The New Face of Child Hunger (by childhungerendshere)

After about twenty minutes, well out of the town’s boundaries, we all have to rest. We find a clearing with a stream running through and literally collapse.

I look over at my little brother who is lying face down in the grass, gasping for air. Then I look over at Tobie, watch his chest rise and fall rapidly, and think of how I had believed he had stopped breathing a week ago.

“Tobie?”

“What?” he breathes out.

“What do we do for food?” I manage to say. I had just thought of that problem.

“We shouldn’t have to be out here long,” he says, stopping for breath every few words. “They should be here soon.”

“Who?” I ask, crawling over to Ty.

“You’ll see when they get here,” he says, wincing at what’s probably a stitch in his side.

“Okay, enough,” I say, standing up with renewed energy. “First, you abandon me for a week, and now you’re telling me I’m in danger, and you won’t even tell me what’s after me. I’ve been living this whole year from one day to the next, never knowing what to expect, and when you left, I barely survived. I think you owe me a damn answer, so I’m not going any further until you explain what the hell is going on!”

He looks up at me, stunned, and stands up as well.

“Fine. You want to know? I’ll tell you. You know District 13?”

“I know it no longer exists,” Ty pipes up. “They tell us in school and show us the video almost every week.”

“They’re lying to you,” Tobie says suddenly, loudly. “District 13 is alive. I’ve been there, and there aren’t many of them left, but they are alive.”

Cautiously, I walk up to Tobie and place the back of my hand on his forehead, to which he huffs in frustration.

“I’m not sick, Liz.”

“You sure sound like you are,” I say, taking my hand away. “Tobie, nobody can even step foot on the remains of District 13. It’s too hot from when the bombs hit.”

“Oh, yeah? Who told you that?”

I think for a moment. “The Capitol, I guess.”

“Exactly,” he says, walking over to a tree. “If you think about it, it’s not even possible for the ground to still be hot after almost seventy-five years.”

“But…well, maybe…”

“Face it, Liz,” he says, inches away from my face. “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

Suddenly, I feel really small. “Maybe,” I whisper, not meeting his eyes. Why am I being so timid? I should be pissed off enough to slap him. Instead, I’m looking at the ground beside his feet.

“Thank you,” he says, vindicated, and walks over to a pile of leaves.

“Wait,” I say, brave now that he’s not in my face. “You still haven’t told us how we’re going to-”

Suddenly, there’s a rush of air above us, and I almost can’t see because of the debris blowing around. I run to my brother, thinking something has happened and we’ve been caught. Once he’s in my arms, I manage to look up, and I can’t believe what I see.

Above us is a large gray machine, hovering in midair, with propellers on the underside that are stirring up everything on the ground and a ladder descending towards us. My heart stops and I scream, because I recognize the contraption from Hunger Games past. A hovercraft.

Clearly, we’re about to die.

I look back, expecting to find that Tobie has run away again, but he’s digging backpacks out of the pile of leaves. He walks towards us, puts the packs on his back, grabs Ty’s hands and sticks them on the ladder. Ty jolts a bit, as if hit by an electric current, and looks at the ladder dumbstruck.

Fear washes over me, and I have the thought that Tobie has betrayed us. This hovercraft is going to take us to the Capitol so we can be tortured and killed. For what reason I’m not sure, but I just know it.

I’m running before I realize it, and I’m on the ground once I do. Tobie hauls me over his shoulder as I kick and scream, puts me down in front of the ladder, and forces my hands onto the rungs. He doesn’t have to hold them there, because the ladder does that itself. I feel a jolt run through my body, and then I can’t get my hands free. I yank as much as possible with Tobie hanging on behind me, but it’s no use.

As we lift up into the air, I start crying uncontrollably, loudly. Then Tobie’s head is on my shoulder, and I realize I’m being stupid. This is the boy I’ve known since we were little, who made necklaces of wildflowers for me, who bought me pencils for every birthday. The boy who would never betray me.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says in my ear. And I believe him.

(Source: lawlessdreamer)

1)I just don’t know where to go with it

2) I just started college. lol Bear with me.

I love you guys!

So a few people have gone through this blog and liked every post. You guys know who you are…

I hold Tobie for who knows how long, still trying to figure out if I’m dreaming or not.

I don’t even get to pull back to say, “Where the hell have you been?” when he starts talking.

“We have to get out of here,” he says frantically, as if just remembering, taking me firmly by the shoulders.

“Wh…what?” I say in a small voice.

“We have to leave, you’re in danger,” he reiterates, grabbing my hand and pulling me back towards the window.

“Are you crazy?!” I exclaim, pulling him back to me with strength that surprises both of us. “I’m not letting you go ANYWHERE, EVER again! You can’t leave me, understand?”

