When I looked at the lake, I had nothing but memories on my mind. In my childhood I spent countless hours here playing kelpie with my sister. I marveled to think how we never got cold! It wasn't even that long ago but still it baffled me how we splashed around for hours without feeling the chill of the water. Later, by myself, I would dip my toe in and quickly recoil at how freezing it was.
And there, on the slopes by the lake, there was the church tree where I was born. The dreaming tree, with its leaves of rainbow-colored glass. The symbol of my parent’s love, always there, always swaying slightly in the breeze; mocking me, questioning me: why did you stay behind?
That day, I did not realize Miss Katniss was under the lake. Not until she emerged, dripping cold water like it was nothing. Seeing her made me think of Kibou, although I always thought of him in an abstract kind of way. I still didn’t have a clear picture of him, although I claimed him as a friend-- it was like I only ever dared to look at him from the corner of my eyes. I had brushed off how much he had grown, how quickly. I brushed off too my anxieties that he had outgrown me, he was no longer interested in my plainness, my dull quiet nature.
Katniss herself I did not particularly look up to. It was no fault of hers; at that time I did not really look up to anyone except my parents and my sister. Although in those days they were gone and I felt I had no one to look up to. No direction to turn. So I ran blissfully (lonely-ly) wild, and Furfur with me. Thus I was not exactly stirred by the sight of Katniss rising from the lake, although I admit I was envious.
She greeted me. “Hey.” I said briefly in return. I sensed a conversation coming on, unavoidable, so with a sigh I folded myself to fate. “What’s it like under there?” I was genuinely interested, and so naturally another question popped up, and then another. “How deep is it? What’s the bottom like?”
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