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Chapter Text

Prythee weep, May Lilian!

Gaiety without eclipse

Wearieth me, May Lilian:

Thro' my very heart it thrilleth

When from crimson-threaded lips

Silver-treble laughter trilleth:

Prythee weep, May Lilian.

Praying all I can,

If prayers will not hush thee,

Airy Lilian,

Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee,

Fairy Lilian.

It's not the sun that wakes me up, but the music of the mourning dove outside. She calls me so gently until I open my eyes and I find myself where I fell asleep last night, on the table where we eat and where I write. I look around: the bed is freshly made, but there is no trace of my sister. She probably already went to the seashore, and is waiting for me with the others.She knows I stay up too late, she must have seen all the papers I trashed last night and taking pity on me, she left me to sleep.She even left me some breakfast, bread and some feral blackberries. They are in season, easy to find. Sometimes when I don't feel lazy I make jam with them. The sugar is not as easy to find, especially since Rosalind Mauve lost her job at the factory, but Enoch Green always brings some at the end of the month. He is like a weird uncle, Enoch Green, always around when you need him. Rosalind Mauve says he is family, and he must be, he is covey like us, even though he is a Bells and we are Reeds. Anyway, there are so few of us that even distant family feels like blood. He was a friend of our Ma, so he thinks he has to keep an eye on us. He is not the best when it comes to comfort and kind words, but he has a good heart and a voice that could make the trees cry. July just started though, so he won't bring anything today. If I'm still around at the end of the month I will make jam for everyone, but today the blackberries will have to do.

 The first year I had to go through the reaping I didn't sleep for at least four days. It wasn't only the thought of being reaped that kept me awake, but the dread of the possibility of having to watch my sister going on that stage. But since she turned eighteen two years ago, today I only have to worry about myself. Myself and the few friends I have really, including Melton.

Probably he is on the seashore with my sister and the other coveys, so after I dressed up, I take the fiddle and start walking to join them. I know they are probably fishing, it's the way we are able to sustain ourselves, and they will surely appreciate some music to keep them company. 

Outside the sky is cloudless, and I have to walk under the trees to get away from the sun. Unfortunately the beautiful day is ruined by by the industrial fumes of the factories. I can see them even though our house is outside the real city. I hate the way they are expanding it. It's eating away our woods, polluting the air. The smell is horrible, the sounds are worse.

Welcome to district 8. If you are lucky enough to survive the hunger games, and the factory work, you'll probably die of lung cancer. Long live the capitol. Can't wait to go to the central square later today, where it's so hot people consistently lose their senses. 

I walk until I feel sand under my feet, and then I run until I hear them singing. 

"The wind brought me 

A soft touch from the past

I close my eyes in front of roses

When I want to think about you

And then I look out the window

And I lose myself in a painting

Of a beautiful mountain

under the tinted clouds

And the birds keep singing

like they always did

But when I was a babe 

I only chased the cats

Black, red and white too

I called out to them: «little cat!»

until I suddenly caught them"

I see Rosalind Mauve, radiant as always. She is working on a net with Bobby, next to them is a basket full of freshly caught fishes. Looks like I'm late. If I'm honest, I'm not sure I like Bobby, but he is Melton's cousin, so I kinda have to like him. Moreover, he has a thing with my sister.He is crazy about her, and it's not a wonder. She is beautiful, always turning heads when we go to the city.

Enoch Green says I stole her whole face when I was born, but I really can't see it. We resemble each other, but I fear I will never compare to her light. 

One time this winter, when we were searching for wood, my sister walked away and Bobby softly whispered "she has soulful eyes you could get lost into" in a voice so pathetic Melton and I laughed until our stomach hurt, until we were both in the grass. He didn't really like that.When he stormed away, face so red it almost worried me, Melton got really close to me and cupped my face in his hands. I froze, it was the first time he did something like that. He looked at me like he wanted to paint me, and then he whispered : «Lilian Bone, you have the sharpest eyes I have ever seen, and your laugh is the best song of the Coveys». 

Then he went after his cousin, like that meant nothing. For some reason those words didn't sound half as pathetic on his lips. In a way I guess I should be grateful to Bobby. If it wasn't for him I would still be obvious to Melton's endless flirting. 

We are taking things slowly, but what can I say? I like him. A lot. I like him all-fire, so to speak. 

Unfortunately, that means Bobby is always around. But I guess it's fair. My sister likes him, good taste doesn't run in the family. 

Lyonell Plum and Simon Stone see me, they are still in the water, and while my sister is still singing they run to greet me.They are soaking wet from the sea, so I try to escape their arms.

«You are late!» they laugh and scream, and I run away from them.

"This moon woke me up

she found me inside my house

Without words

She sang me about you

And now with a chest full of sugar 

I closed my locked window

Without any tears in my eyes 

Now I laugh thinking about you.

And the birds keep singing like they always did

But when I was a babe 

I only chased the cats 

Black red, and white too 

I called out to them «little cat!'»

Until I suddenly caught them 

And I used to run back and forth

And I had hands full of scratches

Hands full of scratches, but my heart was still untouched"

When she stops singing, the twins have caught me, and I'm no longer dry, sea water dripping from my dress. But I managed to save my fiddle, so all is well. 

«Rascals.» my sister laughs. The twins are nineteen, but like Rosalind Mauve they look older. Like her, they didn't have anyone to take care of them, so they grew up fast. She saved me from this fate. Anyway on the reaping day we all get to act childish. If that wasn't the case we would go mad. 

They squeeze me extra hard, before I get them to leave me be. I sit against my sister's shoulder. 

«Look who finally showed up. Late night?» Bobby's voice is almost cheery. I shrug. I love being up during the night, I can't help it. it's the only time I feel it's really mine. I write my music only when the sun goes down.

«In this life you have to rest when you can.» Rosalind Mauve smiles at me. But it's a forced smile.

On this beach we are all trying to ignore the elephant in the room: that even though this year is my last, I'm still not safe. Even though we were extremely lucky, and thanks to Enoch Green we managed to not use tesserae, there is the very real possibility that I will be dead next week. Even so, the sun is warm, and the wind is pleasant. I keep reminding myself that even without reaping life is not guaranteed. I know it better than others. 

We had another sister. Her name was Susan Pearl. She died in her sleep three years ago. Nothing gruesome, no factory death for her, no horrible cancer. One week she had a mild fever, the week after she was dead. She went to sleep, and never woke up again. The doctor said her heart simply gave out. Something about the strain of the fever and a defect of her heart. Rosalind Mauve found her dead in our bed. Of course she wasn't really there. That body wasn't really her. Just the shell she left behind.

It was hard. I try not to think about it, because I feel like if I really think about it I will go crazy like one of the girls of the ballads we sing.I rather think about the fact that she escaped the games, that she is somewhere safe, with our mother, with our nameless father. Frankly, since she died, I obsessively think about what it means to die. 