My voice has risen to almost a scream. His expression changes from anxiousness to concern. “I’m sorry Liz, but I had to leave for a little bit. Now I’m back, and I’m taking you with me.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask manically.

“Aren’t you listening?” he asks patiently. “You. Are. In. Danger! We have to leave now, or else we may never get another chance to.”

I shake my head in confusion, and I notice the condition he’s in for the first time. His clothes are ragged and dirty, with holes all over. His skin looks burned, by sun and by overexposure to fire, which makes no sense. He has scratches all over, some so recent that they’re still bleeding, and a huge gash on his left arm that I’m dangerously close to touching. It’s about three inches wide and a sickening shade of green.

“I know, it’s infected,” he says, seeing my reaction. “But I’ll fix it once you’re safe.”

“What happened?!” I ask frantically, feeling particularly unstable.

“I’ll explain everything later, but you have to come with me,” he explains, tugging on my arm again.

“What’s going on?” a voice asks from behind me. I turn around to see Ty walking towards us. I suddenly realize something: I definitely have no problem leaving this place. If Holden had asked me, I would’ve been gone in a heartbeat. Holden. This place holds too many bad memories; Holden, my mother’s drunken rampages, my father never being there for us, and the past week when I was, for all intense and purposes, dead.

I love this idea of leaving, but I don’t like the thought of leaving my brother behind to deal with my mother alone. I can’t do that. I won’t do that.

“Ty comes with us,” I tell Tobie.

“What?”

“Ty comes with us,” I repeat, reaching my hand out to Ty.

“Where are we going?” he asks nervously.

“We’re gonna take a little trip honey: you, me, and Tobie. We’ll go someplace safer.”

“Safer? What’s wrong with here?” I look to Tobie for an answer, but he shakes his head, signaling that Ty doesn’t need to know. Or that he doesn’t want him along. “What?”

“He doesn’t need to come along, it’s too dangerous for a kid.”

“Well, I’m not leaving without him,” I say defiantly, pulling away from Tobie and taking Ty in my arms.

“Where are we going?” Ty repeats.

“I don’t know,” I admit quietly.

“You don’t know?” Ty says, scrunching up his little forehead.

“But Tobie does.” He looks up at Tobie expectingly.

“I can’t tell either of you yet, but I’m sorry, you just can’t going, little man. It’s too dangerous.”

“If I can’t go, then I’m telling mom. She’ll stop you,” he finished with a small, evil grin. I look up at him victoriously, silently saying, “What now?”

He sighs angrily, defeated. “Fine, he can come, but I’m not responsible if anything happens to him.”

“I didn’t say you would be,” I agreed with finality. “I just can’t abandon him like you abandoned me.”

I can see in his eyes that the last sentence hurt quite a bit, but he doesn’t show it very much on his face. I just couldn’t help but say it, because it’s true, and he knows it.

“Let’s go,” he simply states, and climbs back out my window. I think of something I need to do.

“You go on out, I’ll pack,” I tell Ty, knowing that he’s a good climber. He climbs out the window, and I pack the miniature tree he made me, a change of clothes for him and another for me, and Tobie’s statue. Once I pick it up, I know that the cracking sound I heard was glass, because there isn’t even a scratch on the statue. Breathing a sigh of relief, I throw it in the bag along with a blanket.

I grab my pencil and paper, writing a quick note for mother:

Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine. I took Ty with me, and we’re going someplace else with Tobie. Sorry, but you should have treated us better.

Liz

I lay the piece of paper on my made-up bed, say a relieved farewell to my room, and jump out the window. Once I’ve landed firmly on my feet, we’re running.

I’m sent home two days later, because my family can’t afford anymore. My wounds start healing and there’s no chance of infection, so it’s time to go anyway.
But I wish I was dead.
So this is what depression feels like, I think numbly. I barely register my mother coming in and out of my room. Bringing me food I don’t eat. Washing my hair for me. Telling me I’ve been fired. None of it matters.
I just want Tobie back.
I sit in bed for hours, holding the little white statue he made me. I stroke the tiny nose, the pointy ears, the paws. I don’t cry. I’m way past that point.
I look out my window, registering that all the leaves are now off the trees. A deep cold starts to fill my room, perfectly fitting my mood. Though my teeth chatter, I don’t cover up, secretly hoping that I’ll freeze to death.
I do nothing at all, except sleep. That’s my only escape. I have no more dreams, not even the one about Holden.
This lasts for days, I lose track of how many. All I do is lay in bed, sleep, and hold Tobie’s statue. Sometime during one of those dark days, mother forces me to eat a piece of bread. I don’t fight long, as far gone as I am.
It’s one of these very nights that I hear a rapping on my window. I’m up faster than a jackrabbit, but it’s just the limbs of the tree outside my window, scratching against the glass. Angry, I throw my pillow hard, accidentally letting the statue fly with it. I hear a small crack, but I don’t care. I don’t even care about the statue.
I hear the tapping again and ignore it. Then again. And again. And again. Each time it gets more persistent and rhythmic.
And through the thick fog of depression, and the blanket of numbness I’d been hiding under, I slowly realize something peculiar: a tree branch can’t tap like that.
Part of me hopes it’s somebody trying to break in, and that they’ll end my pathetic existence. I turn around lazily, only to find myself looking into a pair of dark brown eyes.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m running and throwing the window up with a loud clang. The next moment, I’m holding a freezing cold Tobie tightly in my arms.
“I th-th-think it’s alm-m-most w-winter,” he says, his teeth chattering so hard I think they might break.
I’m sobbing loudly into his jacket, squeezing him as tight as humanly possible, but he doesn’t say anything else.
All he does is hug me back and stroke my hair.

