A.N.: A giant, rabid plot-bunny came to me in the dead of night on Tuesday/Wednesday. This is the final product. It took awhile to get up as I had to edit it, but I think that it was well worth the wait. It's at least 3 times better than it was.
This was originally going to be a full-length story about the Hunger Games, but I can't write action scenes, so I don't think any chock-full-of-action pieces would be executed very well.
I disclaim.
Sheep
News travels fast in Panem when the Capitol wants it to. Less than an hour after District 13 falls, the entire country has seen the footage of its burning remains. But by then it's too late. We have lost.
We spend the night huddled in warehouses, barns, whatever structures remain in the District. Sounds of weeping and lamentation fill the midwinter air as we slowly come to accept the realization that we have lost. The last scrap of hope we had is ripped from our hands and shredded in front of us as we watch the twisted ruins of District 13 burn.
In the Capitol, the Dark Days are over. In the Districts, they've only just begun.
They give us six hours to mourn the death of the freedom we had nearly attained. And mourn we do. Hunched together in groups, we spend the next hours grieving and deep in our bones we know no one present tonight will be alive when the next rebellion comes around.
-x-
In 13, whispers were muffled by the sounds of the mines.
13 to 12, graphite plans and fire-stops were simultaneously exchanged.
12 to 11, coal was sent to warm the homes of the rich, whispers to warm those of the poor.
11 to 10, food for our animals' stomachs concealed nourishment for our hearts.
10 to 9, the stench of our slaughterhouse's waste was alleviated by the promise of freedom to come.
9 to 8, a single man brought both electricity and hope to the textile mills.
8 to 7, words were carefully wrapped in winter coats for the Dark Days ahead.
7 to 6, an innocuous-looking bundle of herbs and tree bark was bound with dangerous phrases.
6 to 5, two branches of the same tree whispered freely without arousing suspicion.
5 to 4, cold-resistant sea life was hastily returned along with the words of revolution they signified.
3, the smartest of the bunch, whispered back without being whispered to first.
2 and 1, meek and reluctant from the very start, turned tail and ran at the first sign of fire.
Perhaps, in the end, it was their cowardice that spelled our doom.
-x-
They come for us at dawn. They lead us to what was left of the square, and we follow like the sheep we herd.
And like those sheep, we are heading to the slaughter.
When we arrive, exclamations of surprise ring out from all corners of the square- they have placed a large television right on the raised platform on which Commander Rook had given his speeches when the rebellion was at its height. This symbol of the Capitol's dominance- huge, silver and menacing, sits literally atop the old wooden pedestal where the rebellion stood its straightest. It's really the television that breaks us, I think. It drives home the fact that this is over. We've lost and they've won.
The screen flickers to life, and Marcus Basilius, the "President" of Panem, greets us from a cushioned seat in his ornately decorated office.
"People of Panem, you have fought valiantly. Many have died, and many more would have been willing to die for the so-called freedom they misguidedly sought." Here he pauses and shoots the camera a nasty grin that sends chills down the spine of even the toughest soldiers in the crowd. "Don't worry. You'll get your chance soon enough." He pauses again to take a sip from a glass of what is probably wine but looks more like blood.
"The Districts have acted like 13 very naughty little children, running off on the strong, kind Capitol like that. And like children, they need to be punished- it's for your own good, you see. You mustn't be getting ideas about your place in the world." He tuts disapprovingly as if he is in the right and we are the ones who acted unjustly.
"You may find the punishment of your fellow citizens unjust, but their sacrifice ensures Panem's safety from dangerous ideas." His voice indicates the regret of a parent who has been forced to punish a cherished child. His face suggests otherwise.
"In order to make it up to the rest of you, I have designed an event that will remind you why it is that the Capitol is on top. It's a celebration of the Capitol's strength and mercy. A game, of sorts."
I'd once heard from a messenger that District residents take on the qualities of the things they work with over time. If that's the case, it's certainly true of us. As the president outlines his horrific plan, bleat-like protests come from a crowd that looks suspiciously close to stampede. The only problem is that, surrounded on all sides by soldiers, they have nowhere to go.
Those who are not residents of District 10 probably don't understand the particular danger of a trapped stampede. When a flock of sheep- or anything, really- stampedes in an enclosed space, they do far more damage to themselves than whatever is keeping them there. And that is exactly what will happen here if even one person decides to turn tail and run, or to charge the so-called 'Peacekeepers' that hold us here.
Fortunately, though, the President grants us the one mercy of making his speech short, and no one tries to run. He draws to a conclusion of his horrible speech by telling us the supposedly unfortunate news that the so-called Hunger Games cannot begin until the first Arena has been constructed. 'Fortunately' for those who are almost too old to participate, however, they will be finished in just a few months.
"Reaping itself will commence in exactly four months." He pauses once more, then continues in a tone that chills me to the bone.
"Let the games begin."
-Fin-
A.N.: A giant thanks to KaleidoscopeKate, who was my most excellent beta reader on this project. Any reviews are much appreciated, and highly critical reviews are especially appreciated.
-Ella