Even though I saw plenty of dead people, I really didn't think it could happen like that. I mean, I knew it could happen, but it just didn't feel like it could happen to anyone, at any given moment. It surprised me, almost. Before my sister died, death was for me a faceless fear, something almost abstract. Death for me was my mother, someone distant and unknown, it was what happened on the screen to twenty four kids every year. 

I really couldn't wrap my mind around the concept of going to sleep and never waking up, and sometimes I still can't. The thought of non-existence is, for me, horrifying. For months I was scared of going to bed, the dark terrified me. 

Maybe this makes me a coward. I don't really care. I obsess over the thought, and then I try to ignore it. I have no balance in this regard.Having to watch the hunger games year after year doesn't help me in the slightest.

Suddenly, my eyes are covered by calloused hands I know too well. 

«Who am I?» His voice. Oh! If only he would sing.

«A feral sparrow?» Every time we cover each other's eyes, we try to guess the animal the other is thinking about. A silly game we have played since we were children.

«Wrong. Will you play for us? As a penance?»

I turn to face him, and I feel my heart leaping from me, a trapped animal yearning to go back to its home, his chest. He really is handsome, my lovely blacksmith. His dark hair is like coal in the dawn, his eyes almost green. I softly touch his cheek, his skin pales in comparison to my hand. 

He won't kiss me, not when there are others around, he knows I don't like being watched. We are still pretending to be only friends, but I know the others are onto us. They definitely suspect we like each other, but I'm not sure they know we talked about it. But I'm sure they saw us holding hands. 

When Rosalind Mauve tried to talk about it, I suddenly became extremely busy and I had to immediately leave the room. 

She let me leave. She has her secrets too. We respect each other too much. She knows that when I'm ready I will tell her about it. 

«Please?»

How could I deny such a sweet request? 

«Fine.» I say, with a fake hint of annoyance, as if I didn't bring the instrument myself. I start to tune it, filling the air with the familiar sound. Bobby immediately stops talking, his eyes fixing on my hands. Mean jokes aside, he is not a bad guy. I can see why Rosalind Mauve would fall for him. He is not bad looking, he is sweet, caring, and he really respects our music. Last year he asked me to teach him to play something, he told me he wanted to surprise her. Unfortunately, he lacks whatever sense of rhythm needed for this art. The music moves him, but it moves him ugly. His words, not mine. When the music starts flowing from my beloved instrument, he looks a little melancholic, so my sister put his head on his shoulder. Even though they have been together for a while, he still looks surprised when she touches him. He is growing on me, I guess. Or maybe the reaping day makes me kinder. 

I keep playing until everyone is clapping their hands, until the twins join me playing their guitars and my sister is singing over the cheerful tune. 

There was a time where we could have lived off this. When Enoch Green and our Ma were young they used to play in the squares of the city, and people used to pay them to hear them sing. They would organize shows, parties where people would dance together.

It was before most of our songs were banned. Now we sing only for each other, only for our friends. Maybe it's for the better, maybe the city is not worthy of our songs. I'm perfectly content singing only with the people I love. I know my sister doesn't agree with me. Anyway, for a moment I feel almost happy. If this is the last day I spend with my family, with the boy I'm crazy about, with his weird cousin, it's a day well spent. 

I close my eyes, trying to lose myself in the music I'm making, trying to picture their faces in the dark. I want to remember them, if I have to ride that damned train today. 

If my sister could hear my thoughts she would scold me. She lives her life in the absolute conviction that misfortune is attracted by bad thoughts. I think that if Iulia Creek's hands are bound to find my name in the bowl, they will find it regardless of what I'm thinking right now. 

When the sun is almost up in the sky, we know it's time. We have to go, since we have to make ourselves presentable. We all have to look our best, in case Capitol Tv decides to put us on its screens. It's not the real reason why we do it, though. We are effectively choosing the dress we want to be buried in. At least, me and Melton are. 

My sister and the twins are safe. They can't take them from me. It's just me and him against misfortune.

We let the others walk in front of us, we stay in the back, and when they are far enough he puts his hands around me, and finally kisses me. I like our stolen glances, and I like these stolen kisses. Maybe I don't want to let the others know just yet because I like having this secret. I never had one before.

I let his lips soothe me, he smiles on my mouth.

«I missed you. Why did you take so long?» he says softly, and my heart is pounding in my ears.

«I'm sorry. Rosalind Mauve didn't wake me up.»

«Lilian Bone. Always blaming other people for her own fault. Cruel little Lilian.»

When Melton quotes my ballad I roll my eyes, but he keeps going. 

«She'll not tell me if she love me, cruel little Lilian, when my passion seeks pleasence in love-sighs. »

It's cute. I like hearing him recite it, trying to impress me. He always impresses me, but I try not to show it, because I don't want him to stop trying.

The first time I met him I was eleven. We went to the city with Enoch Green, since his horse desperately needed new shoes. While he was inside the blacksmith's shop, Rosalind Mauve went to look around the market, while I sat outside with the animal.

At some point, a boy I had never seen before sat next to me. He was already tall, all legs and pointy elbows.

«I've seen you at school.» he said.

«I didn't.» I replied, even though I hadn't even looked at him. I never liked city boys.

«What's your name?»

«Lilian Bone.»

«Nice to meet you, Lilian.»

«Lilian Bone.» I repeated it harshly. We have been here since the war, since we were separated from the other coveys, but people still don't get our naming tradition. Sometimes it gets frustrating.

«What?»

«My name. It's Lilian Bone, not Lilian.»

«Ah.» 

He sat in silence for some time, looking at me and the poor malnourished horse.

«Aren't you gonna ask my name?»

«Is there a rule?»

«What?»

«Should I ask the name of someone just because he asked mine?»

«It's polite.» 

We locked eyes. In spite of myself, I asked him, I don't know why. 

«What's your name?»

«Melton. Just Melton.»

At that point, Enoch Green came outside, with a grim face and bad news.

«Let's go.» he said, and he called me by his side, taking the horse's bridles from my hands. He was in a hurry to leave. 

«Lilian Bone, I'm gonna find you tomorrow at school, and I'm gonna sit with you at lunch.» He almost shouted. 

I didn't reply, I just glared at him.But he did find me the next day. He really did. 

We have been inseparable since then. He worked himself into my heart. Constant, like it was a job he had to complete. It's in his nature. I like that about him. If he wants something he is gonna put in the work to earn it. 

He is still reciting my ballad

«She, looking thro' and thro' me

Thoroughly to undo me,

Smiling, never speaks.» 

«No need to be dramatic. I'm sorry. I'm not sleeping well.»

He steals another kiss. I'm not sure stealing is the right word, since I put my arms around his neck. 

«I know. No need to be sorry. I will steal you after the reaping.» 

«If we both are still here.»

He must have sensed something in my tone, the fear I'm shoving down my own throat, so he puts my hands on his heart, and then he puts his hands over mine. I feel it beating under my fingers.

