to peal, and the landscaping on either side of the entrance might as well have been stone. Striding up the front step, Delphinium flicked open the door, stepping inside before the breeze could slam it shut.

Delphinium came often enough anyway, despite how drab it may be.

Indoors, the quality wasn't much better. A dozen shelves of books lined the walls, and a wooden table with use-worn chairs claimed the center of the room. As expected, most of the book consisted of weaving, and thread, and cotton, and dying, and clothes (District 8 things. They didn't really need to learn anything else, right? What a Capitol idea.) The large volumes on Pamen history stocked up their own shelf, right next to the biographies for every president of Panem thus far.

Most of the books were seldom used as it was, but there was one wall that was never touched. Every year, another book was placed on the shelf. The book dedicated to that years games, colored pictures and all. A thin layer of dust lay on the books, none of the spines even cracked. It was a shame. What a waste of perfectly good words.

Gliding past the Games Books, Delphinium scouted the shelves for anything worth reading. The librarian had already cast her a look as she walked in. No new books, what a surprise.

Rubbing her nose, Del leaned lightly against the shelf, glancing around the nearly always empty building. A puff of breath stirred the hair that had fallen out of its braid, toying with the ends of her hair with her fingers. In the light filtering through the window, her hair looked uncommonly golden. Blue eyes studied it, and the gold sheen disappeared with the sun drifting behind a couple clouds. On default, Del removed the encyclopedia on plant life in Panem. Taking a seat, and leaning against the shelf cross legged and expertly flicking through the pages, she quickly found what she was looking for. Flowering plants; D; Delphinium; common name: Larkspur. She lazily skimmed the article, twirling the end of her braid in her fingers.

A twitch passed over her face and her fingers froze as a particularly gusty blow of wind knocked into the side of the library. She could feel the walls shake under the force, rattled, but standing strong. Buildings were built to stand the wind, anyway. That fact didn't make her feel any better. Doing her best to ignore something completely out of her control, she resumed reading, twirling the end of her braid in her fingers again, perhaps at a faster pace.

_{Word count: 485}

[Morgana]

Memory Lane

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I don't think I can stand to watch another Hunger Games. It wasn't hard before, when I was detached from it. When the people dying were just strangers to me, vague faces I wasn't sure I'd ever seen. But after the truth came out that Enigma Lane was my sister, things have been hard. She died in the 57th Hunger Games, before I even had a chance to get to know her. I watched those Games obsessively, praying she would live. And after her murder, I watched Zack Detroff, hoping there would be some glimmer of information I could gain from him if he came home. But he never did.

The last Games I began to realize that all the tributes have someone at home. Every single one of them have a person like me praying they'll come home. With every murder, there is at least one more broken heart. I watched a girl who sat beside me in school as she learned of the death of her boyfriend. There are real people up on those screens, dying. It tears at me, the destruction the Capitol brings to these families. Is this supposed to bring obedience to the Districts? I don't understand how the Capitol thinks so.

But I will never speak up. It's not something I could ever do. I keep my views and my feelings to myself. Speaking up won't change a thing. It will only land you in the Hunger Games, as it did my sister. No one is supposed to know about the Detention Center unless you go there, but everyone does anyway. There was gossip just after Enigma was Reaped. People said she'd returned from the Detention Center only weeks before. She'd been there for speaking against the Capitol and trying to incite a rebellion. I'm not sure if I believe this, but if it's true, I admire what she did. It was stupid, of course, and got her killed in the end, but it means she had a kind of courage I never will.

Hunger Games or not, I have to study. I'll never make it to the College in District Six if I waste a day off loafing around. Every spare minute I have to study, or else I'll never make it out of here. The library usually isn't very busy on Mondays. Almost everyone works. Even today, when there's no school, people don't exactly flock there. Who would want to learn unless they have to? I don't mind at all that the place is seldom visited. It makes things more peaceful. I can concentrate easier, as well.

After washing up the breakfast dishes, I grab my book bag and start heading out the door. "Where are you going?" I turn around to see my brother, Caden. At fifteen, he's two years younger than me. He doesn't look anything like me, with his skin a shade darker, his hair ebony to my dull red. We're about the same height, but he's more solid, with broad shoulders. All this inherited from his father, while my looks are from our mother. He's quiet like I am, but infinitely more popular. People actually pay attention to him, and he actually pays attention to other people. "I'm just going to the library," I tell him. He just stares at me, so I add, "You know, to study."

