So, here it is, my first ever Fanfiction story ever. I wanted to write a non-cannon story so bad because I feel like there just aren't very many out there. The HG page is so filled with SYOT's-not that there's anything bad about, trust me, I know how fun they can be-but the problem with them is there's a lack of character development and focus.
Anyways, please enjoy and feel free to point out any errors. Also, any sort of feedback is very helpful. Thanks!
There was this story I heard one time about a boy; maybe ten or eleven years old, I don't really know. He lived near the Granaries and his parents worked as shovelers, sweeping away what had fallen on the ground during transport. They only came home twice a week during Harvest. The boy and his family were starving-as most are in this district-and he didn't really have a choice; no one here really does. He stole a loaf of stale bread from one of the inventories. He was caught and killed on the same day. His parents didn't find out until a few days later, when their shift was over. I never caught his name.
Jackson reminds me not to think about him, the boy. I know he's right, it's not like it'll make me feel any better-I'll probably end up just like him. There's countless stories like that around. Whether they're all true, who can say? They just get passed along from one to another, until eventually they become distant rumors, reminding people of the truth. Some say the Peacekeepers spread them, hoping to incite fear into us all. I can't say for sure though. But what I know for certain is that the truth can be brutally honest.
I look to my side, peeking my eyes out of my hood and looking a few feet to my left. He's a natural, Jackson. He can keep the conversation for sake. He tells me it's all about the eyes, to never lose focus. I don't think I'll ever understand it, that's probably why I'm always the one making the snatch. I look down at the baskets. The picking aren't always high; bread, corn, sugar, whatever the merchants can pick up off the ground. Technically it's not illegal to take fallen surplus off the ground, but stealing from those who sell it sure is. I mean, as long as neither of us get caught.
Usually I grab some bread and sugar from various woven baskets like today. There was this one time I swore I saw an orange, but they don't grow oranges from where we're from. At least that's what Jackson keeps telling me, but I was sure of what I had seen.
I make sure no one's watching me before I quickly and scrupulously tuck the food in the inside of my jacket pocket. The trick is not to be nervous, just keep your gaze leveled and breathing steady. Of course in the back of my mind it's hard to push away the image of that little boy and the thought of death breathing down my neck.
I knew no one had seen me this time. I can feel it; no heads turning, no eyes twitching, no hearts pumping-except that of my own. That's how you know it went off without a hitch. I nod to the lady standing behind the small kiosk clearly preoccupied in dealing with Jackson's endless questions. I don't look at him though. That's our most important rule, that way if one of us gets caught it won't go both ways.
I leave the stand and venture out of the makeshift market area in front of the large-gray buildings known as the Granaries and Sheds that are mostly used for storing grains. This market only works during the winter months, when there's no Harvest. People mostly work on the farms when it's warmer. But when it's over, they still need to find ways of feeding themselves, so they get creative by selling whatever they can. The Peacekeepers don't mind, as long as they get a personally substantial reduction in price.
I make my way out and start to head down a gravel path that's mostly filled with run-down tractors and the occasional Peacekeeper. I stare down at my feet, shoveling through the endless piles of brown seeds littering the ground. I don't bother looking up, I've memorized the path by heart.
Look, say what you want about how it's wrong and how others are starving and working hard to keep their families alive. That we're just taking advantage of those who are struggling as much as we are. That I'll just end up like that boy from the story. And you know what, maybe I will, but most of what they sell isn't theirs to begin with. And second, there's a clear distinction between that boy and myself: I'm smart enough not to get caught, we're smart enough not to get caught. Then my breath quickens and I start thinking about Jackson. He usually catches up to me while I'm heading to our meeting place. It takes him some time, he doesn't want to raise any suspicion.
I arrive at our usual spot, near a rusted lamp post resting between two diverging roads. He always tells me that if ten minutes go by to head home and to not look back. I know I can't do that. Deep down we both know there's no halfway with this.
I check my pockets to make sure something hasn't fallen out. My hand is met with the soft, comforting specs of sugar and the small loaf of bread that's hard to the touch. It's always stale, we usually have to cut off the molded bits, but it's far better than nothing.
Maybe one day we will get caught. Shot and killed. Just end up more lifeless bodies littering the streets, since no one bothers to move them anymore. Eventually, some of them start smelling so bad the Peacekeepers are forced to, but not until the smell gets stuck in your memory for a long, long time.
The same thoughts fill my mind each time I stand waiting. I don't know why I do it. Some days I get a bad feeling and I have to lie and tell him I'm sick. He wouldn't take me seriously otherwise. He'd call it nonsense; that our stomachs are worth more than our thoughts. Huh, yeah right...