«We are both gonna be safe. We have been safe every year. This is not different. We escaped six years in a row. We are lucky. So very lucky.»

«Very lucky. What's another year?»

«Right! What's another year?»

«Nothing.»

«Louder!»

Rosalind Mauve must have heard us, cause she calls out to me.

«Lilian Bone, we have things to do!»

I roll my eyes, brush my lips against his.

«For luck. I'll kiss you again after the reaping.»

«Fine.» but he doesn't let my hand go until we rejoin the others. Then, after stealing a glance, he walks away with his cousin, while we go to the only place I won't allow him to follow me. 

Deep in the woods there is a safe clearing, where Enoch Green buried our Ma and the twins'parents. We all go there every year before the reaping. It's an old tradition. When we were little, Enoch Green used to take us, but now we are all grown up, so we go alone. 

We go our separate ways, and me and Rosalid Mauve rapidly find the lavender colored stone that guards our Ma's remeanings. 

"Farewell! and when thy days are told,

Ill-fated Ruth! in hallowed mould

Thy corpse shall buried be;

For thee a funeral bell shall ring,

And all the congregation sing"

She softly touches the stone, then she cleans it from the leaves like she always does, while I do the same thing to the white stone next to it. Our sister sleeps here, forever.

"Poor Susan has pass'd by the spot and has heard

In the silence of morning the song of the bird."

Being superstitious as we are, you would think we would refrain from naming our children after tragic poems. How could my little sister escape her death when it was written in her name since birth? If I ever have a daughter I will choose her name from the happiest song I know of, so she'll die when she is eighty.

But first I have to survive this day.

We sit for a while. I don't particularly love coming here. I don't know where they are, our dearly departed, but it's not here, under these rocks there are only bones. But Rosalind Mauve always looks at the graves like they could someday reply to her silent prayers, so I keep her company. The truth is that I can't bear to leave her alone with the dead. 

When she is finished we head back to our home. Last night, while I was searching for blackberries, my sister repaired two old dresses of our Ma. This morning, she dresses herself in a purple shade, more lavender than mauve. 

«It was her favourite.»

I believe her, mostly because I can't remember anything about my poor dead ma. I'm not jealous, the dress suits her more than could ever suit me. And I can't complain, because the one she chose for me looks perfect.

A white bodice, sewn on a red skirt. It's beautiful.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I kinda get where Enoch Green is coming from when he says I look like her. Dressed like this I could almost believe him. I almost love it. How could I not? Everyone would grow to love their faces, if they would see someone they love in it. 

I wish I could hug Rosalind Mauve but today it would only make her worry. 

Instead, we spend some time doing our hair. I keep trying to make sense of my curls until I give up and let jer do it, like when we were little. She softly hums while she is at it.  When she is finished, I stop her from moving away, pressing her hands on my face. 

I feel her stiffness. I know she would like to open my head, to chase away the bad thoughts. She knows she can't help me. She crouches next to me and speaks in a calm tone, like she is pronouncing some kind of incantation.

«You are safe.» she says, cupping my face. I nod. «Last year.»

«Last year.» 

We get interrupted by Enoch Green's whistle. Our ride to the city is here. 

Chapter Text

Enoch Green is waiting for us outside on his old wagon. He always had it, he treats it like it's a treasure he has to keep jealousy because his family used it to travel between the districts. My family used to have one too, but the peacekeepers destroyed it after the Capitol won the war, before they killed our grandparents. His parents were smarter, and hid this one in the woods. Enoch Green says it was easy enough, since they knew the woods better than the soldiers. Years later when he started using it to move around the district, the borders were already established, so they didn't bother to confiscate it.

Why should they have? At that point escaping the district was already impossible, at least on land, with the fences and the armed guards. Now, it's even worse. We are in a cage, they built it around us. Of course someone brave could try escaping by sea, but Enoch Green is the only person in the district crazy enough to have a boat.

He built it after they banned our shows, when he found himself short of a job, about twelve years ago. He taught himself how to fish, and immediately found customers. We have had this business since then, we all help out. But he doesn't trust water enough to try such a route, and besides, he says Capitol's fleet would cut his journey short. Theoretically, even having a boat is illegal, but the peacekeepers like the fish too much to stop him.Anyway, if by some grace someone managed to escape, where would they go? There are districts a lot worse than ours, and for what we know the rest of the world is gone. So everyone stays. No one tries to run away. We keep our heads low. 

Before he helps us on the wagon, we stop to say hi to the old horse. If we don't greet Sweet Bailey Enoch Green gets offended in his place. He says animals have souls like us, and they deserve respect, especially when they help us out. He is right, without the poor stot we would have to walk to get to the city. All two and a half miles under the scorching sun.So I give the horse some stale bread we kept for him, and only after Enoch Green's look of approval we get on the wagon.The twins are already there, dressed in their best outfits. They look almost fancy and I think about the giggles that will follow us in the central square. The girls love them, they always come to the market hoping for a smile and a compliment.

When we lock eyes, their expressions change. it's like they suddenly felt a cold wind, that it's giving them chills. It's the same look they have every year, since they were twelve. I don't know why, but seeing the fear in their eyes scares me, and I remember that I could very well be in the Capitol tonight, waiting to die with a bunch of other kids. Fortunately my sister brought her banjo, so she asks the only question we could ever want to hear right now. The only right question.

«Should we sing?»

I feel Enoch Green's disapproval, he sighs, but he doesn't say anything. He won't scold us for singing on his wagon, not today, even though he doesn't care for it. Like I said, he is superstitious. 

«What should we sing?» Lyonell Plum leans in and takes my hand. 

«A song our Lilian Bone likes» Simon Stone pokes at me, trying to make me laugh. 

«Maybe her song? Fairy little, cruel, Lilian?» Rosalind Mauve asks, but I shake my head firmly. I still have the sound of Melton's voice reciting it in my ears, and I don't want them to erase it. 

«A sad song» Lyonell Plum adds his two cents to the conversation «Our Lilian Bone really likes those.» 

Unfortunately it's the truth. I can't help it, I love tragic songs.One of my favorites is the ballad of Annabel Lee, but I fear I am too scared for sad songs, especially when I know most of them tell the stories of dead young women. 

«I am in the mood for an angry song.» I say, and my sister smiles, all teeth. She looks at us like we are her accomplices in some heinous crime that she is about to carry out, a crime she is gonna enjoy.

«An angry song, or the angry song?» she still has that grin on her face while she starts playing.

On the front part of the wagon, Enoch Green grumbles, recognizing the tune. Our voices blend over the music.

"I sing for the unlucky 

I sing for myself

I sing with rage to this moon

Against your name 

Against who is rich and doesn't knows

Against the ones that will soil the truth

I walk singing 

About how angry they all make me

Thinking about those who lives in the dark

About how lonely this city is 

Thinking about how delusional this humanity is 

About the words they are gonna repeat

I sing for the unlucky 

I sing for myself

I sing with rage to this moon

Against your name

Against this sun who is gonna come 

He is gonna set, be born again

To their delusions 

How angry they all make me.

