To Kill A Mockingjay

ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘɪɴɢ

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"ᴀꜱ ᴍᴀɴ ꜱᴏᴡꜱ, ꜱᴏ ꜱʜᴀʟʟ ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘ" - ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ᴡ. ᴄʜᴇꜱɴᴜᴛᴛ.

On a day that belonged to the worms of the earth and the frogs of the ponds, Annalise found herself wandering the halls of her home humming a melody she had known from infancy. A pleasant tune that echoed against the mahogany walls and ricocheted through the cracks in the floorboards. She was in a state of soft tranquillity as she found her way into the small sitting room adjacent to the humble kitchen across the landing, a must in her daily routine. Making her way over to the small red-brick fireplace, she found comfort in her usual spot on the crimson carpet and began reading the book she had carried with her, titled 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. Of course she had already read it countless times before, but the history behind the precious inkings, known throughout time passed, was a great deal alluring and fascinating to the girl. She would study each page in a state of hyper focus until her eyes began to sting and would only look away if they dared to water. The book, of course, was one of the last of its kind as the capitol had deemed it inappropriate and a source that could spark rebellion. Her father, the local fishmonger within her part of the district, had gifted the book to her at a young age. It had been her mothers before she died. With the agreement that she were to only read the book within the safety of their home, Annalise enjoyed the secrets it held within.

She was halfway through the book when she suddenly tensed, the sound of a quiet cough echoing through the room. Looking up, she noticed her father standing with his hands on his hips dressed in an off-white apron with his signature tartan shirt and trousers underneath. His hair looked freshly combed and was still dripping from his morning wash. Cocking her head in confusion, Mervyn playfully rolled his eyes at his daughter's obliviousness. "It's 6am. You need to get ready to help me in the shop before the reaping later."

Annalise's eyes widened, "6am!" She exclaimed, having lost track of the time. Quickly she jumped to her feet, discarding her book on the cracked Oakwood coffee table and ran past her father to her room. Desperately, she rifled through her wardrobe searching for her work clothes and apron. After tying up her hair in a top knot, she finally settled on her bed lacing up her shoes. Whilst her clothes were freshly washed, the smell of fish still wafted around her, pleasantly reminding her of who she was. Once satisfied, she made her way downstairs to where her father's shop was located, taking up the first floor of their home. Immediately, she made her way to the small broom closet to fetch cleaning supplies and returned soon after with her arms filled.

'Need any help Anna?' Her father called out from the other side of the counter. He had been stocking up the display freezers with the fresh catches that his fishermen friends had brought in just moments before. Shaking her head, she got to work cleaning, disinfecting and organising the work spaces where they would later gut out fish and package orders. It was a routine they had managed for the past few years. Whilst she was only fifteen years old, Annalise began helping her father as soon as she was able to walk. Not that she was forced to, but as a way of showing her father that he wasn't alone and could always rely on her.

After a few minutes, a dark thought entered her mind. One she tried to avoid given the events that were to occur in the early afternoon of the same day. 'Dad?' she spoke so quietly that she was surprised he had even heard her. He hummed in response, indicating for her to continue. 'What if-,' she hesitated, 'What if it's me?' She let out a strained breath. Her fingers turned white as she clutched onto the sponge she was using. He turned to her, a solemn expression on his face.

'If it is you, then I will be content in knowing that District 4 will have another victor.' He spoke honestly. Never once discarding the possibility that his only daughter could be taken away from him. As much as he hated to admit it, the chance was still there, albeit a small chance. Nodding, she continued with her work, not wanting to dwell on the topic any longer.