Caden shifts his weight from one foot to another, staring at the ground. We've never been that close, and this awkwardness between us is proof of that. Ever since Mom told me about Enigma, we've been even further apart. Enigma was his half-sister too, of course, but that information didn't seem to affect him the way it did me. "You're always gone." I pull my bag up on my shoulder and turn to go. "I know." As the door swings shut behind me, I swear I hear him say, "I miss you." But maybe I'm just imagining things. I have no proof Caden would ever say something like that. He has no reason to miss me.

Just before I enter the library, a great gust of wind pounds against the walls, blowing me straight into the door. I bang my head hard against it, knowing instantly that it's going to leave a nasty red mark. When the gust subsides, I pull the door open and am greeted by the musty smell of books. I inhale deeply, knowing I can never get enough of this aroma. Looking around, I noticed I was alone apart from the librarian and a girl with blonde hair in a braid, leaning against a shelf of encyclopedias. A large book is open in her lap. Gliding past her, I run my fingers along the spines of all the books. Sewing books, cotton growing guides, volumes on the Capitol's latest fashions. I ignore these books, knowing they'll be no use for me in the life I have planned. Usually I read books on Panem's history, or skim through thick volumes of mathematic equations and English grammar. But today, I pass them by. I find myself drifting towards the shelf filled with fifty-eight books of the Hunger Games.

Dust drifts around me as I pull the two newest volumes from the shelf. The cover is crimson red, the number of the Games written in golden script. I lift the cover open, finding brilliant color pictures of the tributes at their individual Reapings. Bewildered faces, some with tears streaming down them. One girl has a smile on her face and a somewhat dazed expression, as if she hasn't quite realized she's been Reaped. Following that are individual profiles of each of the tributes, stating little known facts about them. Then comes pictures of the interviews, the Bloodbath, and each of the days following, all with pages of script describing exactly what happened. At some points, there is even dialog between the tributes, to remind us how real they were. Whenever a tribute dies, a grisly picture of their corpse is found on the page. At the end of the book, there are ten pages dedicated to our newest Victor, Lethe Turner.

I close the book and replace it on the shelf. I sit down near the window and stare at the cover of the 57th Games. I don't know if I want to relive this. Don't know if I want to see Enigma's death, forever frozen in time. I'm afraid to see what the Capitol has to say about her. I flip the cover open and stare at the pictures, ignoring the words. I watched these faces religiously, thought I knew them by heart. But here, they look different. Frozen and motionless, not moving and real. I stop at the Reaping pages for District Eight. My sister stands tall and certain, but her eyes betray her fear. Beside her, Zack looks nervous, on the verge of vomiting. I remember being there, watching them. Having no idea at the time that Enigma was half mine.

I shut the book and close my eyes, knowing I'm not ready to go on. I can't see her death again, not in the same emotionless way the Capitol has made her Reaping. I lean my forehead against the book and close my eyes, trying to forget her death. Trying to forget she was my sister. But the curse I was given was Memory, and so I shall always remain.[/blockquote][/justify]

[Delphin]

Mondays in general were nobody's favorite day of the week, nevermind the Monday following the reaping. Delphinium frowned into her book, rereading the same sentence over and over, set and locked on repeat. Guilt bubbled in her stomach. At the reaping, she had done nothing but worry for her sister. So worried, in fact, that no other emotion came to mind when thinking back. Just worry, and forbidden words ready to bubble up on her tongue. She wondered what she would do if, by any chance, her sister had been reaped. She would probably volunteer without a second thought. But perhaps not, and if she didn't, the guilt would follow her for the rest of her life. The scant thought of it made her sick. The wind beating against the building wasn't helping either.

It wasn't a great feeling. The shame afterwards did nothing to settle her empty stomach. The blank, terrified stare of the girl tribute playing back in her mind. What was it like standing on that stage and knowing that nobody would ever take your place. That might be the worst part. The thing was: she didn't feel one drop of regret for feeling relieved. Carolynn hadn't been chosen. It was all she could hope for. Panic spasmed within her ribs. Next year was her last reaping. The Quell was always worse, it's been said. The Last Quell was when she was but a little girl, not even old enough to be reaped.