Thinking about those who lives in the dark

About how lonely this city is 

Thinking about how delusional our humanity is 

About the words they are gonna repeat

I sing for the unlucky 

I sing for myself

I sing with rage to this moon

Against your name

Against this sun who is gonna come 

He is gonna set, be born again

To their delusions 

How angry they all make me."

She doesn't give us time to catch our breath, and starts immediately singing again. I know she used to mutter this one in the factory, under her breath, while she was forced to perform the same task over and over again. She told me so herself. It was the only thing that kept her from going insane. I can almost picture her, her dark hair hiding her gaze, while she hums the tune, without daring to let the words out. But I know she wanted to scream them:

"To circulate in all the industries of the world

whether they are joint stock companies

or limited liability company

or whatever you want:

Illustrious commander 

I am writing you this letter 

To inform you

About an unfortunate fact 

For you.

To inform you 

That on the twenty-first 

Of this current month 

We have decided 

To end things

With you.

My dear master, tomorrow I'll shoot ya

I'll make soap out of your donkey skin 

I'll cut your head off, it's so shiny and round

So I'll finally learn how to play this "bowling"

My dear comrades, why those long faces

Did I say something a bit disappointing?

I did overdid it, but don't worry about it

Twenty years of rage made me speak like that

Just think of how great 

On the twenty-first 

everyone is a master

So no one is a master

Just think of how great it'll be 

But first I'll nail 

Your tongue to your palate 

I'll make you swallow 

A seasoned snake 

And out those eyes of yours

so piggy and so jerky 

For my girlfriend

I'll make new earrings 

No one will pay me enough to renounce the joy 

Of seeing you hanging there

Just like a cold fish 

No one will pay me enough to renounce the joy 

Of seeing your wives 

All full of sorrows 

Crying only on Fridays

Why do you care if I skin you alive?

If you care, light a candle

I'll put it out, sticking it up your nose

Sticking it up your nose

Sticking it whole up your nose."

We almost yell, without care for fancy harmonies, and when the song is finished we sing another, and another.We sing the angry song of the fishermen "They keep my land captive in their hands", "Eat the sun", and at the end my sister choose another one of her favourites, a song about a girl who acts out her revenge against the man that raped her. Seeing her like this, almost screaming these rebellious words, I can imagine why the foreman fired her. She didn't tell me the whole story of how it happened, I only know of the aftermath. They whipped her in the square, and they punished all the workers for her actions with underpaid extra shifts. We had to bring her home while she was unconscious, and she had marks for months. Since then going to the city has become risky for her. Desperate people care only about themselves, and the other workers ostracized her. If she goes to the market with Enoch Green they don't buy from him, the women glare at her silently, while the men harass her yelling horrible things. So she helps him out with the nets and with the baskets, staying out of the city.

We keep singing and our singing is raspy, all wrong, but we don't care, we just want to exorcise our feelings. Because like her, we are angry. I'm angry. Why should we suffer this cruelty over and over again, when we weren't even born during the war? Why does the capitol punish us, every year, for something we didn't commit? Why do they feel like they are right to do it? They bombard us with videos and slogans, trying to convince us that the Capitol is the heart of our "beautiful" country, but it's a lie. Capitol City is not Panem's heart, it's its mouth. An all consuming hungry mouth. We are its food. 

The war started because of them, because of their boots over our necks. They should be the ones paying the toll of blood. They were selfish, and greedy. The uprisings were a natural consequence of their own mistakes, but they didn't learn anything from this war, they still keep on doing what they always have done.Not to mention how they treated our people. They stopped us from traveling, and killed my grandparents' generation, entire families gone in an instant and for what?Maybe they were scared of us and of our songs. Singing is an act of resistance after all, every covey child knows it. They feared for the integrity of their peace.

But how fragile is your peace if it's broken by someone singing?

"Do you know about the honey you stole from me?

When it turned into gall I spit it out 

I told you «I had enough !» 

but you insisted «I want another one»

So you took from me something I didn't give you 

You took from me something I didn't give you 

The past sometimes doesn't ever pass

Even when a lot of time passed

I can see you are dead but you don't know it yet

Because my knife will never forgive you

Because my knife will never forgive you 

I brought him where this story started

To make him feel what I felt that time 

And when looking at me, 

he suddenly remembered 

I cut his dick off and I eat it whole 

I cut his dick off and I eat it whole

She was born, she was born, she was born amidst the sea

She was born, she was born, she was born amidst the sea."

The boys attempt to make us laugh by bending double, as to reenact his well deserved pain, but their effort is useless because we realize where we are.The terrain is changing, and we are now entering the city. No more songs, Rosalind Mauve hides her banjo under her seat, before someone hears us. I feel my throat closing, and my breath starts getting heavy. Terror fills my lungs but I still can't allow myself to panic. 

«I don't want to be in that square.» I whisper to my sister, but Enoch Green hears me as well. 

«Don't even think about it.» He commands me. «I made bread for tonight, and I bought cherry wine. We will have dinner and I will show you how to hold your liquor to impress all the boys, like I did with Rosalind Mauve and the twins.»

«She doesn't need to impress anyone.» Before I can reply to him, my sister corrects him. «She already won the heart of the one she wants.»

«Did she?» The twins open their eyes wide. 

I don't know why she is bringing this up right now, maybe she is just trying to distract me. Maybe she is trying to distract herself. She tries to chase away death talking about love.

«I don't know what she is talking about.» 

«That better be true , cause I didn't give you permission to date!» Enoch Green almost yells at me, but when someone turns their head toward our wagon he lowers his voice.«We'll talk about it tonight.» 

«There is nothing to talk about» I try to explain, but my sister is smirking at me. 

He stops the wagon, and we get off of it. Before we walk to the square, we hug each other as per tradition. I feel the arms of my family around me, hands interlocking, and we hold each other for a while. I wish I could just stay like this until this nightmare ends. I wouldn't be so scared, I think, if I could hold their hands during the reaping, but they will be so far from me it will be almost unbearable.Their smell is familiar, and with my face close to their chest I hear someone's heart pounding. I don't know whose it is, and I don't care to find out. It could be mine as well.

«Last year» we all repeat, our secret incantation. 

Last year, last year, last year. 

Then we are on our way.

The square is tremendously crowded, and I'm already losing my mind because of the noise and the heat. I hate this place. Everyone gets so nervous on the reaping day they show up earlier than needed to try to avoid punishment, so even though we are right on time we are some of the last to arrive. Probably some of them have been here for about an half hour.

We are about to go our separate ways, when suddenly Enoch Green stops in his tracks. 

«Something is not right.» he says, and he is dead serious. I look around and I think I get what he means. On the stage, the bowls where our names are supposed to be, are...empty? 

«Maybe they decided not to...» Lyonell Plum's voice is almost hopeful but his brother stops him from saying another word. «I don't like this one bit.»

