ollyfish

         Immediately, I grab the knife from my pack, slide it into my pocket, and drop the pack to the ground. When I reach the edge of the trees, I notice that no one is in the field. It's a straight way to the Cornucopia. I know that I will die if I dillydally trying to get what I need at the feast. That's why I must be the first one. I dash to the Cornucopia and take cover inside it. Claudius said the feast will be here, so this is where I'll wait. Until dawn. I stare out the opening of the Cornucopia until it's dark and the Capitol anthem plays. I can't tell if anyone's faces are being shown, but I didn't hear any cannons today, so I assu

I was the first person in my family, outside of my parents, to hold my sister. I had only just turned five at the time, and did not quite understand the logistics of adoption, the figurative birth of a child into a family. All I knew was that here was this small, scrunched up little thing and that she was mine to keep. I held my arms out, and she was settled in them, her pink newborn face wrinkling as she was jostled. My sister, in her infant sleep, looked either deep in thought or constipated, her little brow furrowed, her small cherry mouth pursed in concentration. Dreams played out on the movie screen of her face, small fingers flexing and

What everyone knows about Delilah is that she's gorgeous. She's tiny and permanently pre-teen in appearance, with cartoon-big eyes and perfect skin. Her body is immaculate; she runs around the lake every morning, ear buds jammed in, tiny feet pounding furiously as she runs almost impossibly fast. Everyone knows she knots feathers in her hair, ties them to her clothing, hangs them from her rearview mirror. She's childlike, with her tiny wrists and her wide sad eyes, and so everyone touches her head or pulls her to their body or picks her up and dumps her over their shoulder, which makes her shriek and giggle but I know it also makes her a litt