That was probably a blessing in disguise. The Quell had a haunting effect that stayed within the districts, longer than usual. The regular Games were haunting in and of themselves. Squinting her eyes slightly, she tried to read the sentence, dismay filling her when she figured she read those words twenty times in the last few minutes.

Her eyes snapped to the door as a bang echoed through the silent room. A girl had been blown into the building, and knocked her head on the door on her way inside. Del could see the red mark beginning to form on her forehead, angry and raw. It probably hurt. Shaking the roaring of the wind from her thoughts, before letting the fear seep in, Del half read and half watched.

She remembered the girl now. She was in her year, her dark hair showing to be red the more you looked at it. Memory, she thought, was a quiet sort of girl. Outside of school, Del could never remember seeing her. Though, she had to add to herself, she didn't go out much, either. Not to social functions and parties, anyway. Her curiosity grew to slight horror as Memory stopped at the shelf that probably hadn't been touched since the Games began 58 years ago.

Closing her encyclopedia, Delphinium stood, and walked across the library to the other girl. She hesitated, tugging lightly at the end of her braid. Now that the room darkened, her hair looked more the proper light brown, instead of the blonde it appeared in the sun. Closing her blue eyes, she took a breath, opened them, and made a flying leap. "And here I thought nobody looked at those." Mentally, she cursed herself. Way to sound stupid, huh, Delphinium?

Covering the thought that she might have actually scared the girl with a gentle smile, Del gently removed the 57th Hunger Games from her fingers, turning it over in her hands. "Well," she continued, "I wouldn't have pegged you for the self-harming sort, Memory. I know you study all the time, though. Are you doing some kind of project?" She shrugged lightly, flipping over the front cover. Her eyes traveled down the list of names, flicking up to the other girl when she got to District 8.

"I remember these Games." Didn't everybody? Perhaps not. "Was she your cousin?" She closed the cover, handing it back over to the redhead, studying her face.

Part of her hoped she didn't push over some kind of boundary, unknowingly. It wasn't her business, but Mondays at the library were a strange time.

Del liked making new friends, she really did. On any other day, any other time of year, Del probably wouldn't have bothered Memory. She was one who made connections for economic reasons. It was almost shameful when she phrased it like that in her head. Yet, her curiosity, and concern for the other girl compelled her to speak up. Maybe Memory would become more than "the quiet girl." Delphinium doubted it though. Her classmate didn't seem like the type to change.

_{Word count: 760}

[Morgana]

Memory Lane

My eyes snap open as a voice drifts through the silent, stale air. Standing beside me is that girl, her hair looking more brown outside of the sun's rays. She pulls the book from my fingers. Stunned, I let her take it. As a rule, people don't talk to me. It's known at school that I don't try to make friends, don't try to socialize. My life has always revolved around my studies, and being the best. People know that. So why would anyone try to talk to me? Are the walls I built simply not strong and thick enough?

I am even more surprised to learn that she knows my name. I shouldn't be. District Eight isn't that large, and the school is even smaller. It makes sense that people would know my name, even if I'm not the one telling it to them. I watch as she flips through the book, reading the lists of names. It makes sense that she thinks I'm doing a project, even if the Hunger Games are a rather morbid topic. How could I explain to her what I'm doing? That It's not a project at all, just some desperate attempt to know my sister. Or at least stop being haunted by her. I don't believe anyone could understand this. Most would brand me as insane, to one degree or another. Were I on the outside, it's what I'd do.

A stab of pain goes through my heart when she asks about Enigma. I close my eyes again, trying to squash down this ugly feeling. It's so unfair. The Capitol does whatever it wants to, not caring about those of us caught in the aftermath. The Hunger Games is their cruel way of saying they have power. When I was younger, I never understood why someone would try to revolt. Why take that risk when you could just be safe? Isn't it better to just keep living the way we do now and not risk losing everything? But I understand it now. It's justice for the wrong. Even if you don't get your revenge, it would still feel good just to let the Capitol know you can do something. I still don't think I could ever take that leap, but it's still nice to imagine.