«Look!» Rosalind Mauve is pointing her finger towards something, and we notice that the crowd is not as chaotic as it seems. Men and women are separated like always, but this year the peacekeepers are forcing them to wait in lines. 

There is a lump in my throat. 

Well, let's get this over with. 

«Let's find out whatever is happening.» I say, and after I squeeze my sister's hand one last time, I go to join the girls of my age.

«Break a leg.» it's her last wish.

I try to get to the root of what is happening, but since even at school I keep to myself I don't really know who to ask. After I lose some time trying to eavesdrop with no luck, I finally recognize someone in the multicolored crowd I can talk with. 

«Lacey!» I call out, and a pretty tall girl turns around to face me. 

«Well, If it isn't Lilian Bone Reeds, finally showing up!» She takes my hand. It's sweaty, but I don't refuse it, maybe because I know she needs it. Maybe I need hers. «So gracious of you to be on time even though Capitol City isn't. The world must be turning upside down.»

Lacey is my friend, I think. Well, she is definitely not an acquaintance, but we only see each other at school, because she works in one of the factories. She is pretty much always busy, and when she isn't she is too tired to go out. I don't know why I'm hesitant to call her my friend, maybe I'm just worried she wouldn't consider me the same way. I always had the suspicion that she is kind towards me just because she knows I'm not good at making friends. 

When I was little and I had yet to meet Melton, I used to always eat alone during the lunch break at school.One time, the doctor's daughter spat in my food, accusing me of stealing something of hers that she couldn't find anymore. At first she was just screaming offensive things about me and my family, but then she got in my face and grabbed me by my shoulders. Finally, she hit me. Now, Lacey doesn't like bullies, so, even though we had never spoken and the girl was older than us, when she saw what was happening, she walked towards us, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled it until she made her cry, dragging her on the floor. Things escalated pretty quickly after. Our teacher had to break the fight and had her parents come in the next day. 

I was feeling very guilty, thinking about how she was gonna be in trouble with her family because of me, but when the teacher explained to them what had happened Lacey's father simply scoffed at her. 

"Do you want me to punish my daughter because she was defending another girl? Never gonna happen, miss. She did your job for you. How about this: instead, you start keeping in check the children of those privileged asses that think money can buy them the right to treat others however they please. I know it wasn't the first time that girl was abusive towards other students. Maybe if someone teaches her how to be a decent human being, she won't wound up like her father and she won't try to profit from the sorrows of her classmates when she is all grown up and takes his place, raising the prices of her medical visitation whenever she likes. Have you ever thought about it?"

The teacher wasn't happy, Lacey was suspended for a week and to this day her family can't turn to the doctor if one of them is sick. 

But when she came back from her suspension she told me her father had spoiled her rotten, and that she had just spent the best week ever.She has sat next to me in every class since that day.

I think about how much it would hurt, Iulia Creek reaping her name, and I squeeze her hand stronger. It's a weird habit: I think about the people I care about dying, hurting my feelings in the process.

I don't know why I do it, maybe to prepare myself for the inevitable end that characterizes every life.If she were to die how would I react? What would I do if they called her to the stage today? Would I be able to get over her death? Most likely. People die every day, and we get over it. Would it still hurt like a bitch? Definitely. I should be ashamed of myself for even thinking about this. 

«Your new dress is lovely.» I say, sincerely. I know a lot of hard work went into it. It's simple yet beautiful, it compliments her red hair and her fair complexion. How many hours did she spend choosing the fabric? Every time I see what she is able to sew I can't help but feel she is wasted in that damned factory. For someone so creative it must be something akin to torture. Rosalind Mauve used to call it soul mutilation.

«Yours it's pretty too. I like how the white turns red.»

«Thanks. So, what the hell is happening? Why is no one on stage?»

«Well, when folks started to arrive, Iulia Creek told the grownups to form two orderly lines, but she didn't bother to explain to us why. She just went on and on about how this is a special year. Apparently they have some kind of surprise for us, she said they will make an announcement soon. You should have seen the mayor's face when she took the mike from him, ordering him to join the others. The old boot-licker was pissed.»

Hope is a dangerous thing. When it is born, you can't kill it without killing yourself too. Even so, I can't help but hope.

«A surprise? Do you think-»

«I don't know. I hope so, but- I don't know, if they would have wanted to stop the games, why torment us? Why not be straightforward with it?»

«Maybe they want to capture our reactions on the screens. You know they love their screens.» 

«Maybe. But then, why are the bowls still here?» She shakes her head and I know she is trying to convince herself that every wish is pointless.

I don't blame her, hell, I should probably do the same. 

I look around the boys' pen, trying to locate Melton, and I find him looking at me. I put my hand on my heart and he does the same, I can't help but think about his heart under my fingers. He looks beautiful as always in his Sunday dress, and I'm filled with regret. I should have spent more time with him this morning. 

I'll see him tonight.

I talk with Lacey, we try to distract each other. She tells me about her brothers, about how this morning they surprised her with some cotton yarn, about how she wants to use them to make crochet flowers. Some wealthy girls saw her making one and they told her they are interested in buying them, as decorations for their dresses. She pulls one she already made out of her pocket, to show me. It's a white lily, so pretty and light it almost seems real. 

«You are an artist.» I praise her and she looks very proud of herself.

In exchange, I tell her about the song I'm trying to make sense of, the one that doesn't let me sleep. 

«What is it called?»

«Under the ground there is no moon.»

«Spooky. What is it about?» 

«I am still not completely sure about it.»

Half an hour flies like this, but when we hear the microphones's static sounds, dread washes over us both, and I reach for her again. 

At the same moment, we hear an unpleasant high pitched voice.

It's Iulia Creek, smiling at us like she is at a a party, completely blind to the feelings of the people who surround her. She is dressed like she is some kind of exotic bug, her hair is a seasick sort of green, her shoes are so big they could seriously injure someone if she accidentally stepped on their toes. Why she subjects herself to all of this beats me. Lacey's comments are not slow in coming.

«That color on her is a criminal offense, such a pity when the fabric is so nice. I swear her stylist hates her guts.» 

«Let's proceed with our announcement, right on time.» she squeals 

«Right on time my ass.» Lacey whispers. I try not to laugh, but I also poke her, so she doesn't add other remarks. 

Of course everyone hates the Capitol, but in the pen there are girls who would snitch out anybody to the peacekeepers for some pocket money. Hungry dogs are never loyal. 

The screens flicker, and President Snow suddenly comes into view. There is not a face in this world I hate as much as his. He looks seraphic, his hair is like a blond halo and he smiles like he is at peace with everyone and everything, like he knows his heart is in the right place. He is well dressed, and he could almost be handsome. I say almost because there is something wrong about his eyes, they are too cold, too light. I find him almost eerie. 

He starts speaking, repeating the same old words he has been repeating for five years, since he came to power. He goes on about the dark days and the necessity of the hunger games, describing the rebels like some kind of animals. By now I could almost recite this speech by heart so I gladly zone out until he says something new.

