THE HUNGER GAMES: the taste of Whiskey and Snow // CORIOLANUS SNOW

Two

"You'll be fine," Whiskey's auntie said as she twisted Whisky's wild mane into a plait. Despite her efforts, pieces of curls still managed to break free and fall around Whiskey's face like a messy child. Her auntie was having a hard time controlling it all.

"I know," Whiskey replied through a mouthful of bread. "I'm not worried at all."

"Uh, where's your manners child?" Her auntie tutted disapprovingly. "Do not talk with your mouth full."

"Sorry," Whiskey answered, trying to chew.

"You better pray you don't get picked. You wouldn't survive a day in the capital," she shook her head, pinning another bit of hair back.

Whiskey watched her in the mirror. With sharp eyes and a tight pinched mouth, she'd always thought her auntie looked like a crow. Even her name, Gree Gretchen seemed to fit accordingly. When Whiskey was a young girl she had always been grateful she had taken her fathers last name, Everdeen, instead of the bird name her auntie held. The name Whiskey Gretchen would have been even more unfortunate than it was now. Being named after a bottle of alcoholic was bad, but a crow too, that would've been so much worse.

Gree's hair was like the feathers of a black bird. Straight and silky. When she moved her hair once, Whiskey swore she heard the sounds of feathers rubbing against each other. Gree's perfect hair reminded Whiskey about her own wild lions mane, which also reminded her auntie, who would complain to whiskey about how problematic it was from the second she saw her to the second she left.

Whiskey inherited her hair from her father's side. Unfortunately for her, her father had been a so-called asshole and was the reason her mother drank herself to death, so it was more of a curse. Her auntie hated him, but Whiskey didn't remember him that way. He was the reason she loved the lights at night and saw animals in peoples hair. He was the original to her creative view. Not only that, he loved her. He said once that if he was a painter he'd paint her eyes so they could live forever. Whiskey thought he was a good man.

"All done, kitty," Gree patted Whiskey's head.
"You're free to go."

Whiskey smiled and hopped off the chair, grabbing the last piece of her bread as she left. Janie, her younger cousin, ran past and dived onto the chair where Whiskey had just been for the past hour. "Mine turn now mummy."

"Okay sweetheart," Gree crowed, "I'll give you a twisted flower crown."

"No!" Janie wined, grabbing her perfect black hair like her mothers, "I want what Whisk got!"

"No, you'll do what I say," Gree frowned. "Now hold still."

The ten year old burst into tears, "but I wanna be pretty like her!"

-

Whiskey dressed herself slowly, staring at the plain wall. Of course she wasn't worried because she'd done this same reaping ceremony five times before. Her name was only in a few times. She had nothing to worry about.

But if she wasn't worried, then she had no other explanation for what she was feeling. Her stomach weighed down the brick of bread in her stomach and despite her love for food, she felt the desire to throw it all up.

For some reason, today felt different than any other time. Whiskey concluded she simply must be getting older therefore understanding the brutality of the games more. But today, standing on the grubby carpet, in her frilly grey dress, she had the unnerving feeling she'd never stand here again.