The next time I’m fully conscious, I realize I’m in the community infirmary. I groan at the dull, throbbing pain all over my body and try to sit up, only to feel a hand push me gently back down.
“Don’t try to get up, sweetie,” my mother says softly. “You need to rest.”
“Mom?” I croak.
“Hey, honey,” she says sympathetically, stroking my hair. “You took quite a beating yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Yesterday?”
“Mm-hm. It was that no-good little psycho, Marka. Thankfully, someone shot her, or else you would be dead.”
“I know,” I begin. “It was Holden.”
That stops her short. “What?”
“Holden shot her.”
“Honey, Holden’s gone. He’s been gone for a year. Besides, he wouldn’t have kill her. They were best friends.”
I’m starting to think she’s right, but I know what I saw, and it definitely wasn’t Tobie. They don’t look anything alike. Tobie!
“Where’s Tobie?” I ask. She doesn’t answer. For the first time, I focus on her.
She’s an absolute mess. Her usually neat hair is a rat’s nest and her clothes are wrinkled, suggesting that she spent the night by my bedside.
But now that I’m looking at her, she can’t meet my gaze. Or won’t.
“Mom? Where’s Tobie?”
Again, no answer.
“Mom!” She winces because I yell this time. Finally she meets my gaze, and I see the answer in her eyes.
My hearts stops completely, and I shake my head frantically.
“Sweetie,” she begins, looking at her feet, “Tobie’s missing.”