«When the laws of the Games were laid out, they dictated that every twenty-five years the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell. A celebration for Panem and its people.»

Celebration? What does it mean? Are we spared, just for this year, because of this recurrence? 

I hear Lacey gasping, and I wonder if I made the same sound. 

Around us the crowd starts making noises, people ask questions from everywhere, and the peacekeepers start screaming to keep us under control. They hit the most unruly of us and we fall silent again. I finally realize what must have really alarmed Enoch Green. There are too many of them. 

They are definitely more than last year, and they are also more heavily armed. I feel a chill going down my spine. 

«These editions would call for a glorified version of the Games, to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion...under special rules.»

Now his child is on the screens too, dressed in the peacekeepers white. Every year he looks more like him, I can see it in his mouth and his nose. When he was born every district received a shipment of additional bags of cereal, with the words "Courtesy of Caius Coriolanus Snow." written over them. It was our first lady, Livia Cardew, who founded the initiative, maybe to try getting us to like the kid. Another Capitol's scheme.

Anyway I can't help but feel extremely confused by the president's words. What the hell is he talking about?

«We honour now our first Quarter Quell, and we proceed to read the first envelope, written twenty five years ago by our first gamemakers. From now on, every twenty five years, we will read a new envelope.»

Caius brings him a beautiful box, and before he opens it, Snow ruffles his hair, like he is some kind of thoughtful father. The father of our nation. It's a show he is putting on for Capitol City, he wants them to feel all fuzzy and protected. The irony is not lost on me.No cute kid could make us forget the ones he kills every year for the sake of patriotism. He opens the envelope, and he reads its content to us. 

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children died because of their choice to initiate violence, every district will hold an election and vote on the tributes who will represent it.»

The crowd erupts in an angry roar. 

Chapter Text

Against my shoulder, Lacey starts swearing so much it could almost be funny. Almost, because nothing is gonna be funny for a long time. But while around me the outraged crowd pushes and screams I don't utter a word, I alone stand still in silence, like I am some kind of icy sculpture, and I feel like one. Or a piece of wood lost in the waves of the sea.

On the screen in front of us Snow is replaced by the Capitol symbol, and I feel like time stops.Right here, right now, I'm getting hit by an emotion so raw I struggle to give it a name. It's close to some kind of betrayal: because this is not the deal we signed for. The deal was a fair reaping, however fair a reaping may be. Since they introduced the tesserae some years ago the system is already rigged in favour of the rich merchants of the district, but this is another whole level of evil: it's an entirely different game. This changes everything and the acknowledgement of what they are about to do makes me feel like I'm not standing on solid ground anymore, like the earth is about to swallow me whole. Nothing is certain anymore.

This morning I woke up, sure about the order of things, sure that every day the sun would rise, sure about its setting in the evening. Now I feel like the sun could be gone from the sky every minute.

How many months did they spend planning this surprise, while we went on with our life completely unaware of their scheming?

Scheming, scheming, constantly scheming. We are governed by villains from old plays, they hide handkerchiefs, and deny us of our daily bread.

Looking around, the reaction of the district is so visceral I understand why they announced this change of rules so late.

They didn't want us to organize. They didn't want us to fight back.

Now they have us defenseless in this square, surrounded by snipers and machine guns and we can't really do a damn about it.

Caught like a snared fox. Are we gonna chew our leg off?

District eight is gonna vote, or district eight's population is gonna be cut in half. Then, the survivors will have to vote anyway. We are trapped and I can't even make a sound, I couldn't scream to save my life, this announcement stole my voice like an ugly clawed hand that made its way in my throat. 

In the front rows, someone manages to get close enough to the stage to grab Iulia Creek by her ankle, and she screeches like some kind of bird, probably fearing for her life. Lacey sees it before me, her eyes widen, her fury turns to horror.

«Get down!» She grabs me by the shoulder, and throws us on the ground, while the peacekeepers fed up with our howling open fire on us.  She is gripping me so hard I can't help but think she is gonna leave her hand's impression on my skin, but I'm glad of the pain,it grounds me and I come back to myself. The crowd moves like a single animal, and on all sides people drop on their knees to avoid the bullets. 

«Face down!» They trained us well, and the place falls into silence again, while we lie in the dirt.

The only sound we can all hear is Iulia Creek's sobbing. Unfortunately we quickly realize she is not the only person loudly crying. Someone must be in such anguish they don't care if their tears pisses the soldiers off. They are screaming their pain to the sky.I focus on Lacey's eyes, trying not to think about my family, because I know if I do, I'm gonna get up to see if they are okay, and if I do get up they are gonna shoot me. I perceive the same distress in her, and my mind goes to her turbulent father. She, like me, is trying to determine whose cry it is, if it's familiar or unknown. 

It's a woman. Please. Please. Let them all be safe. Let him be safe. 

On the stage, our head peacekeeper Titus Crane takes Iulia Creek's place in front of the mic. His voice is comforting like nails on a chalkboard.

«Every struggle is pointless, you're surrounded and helpless to our guns. Some of you are already dead, and we won't hesitate to kill you all. You are all expendable and replaceable, so try to be smart for once in your lives. You have the opportunity to save your own kid. Don't throw it away. Now listen to the lady.» 

But the lady is still crying, so he has to wait for her to collect herself, before the show can carry on.  She finally has the guts to go back to the mic, still sniveling in a way so pathetic it almost covers the sobbing coming from the crowd.

«Everyone who is over the age of nineteen must vote for one girl and one boy to represent district 8 in the games. You will be sorted in groups, each of you will get a piece of paper and a pen and you'll come up to the stage to orderly put your picks in the bowls, without stopping the line-»

Titus steals her mic before she can finish:

«No funny business. If you refuse to choose I will shoot you, unless you have a child. If you have, I will shoot them instead. I'll know. Let's get this over with, it will be an extremely long process and I'm already bored. You can slowly get up, but remember, we already spilled blood today. Don't give me reasons to do it again.»

We finally get to look around, so we try to locate our family or to at least understand who are the first victims of today.  I find Melton's face in the crowd, and my sister too. She looks okay, even if a bit pale, I'm so relieved tears are starting to fill my eyes, but I control myself as I feel my friend gasping next to me. I follow her gaze and on the screen I see four men. Three of them are dead. 

The other one is Lacey's dad. He is holding a young man's body, dark blood sullying his white shirt. He is looking directly at the camera, his breath shaky, his face beaten and red. Lacey hides her face in her hands. 

«He is alive.» she whispers to herself, almost collapsing to the ground, but I stop her falling. «I thought he was dead, for sure.»

And so it begins. 

The first voters get on the platform, visibly shaken and distressed. They write their choices, put them in the dedicated bowl and when the paper touches the glass, the screen flickers and shows the names and the pictures of the children they chose. These are the ones I know from the first group.