Besides who's to say we are doing something wrong. Just look around. Most people here are starving, that's if they're not dead already. Most say they'll never succumb to it, that they'd never result to begging like some who really have no other choice. Here, begging is considered the worst kind of shame. Instead, they retain what little humility they have left by curling up into little balls on the street until they're no longer breathing. Really it's not the Peacekeepers, nor the awful conditions that infuriate me. It's the Capitol who's to blame, but have fun saying that out loud without guaranteeing a bullet to the head. Some thoughts are best kept inside, no matter how bad they yearn to get out.
I'm always relieved to see his shape in the distance. The same half-smile protruding from his face. The way he always walks so ostentatiously, brushing his brown hair to the side, clearly showing off. As if I'm ever looking. Yet, I can't help but smile back every time. We walk home together, not daring to stop and look at our picking just yet. Peacekeepers are everywhere and I personally don't feel like getting shot around ten in the morning. Too early.
My eyes dart around sporadically while we walk. I honestly can't say I enjoy taking in the view; being mesmerized by poverty isn't very idyllic. District 9 has that gray, cold atmosphere around this time of year. We're fortunate enough not to have lots of snow, it's mostly grain that covers our streets, blanketing the ground beneath our feet. We keep walking, our shoulders touching-despite him being a little taller than me, but I'll catch up.
We walk past brick buildings, most of which have broken windows or torn down wooden doors. We pass crammed alleyways and filled dumpsters expelling endless amounts of garbage. Even the farms converse by our view. They're all empty, but you oughta see during the Harvest. It's packed with people and the sun makes the wheat look like it's glowing. I mean it's nice to look at as long as you don't have to work on them.
Down past the farms and the darkest of alleys resides our humble home. I wonder if all orphanages look the same in every district? Ours is like most others; a plain, burgundy brick building standing three stories tall. Except our windows aren't cracked or broken like most, no, they're lined with sturdy metal bars instead. The front of the building is enclosed by a rusted metal gate that spans the perimeter. There's also an old marble fountain that used to be beautiful, but it hasn't worked in years. Most things in this district don't. Whereas most of the electricity is redirected towards the Sheds or Granaries for Harvest, or to simply fuel Peacekeepers' homes.
Every year Jackson reminds me that we're closer to getting out and living on our own, I swear it's like clockwork. I can never bring myself to argue with him. He's right, in a few years we'll be out, but then what. Where will we go? The rotting sorrow-filled streets that await us? No matter how much I despise the orphanage I've always known it beat living out of its fences. Who knows, maybe we could make it on our own, but I just don't want to spend my whole life as a thief.
We walk past the fountain and head for the stone steps leading into the building. I've been here since I was around two years old. I-like most others here-have never really known my parents. Jackson came here when he was about six, which is older than most. I can't imagine how much harder it must of been for him. See most of us didn't get the unfortunate opportunity of actually remembering our parents before arriving here. I know he doesn't like talking about it so I usually grit my teeth despite all my curiosity.
Upon entering, I'm met with the same authoritarian eyes glaring down at me from the sound of the opening door. The eyes belong to the headkeeper, an old starcky women named Abatha. Nice lady for someone her age. Unlike others around she never hits. She rarely even raises her voice; that stare is all she needs to submit her authority. Not once in all my years have I tried to anger her, at least not deliberately. I guess it's also because I somewhat don't despise her. For starters, she's the only one who bothers to actually remember my name.
"Well, I thought you two had run away for sure this time," exclaimes Abatha as we enter and pass the front desk.
"Oh, we wouldn't possibly consider leaving you," replies Jackson with a smile. I never said that he was very fond of her.
"We were just gone a little longer than usual, that's all," I say, trying to give a better explanation. Abatha's eyes begin examining us, hoping to sniff out some truth in our words.
"Yes, well… Suppose you get going?" We start to head upstairs, but before we can climb the staircase Abatha turns back to us. "You two do know what day it is, don't you?"
"Yes, we know," I reply, hoping to end the conversation.
"Well I laid some outfits on your beds. Marisole, I got you that nice white one you're always fretting about."
"Isn't that just wonderful?" I say with an effort. Abatha turns back to her paperwork and Jackson grabs my arm signalling me to move. We climb up the wooden steps until we're out of earshot.
"I didn't know you were so eager for a dress," he teases, gently nudging my elbow.
I almost blush, but I try not to give him the satisfaction. "It's not for me by the way. It's a present for Lila. I was thinking of cutting the ends off so it would fit."