I wake up again in a cold sweat.
I’ve had my dream about Holden not once, but twice tonight. At this rate, I’ll be useless tomorrow, and it’s only midnight.
Ever since the encounter with Marka three weeks ago, my mind has been knocked off track. Seeing her for the first time in half a year brought the pain from last year back like a wrecking ball. Of course, the Reaping didn’t help much.
That morning, none of us spoke as we prepared for the worst day of the year. I slipped into my only dress, a red thing with a wide, shallow neck and short sleeves, a hem that barely passes my knees. I paired that with my black flats and a little lip color my mother gave me years ago. 
My parents and Ty wore what they usually do, since they weren’t in danger of being sent to the Capitol. We walked out the door to see Tobie and his mother waiting for us. Of all the things that could’ve brought me out of my depressed haze, nothing did it faster than seeing Tobie.
He had on loafers, khakis, a powder-blue buttoned shirt and a gray tie. His hair was the same, but a little more tamed than usual.
I couldn’t remember a time when he looked more attractive.
He smiled briefly at me, then seemed to remember what we were going to see and how it would affect me. With a sympathetic grimace, he put his arm around my shoulder, and we walked towards our possible death.
Once we arrived, he had to let me go so we could go to our different groups. I didn’t even look at him as his hand left my shoulder; I didn’t want him to see me crying.
As I stood in my age group, not even listening to the announcer, I mentally said goodbye to my mother, my father, Tyler, Tobie…Holden, wherever he was.
As she reached into the bowl of girls’ names, I closed my eyes, the tears silently slipping down my cheeks. I thought of the sixty-some slips of paper with my name on them, and thought I was going to throw up.
Just when I felt I was about to ruin my shoes, she read off the name, and it wasn’t mine. I breathed a sigh of relief as one girl close to me let out a choked sob, starting to walk forward. I can’t even remember her name now, but I’ll know soon anyway. I watched as she stumbled up the stairs of the platform. I glanced at Johanna, whom I could tell had already written her off as a weakling, but would have to train her anyway.
A new wave of terror washed over me as the announcer plucked a slip out of the boys’ bowl. I looked over at Tobie, who seemed to have lost all the blood in his face. Once we realized the name on the slip wasn’t his either, he looked over at me with such relief that his shoulders relaxed.
We definitely don’t try to hide our emotions.
After it was all over, we left the same way we arrived, except that the weight of the world was off our shoulders. Once we were out of town, I collapsed in tears beside a tree, pulling him down with me. Our parents and Ty left us alone, continuing their walk home.
“Liz,” Tobie said softly. “It’s over. You never have to go through this again.”
“I know. I’m just so relieved,” I said through gasps for air. “But what about you?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said with nervous laugh. “I’m not going to get picked next year.”
The same thing I told my brother. Even the same hint of sadness that means it may not be true, only I was actually old enough to pick up on it.
It only made me sob more, and I hugged him to me harder than I ever had before. Being the best friend a girl could ask for, he sat there and rocked me back and forth, shushing me and stroking my hair.
By the time we’re back home, my crying had dwindled to hiccups. At the door, Tobie hesitated to let me go.
“You want me to come in?” he asked, still concerned.
“No,” I sighed with a slight smile. “I just needed to get that out. Thank you.”
He nodded, pulling me into another embrace. I closed my eyes, and again I didn’t want to leave.
“Just know that you should never let fear ruin your life,” he said. “You’re too brave for that.”
“I sure don’t feel it.”
“I know you don’t right now, but trust me, you are.”
I think of all these things as I get ready for work, and realize I owe him big time. I hate that, but I know it’s my own fault. If I didn’t want to owe him, I should have waited until I got home to break down.
I give my mother a hug goodbye before walking out the door. It’s brisk, foggy, almost feels like it’s going to rain later. Hopefully, nobody will fall out of a tree again today.
I’ve been walking for ten minutes when I realize it’s odd that Tobie wasn’t waiting for me this morning. He has been ever since I was sick two weeks ago. He may have been ready to go long before me, or maybe he wanted to give me time to myself. I figure I’ll see him at lunch. I just wish I wasn’t walking alone.
Next moment, I’m on the ground, being punched in the back so hard that I’m sure my spine is about to rip in half. My attacker shoves my face into the ground and I get a mouthful of dirt. When they pull me back up hard by the hair, I spit out the dirt and scream bloody murder.
There’s now a blinding pain in my right temple as my assailant proceeds to direct their blows there. Then they turn me over. She turns me over.
Marka.
“If you shut up, it’ll be quicker,” she whispers, holding the machete to my throat. I instantly know that’s a lie, so I scream the first name that comes to mind.
“HOLDEN!!!”
She drops the knife and punches me in the eye. From all the pain, I just know I’m going to throw up. I just hope I have time to direct it at her face as one final insult before I die.
She rolls up the left sleeve on my shirt and starts carving into my arm, ignoring my screams. The carving seems to last forever, and I know she’s carving her name. She never does anything without making sure she gets full credit for it, and this is no exception. She’s a psycho.
I don’t even try to be tough, because I’m going to die anyway. Now I’m sobbing as she calls me every revolting name she can think of.
“Crying isn’t going to help, little bitch,” she hisses, dragging the knife across my right cheek. “You should’ve thought of this before you killed my boyfriend.” She raises her knife to deliver the final blow.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Marka falls to the side and lies motionless. Somehow, I know she’s dead.
I try to sit up, but the command isn’t reaching my brain. I feel myself fading away, when through the haze in my eyes, I make out a figure hovering over me. Recognizing him, one word escapes my lips before I black out.
“Holden.”

November 20th, 11:50 PM:
I’ve been laying in bed for four hours, and I’m still not asleep.
I’ve written in my journal about the thoughts that are keeping me awake, hoping that would help me fall asleep. But no such luck. My stub of a candle went out before I could even finish my entry. I’ll need to buy one tomorrow.
Oh wait, I can’t.
The stall will be closed because of the Reaping.
That’s the main thing keeping me up. I’ve known so many who would wave to people in the halls at school, and the next year they were Reaped. Of course, they never came back.
We haven’t had many victors in recent years, save Johanna Mason, our most notable one.
It was beautiful. All the other tributes thought she was a scared, defenseless little girl. Once they figured out she was a killing machine, it was too late. There were too few of them to do anything about it.
I’m trying to devise my own plan for survival based on her techniques, when I hear a sniffle at my door.
Without hesitation, I open the door to let Ty in.
“I don’t want you to get picked!” he exclaims, grabbing on to my legs.
“I don’t want to get picked either,” I whisper.
“You can’t go!” he insists.
“Listen,” I start, stooping so that we’re face to face, “I know people who have a hundred more slips in the bowl than I do. I have better odds of not getting picked, so you stop worrying.”
“Okay,” he says, breathing deeply. “Can I still sleep with you though?”
“Of course,” I say.
Once we’re both tucked in, he falls asleep almost instantly, but I’m still awake with my own fear. What if, someday, I have to see him in the Arena, fighting for his life?
What if he didn’t come back home?
It’s hard to breathe, and I understand how Tyler feels. I’ve made peace with the fact that I could die, but he hasn’t. I realize all I can do is pray for the best and that everything will be okay.
So I hold my little brother tight, give him a kiss on the forehead, and try again to fall asleep.
Miraculously, I do.