Denny Teasl: 15 votes

Weavy Stafford: 10 votes 

Klotho Hellers: 35 votes

Reelie Anderson: 1 vote

Satine Hollow: 8 votes

Saree McAllen: 5 votes

Next to them are the names of the people that voted them in.

Oh. 

Oh.

They want us to tear each other apart. Everyone sees each other's votes, so everyone will know who betrayed them. 

Lacey must be reading my mind.

«They have been planning this for months» she says under her breath. «I can almost hear them talking about it: "Do you think they will hate each other more if they can see who voted for them, or should we plant the seeds of distrust keeping each name a secret?" "my oh my, you really are a snake! I should give you a raise. Bring me a cup of coffee".»

«No way the envelope was real.»

There is just no way. Twenty five years ago no one could have predicted the hunger games would still be running by now. At least, no sane person could.We really shouldn't talk like this, but all eyes are aimed at the stage and honestly we are too shocked to care.Fortunately the soldiers are all over the grown ups and even the most vile of rats in this pen wouldn't report us today. Not after what the Capitol just pulled.

«This is the oldest trick in the book, Lilian Bone. They want us divided. Think about the tesserae: they want us to hate our wealthy neighbors, because they don't need them to live, and we forget their names are in the bowls too. They want them to think they are above us, to dream about how they could one day reach them, and they forget it too, they forget they are closer to us than they will ever be to them. Dividi et impera.»

The next batch of citizens select their tributes, and maybe because it's easier to vote for someone who is already nominated, the count for Reelie and Weavy goes up about twenty nominations each, while the one for Klothos doubles in front of our eyes.

Her mother howls so loud I initially think a wild animal made its way to the square, and a guard hits her in the knees. She is weeping, and she looks small like her daughter. My heart can't bear it, I can't look at her. 

How many times have I seen Enoch Green giving her and her family free fish? They are the poorest of the poor. Her husband died years ago under the furs factory's machines, and since then she has always been too drunk to walk in a straight line, so much that she was fired from her work, and no one else would hire her after that.  She sells her body to the old bootlegger that makes all of our district's booze, just to keep drinking and to keep a roof over all of her children.

Klotho is just thirteen, the oldest of them, and severely malnourished. One time she was found stealing from the bakery, so she can't even walk by the shops without risking the merchants calling the peacekeepers on her.

I'm speechless. How can they do this to her, to them?

But then who should they vote for? Whose life is more deserving to be spared? 

I didn't get so upset over the other names I discerned in the list, and it makes me feel like crap. It turns my stomach, like I'm gonna be ill.

Dividi et impera.

«What does it mean?» 

«Divide and conquer. You'll see it happening soon.»

Lacey knows all sorts of quotes in latin, her great-grandpa hid a secret chest in their house, full of books from before. They are so old she can't touch them without her father being there and so forbidden that if someone were to discover them they would be immediately burned and Mr Byrne would face severe consequences.  Even though maybe you wouldn't guess it from his looks he really loves to read and could talk for hours about the importance of words, how they shape our entire world. He is trying to educate Lacey to really understand what she reads, to understand why it is written in one specific way, because in our school they care little about books and words.Unfortunately they are so tired from work they often fall asleep on their books. 

I guess even that could be a control tactic, having us too tired to even rebel in small ways.

The next group of people acts exactly like Lacey predicted.

«Well, you were right.» I sigh, as the screen lights up. All of them nominated wealthy children. I recognize the name of my old bully. It doesn't surprise me, after all we all hate her father's guts. Even though she is kinda malicious, and I'd like to spit in her food to be even with her, I would prefer to not see her dying a gruesome death. Just my preference. 

«I know.»

Holland Rives: 25 votes 

«This is gonna take forever. I don't think they are gonna pull this before tonight.» 

«They know. They are torturing us.» She sounds almost apathetic.

«That was always the point after all.»

«Do not let them in your head.»

«How?» 

«Keep talking to me.» Her blue eyes glimmer with determination.

«About what?»

«About everything but the games.» She leans in. «How was your morning?» 

My gaze runs in the direction in which I last saw Melton, then again to her.

«Good.» I say. «My morning was good.» 

She wants to let the Capitol out of our mind. She wants to talk. So we do. 

Mostly, the names are always the same, everyone is too scared of adding new ones to the mix. At some point Mr. Byrne goes up to the stage, held by his wife. Seeing her parents Lacey's resolution of closing her heart to what is happening falters, and her pale face contracts. I can almost hear the voice in her mind.

Do. Not. Do. Anything. Reckless.

«What if I can't write?» He asks Titus, without an ounce of sarcasm in his voice.

«Point your finger to the child you want to kill and I will write their name in your place.»

He clenches his fists, and for a moment I really think he is going to get himself murdered, before his wife whispers something in his ear.  He then looks in our direction, lowers his head when he sees us, ashamed. He obeys him. His picks fall in the two bowls.

Holland Rives: 73 votes.

«I'm gonna say something crazy.» I announce. «I'm really glad I'm of reaping age. I don't think I could bear to send someone to the hunger games.»

«Watch the suicide's rate go up in the next months.»

My face must have turned to horror, because she immediately feels the need to explain herself.

«What? It's the truth, it's gonna happen. Someone will see the child we collectively sent to die in the arena, and they will feel a shame they never felt before, and they won't know how to cope with it. You'll see.»

I think about Rosalind Mauve, about her spirit, about her heart, and I instantly have a new fear.

Oh I must find a way to console her.

She speaks again, our minds interlinked.

«Honestly, I didn't think my father would have done it. I thought he would have said something. He always says he wants to die for something he believes in. I thought that would have been my last look at him.»

« He was scared for you.»

«I know. But honestly - her voice gets even lower- I would prefer to die here, giving my father the possibility of saying what he must, without betraying his ideals, instead of dying in the Capitol, killed by a desperate kid, or by a vicious puppet who thinks victory is gonna be a treat»

«You are not gonna die in the Capitol. Who could ever want to vote for you?»

«You never know when luck is about to turn on you.»

«You are not gonna get voted.» I speak my intentions to the wind. «Not even one vote.»

«Neither you.»

I nod solemnly, like it could really make a difference. 

It's almost midday, and we are sitting on the ground like all the other kids. On the screens, Klotho and Holland are still the most picked girls.

Some feet from us, a girl is crying softly, and I make note of the way she covers her face, the way her shoulders move in the same repetitive motion.It's morbid, I know, but sometimes I steal from the people that surround me, I steal for my music, for my lyrics. Bad habits, bad habits, I'm full of bad habits. Lacey must have noticed the way I'm staring at her because she whispers in my ears. 

«She is Bernie's girl.»

Bernard Millers: 300 votes.

They must be some years younger than us.

«What did he do?»

«His father. He started working for old Mike some months ago.»

Well shit. 

«So now, Bernie is gonna be targeted by both the shopkeepers and the factory workers, isn't he?»