"Then what are you gonna wear, don't you want to look beautiful too?"
"I'll improvise," I nudge him back. "Besides, what's got you so interested in my appearance, huh?"
He's speechless for a moment, "I guess you got me there." I manage a smile, but then I realise what day it is and it disappears.
We keep walking to the end of the hall, where it verges into two different paths, one marked boys with the other one marked girls.
"Don't be too long, alright?" he says, and leaves towards the boys' dormitories. I stand watching until he vanishes into a room in the far end. Only then do I turn and head towards my own room.
I pass several other doors each numbered at the top with a bronze plate. Most of the numbers have been taken out. The creaking floor becomes louder as I arrive at the last door down the hall, the one with the number zero above it. However, all that's left is the faded outline of where the number was supposed to be.
I open the door and immediately feel the thin arms of a little girl wrap around my waist, her blonde curls tangling on my shirt.
"Oh, Marisole! I'm so glad it's you. I thought for sure this time you'd get caught. I...I thought I should go tell Abatha, but then-"
I instinctively hug her back. "No, no. Jackson just took a little longer this time, that's all," I say.
She lets go of me and takes a seat on her bed. Our room is the smallest one in the orphanage. There are only three beds and a window boarded up by bars. There was another girl who slept here, but she was reaped a few years back. Abatha told me not to watch-that it would only make it worse. I didn't listen. I still remember her death on the first day; a spear going through her throat and her cannon going off. No one wants to sleep here anymore-they say it's bad luck, that they'd rather sleep on the ground. But I never believed in luck. Besides, that's how I met Lila in the first place. She came here pretty young. There wasn't room anywhere else and Abatha thought I could use some company. Lila never seemed to care much about luck either.
I never actually caught her last name-she didn't want to tell anyone, and here it's sort of courtesy not to ask about someone's parents, better to leave the past in the past. So instead, I just gave her my own, Zinnia-yes, just like the flower. She liked it and it stuck.
I look to see Lila fumbling with the dress laid out on the bed.
"Abatha brought this in, she said it was yours," explains Lila, placing the dress overtop of herself, pretending to wear it.
"Actually I got it for you." My heart begins to throb as her eyes widen in excitement. I crouched down and grab the fabric at the bottom. "See, I thought we could cut it down here and it would fit just perfectly."
She jumps up from her bed and twirls around with the dress in her hands, I can't help but laugh. Suddenly, she stops and turns to me. "Wait, what will you wear then?"
"I still have that one from last year remember," I say.
I head towards a wooden drawer on the far side of the room and empty my pockets into the cupboard. I split off a piece of the bread and offer it to her. I notice that Lila's looking away.
"Hey, you want some?" She shakes her head. "Well, you're not gonna get the chance to eat later, or would you prefer to leave on an empty stomach?"
"No, I'm not that hungry," I spot the worry in her words.
"Hey, what's the matter?"
Lila places the dress on the side and stares out of the window. "It's just… I want this day to be over, you know?" I see the fear building in her bright blue eyes.
I immediately go to hug her. "Lila, look at me. Let's try not to think about it, okay? We'll go out, clear our heads, it'll be nice. Come on, I bet Jackson's getting impatient."
She's initially hesitant, but ultimately nods her head and we both leave the room. I can't image how hard it must be for her. Lila's still eleven, meaning she won't be reaped for another year. But that doesn't mean it makes it any easier for her; watching Jackson and I go each year, hoping the both of us will come back safe and sound.
We take the long route outside, avoiding the large staircase and Abatha's certain ambush. We arrive outside and head towards the gate. Jackson's already waiting there and leaning on the side of the fence. I swear he can be more impatient than I am sometimes. He motions with his hand at an imaginary watch, but all I do is roll my eyes and the three of us head out.
Reaping Day is the most joyous of occasions here. You can tell since the streets become virtually devoid of people, leaving an eerie silence as if everyone is holding their breaths. We take the same route as we do each time. We trail off the gravel path and climb the small wooden fence leading into a vast wheat farm. It literally stretches for miles. We follow the fence until we reach a large orchid tree blowing silently in the shivering wind. Most farms are deserted during the winter. Sometimes Peacekeepers patrol them with dogs, but on a day like this most are needed in the Square. We come here often whenever we need to get out and lose ourselves in the scenery, especially on a day like today.