The girl hands the book back to me, and I run a finger along the spine. I feel bad for not knowing her name when she knows mine. I rack my brain for it, and finally come up with something. Delphinium. I'm sure that's her name. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure we're the same age. I trace the gold letters on the cover with my finger, trying to find the right words to say to her, to explain. Wouldn't a lie just be easier? If I smiled and told her I was just working on a project like she asked earlier, it would be easier. I'd spare myself that pain. But even I know that's not something a person should do. Even one as distressed as me.

"She was my sister," I tell her, avoiding her eyes. I've never told anyone this, so I don't know how she'll react. I have no example to go off. Brushing my hair behind my ear, I continue, "I didn't know it until after the Reaping, though." I sigh and stand up, placing the book back on the shelf. In a row, they look almost like a rainbow, the old ones faded to a darker color than the new. "No, I'm not working on a project. Just...I don't know. Trying to figure out what she was like." I pull at my shirt, tugging it lower just to keep my hands busy. I look away, then look into Delphinium's eyes. "What about you? You were over there with all those encyclopedias."

That shelf is one of my favorites. The encyclopedias can answer any question you can think to ask. Well, almost. They can't tell me a thing about my sister, and if I asked it if I'll ever make it to college, it couldn't answer that either. Encyclopedias can tell of the past, but never the future.

[Delphin]

The silence beats between us after I finish speaking. My confidence falters. I pray it doesn't show on my face. The static in the air grows to a point where even the wind I'm so afraid of can't push it away. The tension in my ears dies down when she breaks the silence.

Her words did nothing to calm the turmoil in my stomach. It felt like acid was eating away at my torso, just waiting to spill all my secrets. I kept secrets for a reason. Clearing my throat, my weight shifted, pulled down by the conflict of my thoughts. After a beat, I could pinpoint the emotion pumping through my blood. It was anger. Memory goes on speaking, my features not telling of the shock in my system.

This tribute- the girl, no, Enigma was Memory's sister. And she didn't even know until she was on her deathbed. The unfairness of it hit me almost like a sock to the stomach. My hands fell to my sides, features unsure of where to go (anger, or pity, or indifference?) Memory's eyes meet mine. I don't break contact.

I chew on my bottom lip, willing my hands not to shake as the thought of being away from my sister attacks my head. In the most genuine voice I can muster, I say, "I'm sorry." I let a beat pass between us. The aftertaste of her question still vibrates between us, broken by my apology. I don't say anything more, taking a deep breath.

She told me something about her. Something beyond favorite color, or subject, or even why she studies so hard. Something of herself that made me compelled to give something of me in return. Every debt must be paid, after all. The conflict of emotions settles down in my stomach, and I find that I can level my gaze at Memory without fearing for what my eyes might be giving away.

"It's kind of a long story," I say, because that is where it all begins. I take a step back, retracing my steps to again pick up the encyclopedia. I glance back at Memory, part of me worried she would leave. Before she gets the chance, I continue speaking a dozen steps between us, my silent footfalls seeming loud in my ears. I flip open the book, and show her the page.

Encyclopedia: Volume I A-Fl; Plants of Panem; D; Delphinium:
Delphinium is a genus of about 300 species of perennial flowering plants in the buttercup family Ranunculaceae...

"I always look at this article." A pause. "This is what I'm named for, ya know? The blue kind, to be specific. You can find them all over the place." I sigh, my eyes skim across the colored picture. "I look for answers. Kind of like you, I suppose." I study her face carefully, half of me demanding my small speech to stop. I didn't. I find that I didn't listen to myself fairly often. I'm stubborn like that. "Except instead of wanting to learn about my sister, I look to know more about me." My eyebrows furrow, and I let my eyes spark with anger. "What happened to you and your sister I wouldn't wish on any person in Panem. What if my sister had gotten reaped? If I didn't know it was her, I wouldn't have volunteered." The word sounds uglier than I ever thought it would. I pause, sightly stunned, the last syllables hanging in the air. "I would volunteer for her."

I sniff, eyes slightly wide as I look up at her. Half of me doomed myself to reveal all my secrets. The other half said that I did good. I hated my duel thoughts. I bit my lip, worrying it between my teeth. "Sorry... That was a little heavier than I thought it would be." But damn, did her shoulders feel lighter.