I don't really need an answer. Old Mike is the bookkeeper. He capitalizes on gambling addiction, on desperate and sick people. Everyone and their mother hates him, but he doesn't have children, or maybe he does but he didn't give them anything, not even his last name. So they are punishing his business partner instead.

«He is a goner, that one. His father convinced old Mike that waiting for the hunger games was a waste of money, so they started taking bets on workplace accidents. Of course they didn't think about the possibility of people causing the accidents to win their fucking bets, and now...it's a bloody mess. Maybe they did know, but they just didn't care. Anyway, looks like Bernie is gonna have to pay for his father's sins. He is such a sweet young man. It's a pity really.»

«Do you know him?» 

I analyze his face on the screens. On the flat, cold surface, he looks older than his age. Almost tough, a crooked smile on his lips. He could almost be my age.

«Serge does. Sometimes they sit together in class.»

Lacey's mention of her brother changes everything about my perception of this poor boy. This poor doomed boy. Because now I truly see him, I see him beyond his picture on the monitor. I see him at school, with Serge, while they draw on their seats, I see them playing games, throwing little stones. And they are not alone. Because if Bernie is Serge's classmate, then he was Susan Pearl's classmate too. 

He is my little sister's age. 

«It's not fair.»

«What happens then?» We completely renounced our plan to not talk about the games.

«What do you mean?» Lacey opens her eyes, she is laying on the ground, her head on my thighs, the sun reflecting on her red hair, like we are out for a pic-nic.

«To the winner. You win. Then what? Do you come back to the people who voted for you?»

«You are jumping right to the end.»

«But someone must win. Someone always wins. So what? They go back to the district who sacrificed them?»

«I guess so.»

«I wouldn't want to come back.»

«Would you prefer to die?»

«No. I wouldn't. I wouldn't want to die.»

«I certainly wouldn't want to die either.»

«Someone would though.»

Silence falls between us, heavy like a wool coat, but not even as half comfortable.

«Do you think someone could...»

«What?» she tilts her head.

«Do you think someone will kill themselves in the arena this year? Thinking about their circumstances?»

She closes her eyes, crossing her arms on her chest.

«I don't think so.»

«Why not?»

«Why bother? Suicide is difficult, twenty three people want you dead, it would be easier to just not fight. If you don't try to run, you'll be dead in the blood bath.»

«Isn't it the same?»

«I guess in a way it is.»

«Do you remember the boy from eleven?»

«Of course. How many years ago? Ten? What was his name?»

«Cornel. Eight years ago.» 

How could I ever forget his name? Those haunted eyes. Those haunting eyes. A looker that one. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair. A soft smile. So tall and yet so gentle with his district partner, a little girl. He was so close to winning, so close. He had managed to survive without killing anyone, hiding in the tunnels under the old stadium after her death.But at the end, when they were the only ones left, the female tribute from district 10 started to actively search for him. She had survived the whole pack of careers, fallen victim to hybrid cows, and she probably knew it was a matter of time before the arrival of new ones.

Anyway, he tried to run away from her, until he couldn't anymore, finally started to defend himself, managed to disarm her, started to hit her, really hit her. The girl was on the ground, bloody, beaten, and scared out of her mind, even though she was the one who initially searched for him. I remember it vividly, even though I was so little. 

"He is gonna kill her for sure." Victory was almost in his hand. I am sure he could almost taste home. "Someone will cry for her tonight." I thought. "Someone will prepare a bed for her, a wooden bed. And there will be tears, and there will be cold, but she won't be scared anymore. She won't be anymore."

But then she cried out.

«Please» she said. «Please, Cornel. I want to go home.» 

And it was like she reached with a hand inside him, and he stopped immediately. And he left her, and he got up, started to go in circles, hands in his hair, muttering to himself like a mad man. And the girl, the girl stayed on the ground, unable to move, frozen in her place by fear, her breathing raspy and fast, the camera pointed at her every reaction, swallowing her pain and misery. He stopped, his eyes attracted by something we couldn't immediately see. A tank of gasoline. 

There was a career that year absolutely obsessed with fire, and his mentor indulged his fucked up fixation. The camera cut to Cornel's face, while Flickerman commented about his "predatory eyes". Obviously there was nothing predatory about him. He went to get it, the camera was still on him, he found himself a good box of matches. When he went back to the girl, she was crying, curled up to her side, she didn't even try to get up. He opened the tank, and Enoch Green closed my eyes, "You shouldn't watch birdie", but then Cornel said something, and I moved his hands away from my face, eager to see.

«You think you can get away with this, get away with what you have done?» Cornel screamed and he crouched down to the girl, whispering something in her ear.

So, Flickerman went on about some obvious district's feud, so much that I think he didn't even notice what Cornel really was doing. What he was planning to do. That he wasn't really talking to the girl. Or maybe he did, and he was trying to distract us.

He grabbed her hand.

«You won't. Not forever» and then, suddenly he located the camera to speak with his watchers.

«I won't kill her. You can't make me. You can't. We are not yours. I'd rather burn than be your puppet.» 

He acted quickly, before something came from the sky, or from the tunnels. He jumped away from the girl, poured the gasoline on himself and started the fire, and I guess it was so shocking even the game makers didn't know what to do, because the camera kept rolling. Something like that never happened before. 

It was edited out immediately after, they cut his words out, made it seem like he had some kind of episode. But of course, people still remember him and what he did. His words.

«That was different though. That was-» she doesn't end her sentences, probably scared someone will hear us. She doesn't need to, though. That was different, because it was a protest. It was a rebellion. Self-immolation. A reason to remember his words.

«Yeah. I know.»

Holland Rives: 427

Klotho Hellers: 462

Bernie Millers: 604

Denny Teasl: 78

Weavy Stafford: 53

Reelie Anderson: 35

Satine Hollow: 23

Saree McAllen: 25

«I'm hungry.» Lacey comments when the next group of voters prepares to go up to the stage. 

«Well, if I thought I was gonna get held hostage I would have gladly brought something to eat.»

«And something to crochet» her voice echoes mine. «All the day wasted here.»

My eyes are caught by a man on the platform. A bald, big man. My sister's factory foreman. He is sweating profusely under the sun, dressed in a dark suit. Lacey follows my gaze, recognizing him.

«He looks like a penguin.»

He does. I want to reply to her snarky remark, but before I can speak, he puts his picks in the bowls. 

It's like a punch in the chest.

The name that flickers on the screen is mine. 

My heart drops. Lacey grabs my arm again. She speaks to me, but I cannot hear her. 

«It's just one vote.» She tries to say, but my eyes are fixed on the screen.

Because every worker who comes after him, adds my name to the girls' bowl. 

And so, before it's time for the next group of people, I am already nominated one hundred times. 

Every single person after the foreman voted for me.

This cannot be a coincidence. This is orchestrated.

The smile on his face, it's confirmation. He finds me in the crowd. It's easy. Everyone is turning their eyes on me.

And so naturally, I can only string one sentence together, loudly enough to be heard by Lacey: 

«What have I done?»

I have been betrayed.