See, during Harvest, even the children are needed to work. School is out as well. It's better we make use of our hands rather than our brain. Who ever hear of educated farmers? Fortunately, Jackson and I were spared from plowing and instead made us keep guard of the crops, making sure crows and other wild animals stay away. Part of the farm stretches so far out that they didn't even bother to build fences around it. Instead, they just use a bunch of orphan kids to risk their lives and keep unwanted predators out, sort of like human bait. I'll give it to them, it works for the most part, as long you don't get killed in the process. It happens from time to time. Sometimes a wolf appears out of nowhere or a starving animal gets desperate and tries a shot at human flesh. They don't really train us either, but they do let us use weapons. Mostly just poorly crafted bows and wooden stick with sharpened ends, but every now-and-then they'll actually let us use guns. All I know is without this I probably would have jumped out of a window by now, despite the fact that I'd have to cut through metal bars-but I find people can do almost anything if they're desperate.
We started bringing Lila here with us, she no longer fell for our lies and we decided she was old enough anyhow. I thought it would be a good idea to get Lila running, climbing trees, even foraging for plants before her name was placed in the Reaping. Jackson was strongly against it, so I stopped pestering him.
I take a seat beside Jackson on a log near the foot of the tree. He ended up rolling it here for a place to sit and watch after I kept complaining about how uncomfortable sitting on the ground was.
"Hey, I got you something," he says, breaking my train of thought. "I didn't want to show you on the streets but here." I notice him carefully pull out a rose from his jacket.
"Where did you get this?" I ask, mesmerized by its bright red color. I've only ever seen ones covered in mud with petals falling out.
"After you left from the market. I saved up some money. That's why I took so long." He hands me the rose and I can see Lila holding in a smile. "What, are boys not allowed to do that anymore?" he asks, turning towards her.
I sniff it and glance to see Lila walk off towards the tree, trying to leave us alone. "Wait, you bought this?" I ask.
"Yeah, well. I didn't want to steal you a present. I thought if I bought it it would be more meaningful." He takes the rose and places it gently in my hair.
"Now all the people of Panem can see how pretty I am if my name gets called." He smiles, but I can tell he's got something on his mind.
Before he can speak, I hear Lila call out. "Are you two done already? We've only got a few more hours!"
"Yeah, yeah. We're coming," replies Jackson.
Before he gets up I tug at his sleeve. "Wait, you mind if I go walk on my own."
He looks at me pensively, but then nods his head. I watch him go join Lila and I grab ahold of my senses and venture out on my own.
I head along the fence and find myself staring into the woods on the other side. I just need to clear my thoughts, that's all. No matter how much I try to take in the scenery my mind keeps reverting back to Jackson's idea of leaving the orphanage and living on our own.
It's days like this I wish I wasn't born here. It's days like this I do want to run away, live somewhere else, far away from this district. It's days like this I almost do. We'd bring Lila with us, we'd figure out a way to keep her safe. Jackson and I would find jobs somewhere, somehow. We'd make it work. Besides, this is Jackson's last reaping and I've only got two more. But then I think about Lila. Her name will be entered for the first time next year, then she's got another six before it's over. Could I bear it? Watching her go as I did each year. If her name got called out there'd be nothing either of us could do. We'd be trapped staring from a small blurry screen in one of the orphanage's cramped rooms, hoping her face doesn't appear in the night sky.
I keep walking along the fence, pausing every few moments to check around me and listen for any unusual sounds-you can never be too safe. I look up at the sky and see the sun far above the horizon.
We don't have much time left, I tell myself.
Despite how much I want this day to be over and my anxiety as to what will happen when it ends, I pick up my pace. I decide to loop around and head back towards the orchid tree where Jackson and Lila will probably be waiting for me.
As I move closer to the side of the fence I smell a foul odor resigning from the ground beneath me. I back away, covering my nose. Peacekeepers sometimes litter a kind of poisonous powder near the edge of the district. Whether it's to keep the animals out of the people inside, I can't tell. Suddenly, another smells enters my nose, one that's much worse than the poison. An awful smell and one I'm all but too familiar with: rotting corpse.
It's probably an animal's.
I move along the edge, surveying the trees. Then I spot it, lying a few feet ahead of me near the edge of the woods. My eyes widen as I'm welcomed to a front-row seat of a brightly-colored orange fox gnawing at a dead deer's remains.
I stop in my tracks and stare intently. I watch its teeth rip away the flesh. Then I spot it's head turn towards me, staring me down. I sense something menacing in its eyes. It almost looks as though it's smiling at me with its tongue flailing out and blood dripping down its teeth. I immediately back away and turn around. I head back towards the tree, certain that clearing my thoughts is no longer a possibility.