I don't own the Hunger Games series.
A Silent Rebellion
An elderly man in white armor stands overlooking his district. His weary eyes scan the rugged, scarred land. He is Head Peacekeeper Cray, of District Twelve. He is disliked, not only for his uniform, but for his rumored habit of luring starving young women into his bed for money. He gives a thin-lipped smile because he knows the truth. The people he is sworn to protect know only what he allows them to see. In the same way, the people he is sworn to obey also know only what he allows them to see. This is no corrupt soldier, but a crafty fox. This is a man who knows that the Capitol's fall is inevitable.
A timid knock brings Old Cray out of his thoughts. He opens the door and his eyes meet those of a young, bedraggled girl not yet twelve. His heart clenches in sympathy and it is only the experience of years of donning his mask of superior indifference that stops a tear from reaching his eyes. He recalls his wife and daughter. Even a decade later, he remembers with frightful clarity his beloved family whose lives were taken away by the Capitol. He only hopes he will live to see the end of the decadent oppressors.
His eyes casually scan the street and note the gathered watchers. He sees the old gossipy crones and the young innocent children. The sideways glances he is always given are nothing new, and he does not let them bother him. He laughs to himself. If only they knew. He ushers the girl into his home with a firm but gentle hand and closes the newly painted door silently.
The girl's eyes stare defiantly up at him, eliciting a chuckle from him. He can see her strong spirit and admires her refusal to show weakness. She reminds him of his own daughter in a way. He still sleeps with difficulty, unable to forgive himself for having failed his daughter in the ultimate way. But now is not the time to dwell in the past when there are things of importance to deal with in the present. He shakes himself out of his thoughts. Giving the brown haired girl a tight smile, he shows her his empty palms in a display of trust. He wants her to know he intends her no harm. She relaxes slightly, but her distrustful eyes watch his every movement. He leaves the room for a minute and returns momentarily with a hand behind his back. He sees her minute flinch and chooses to ignore it. From behind his back, he produces a roll of bread and a slice of cheese. She stares up at him in disbelief and snatches the victuals away from him faster than he can blink, thinking he is teasing her.
He watches her as she wolfs down some bread and cheese and does not miss a discrete hand stuffing half the roll and half the cheese down her shirt. His eyes crinkle with approval though he looks away, feigning ignorance. He knows a good leader when he sees one. This girl is destined for greatness; he can feel it in his bones. The girl has finished her unexpected meal and is looking warily up at him. He nods and hands her a rag. "Go clean the kitchen," he tells her softly.
Once again, her eyes show confusion. She goes to the kitchen, not wanting to waste this chance. What is going on, she does not know. The older girls say that this is not what happens. She does not expect this nor does she understand it. She only follows his instruction because it is much better than the alternative: starvation. What the girls say Old Cray does is nothing like what he is doing now. She wants it to stay like that. Her mind has been wandering for a long while and she has done no work in that time. Worried, she steals a glance back to the room where he is. He is relaxing on a gaudy, overstuffed chair and is leafing slowly through an ornately decorated book. She turns back and continues her work, glad that he either has not noticed or does not care. Her suspicion and fear is that he does not care.
She drags out her work longer than normal, trying to postpone the inevitable. Finally, when she can stall no longer, she walks to the man and hands him her rag. He sets his book down and gives her a neutral look. "Done, girl?"
She nods stiffly and keeps her eyes trained on his face, waiting for his move.
He stands slowly, arms outstretched, and gives off a long, tired yawn which is cut off by the sound of an old back cracking and a quiet curse immediately after. He groans, "Help a decrepit man out, will ya?" The girl complies, letting him lean on her, but her small frame, still shaking with suppressed laughter, offers little real help.
Together, they hobble towards the kitchen. The man sighs and sits down heavily on a padded chair. "You still hungry?" He addresses the girl.
She nods, wondering where he is going with this.
"Have as much as you'd like," he motions to an assortment of fruits and breads on the table before him.
She looks at him in consternation. The fruits alone could sell for a year of comfortable living. There are things she has never seen before. A star-shaped fruit, a spiky yellow object the size of her head, a hairy brown chicken's egg. Why would this man give her these things? Are they poisoned? It makes little sense. The man could do whatever he wanted to her and he has not yet. There is no need for the use of poisons. Even so, she watches carefully as the man takes a large bite out of a loaf of bread, chomping on it with obvious relish. Satisfied of her safety, she reaches for a handful of grapes and another piece of bread, once again hiding most of it discreetly in her shirt.
"You don't talk much, girl," Cray says conversationally.
The girl only looks at him stonily.
Her silence does not perturb him. "You know the Capitol? The almighty Capitol?" He waves a hand to nowhere in particular.
She nods, and quietly, so quietly that it could be mistaken for a breath of wind, she whispers, "I hate them." Her hands immediately fly to her mouth and her eyes widen in horror.
He ignores her, staring up at the ceiling as if mentally tracing the many cracks spider webbing the old paint. "You know," he says, "they killed my family."
She understands that. "My father died because of them." Within her stomach she feels a roiling hot ball, and she worries she has been poisoned. She quickly realizes it is nothing of the sort. She is perfectly safe except for the sudden anger that threatens to burst from her mouth and condemn her and her family. She finds that she is furious not at the old man, but at the root of it all. Her anger is directed at the Capitol.
Cray sighs and nibbles at his bread. "One day it'll fall. The question is just when it happens. I know that when it falls depends on when enough people get the courage to stand up for themselves."
She says nothing, wondering if his treasonous words are a trap but knowing that the Head Peacekeeper needs no evidence or reason to do what he likes..
He continues. "I hope that it comes to pass sometime during my lifetime. I've seen signs, you see. I've heard whispers of something to come. We're close, and something is going to happen."
"We have no chance. The Capitol is too powerful. Even some of the districts are on their side."
"Divided, the districts stand no chance. United, they will crush those tyrants."
She bursts out, "Even twelve districts couldn't defeat them! And the Capitol purposely ensures that there is no inter-district communication!"
He smirks. "Maybe there aren't twelve districts." For years, that girl will ponder over the meaning of that simple statement, but it will be a long while before she understands. He himself should not know that information except for the intercepted radio transmissions that sometimes originate from what should be a nuclear wasteland not too far North. "As for communication, well, I suppose we'll just have to address that when it happens."
She nods, trying to mask her incomprehension and succeeds.
"You'd be a good leader, you know."
The girl just gives him a blank stare.
"I'm serious. Join my unit in a few years, and you'd be my replacement in no time."
At this, she starts and spits vehemently, "Join you? Be you? I'd die first."
Chuckling, he inquires why.
"The peacekeepers are worse criminals than the ones you lock up. We all hate you, and no good person would ever join your ranks."
He gives her a look of false hurt. "Now, now. Peacekeepers are people too. Surely we aren't that bad."
"Oh yes you are. And I don't think real humans torture and kill other humans."
He smiles coldly. She still such a naiïve girl. He leans in as if telling her a secret. "Those words could get you in trouble. I suggest you control them. Let them out at the right time. Maybe you'll be the head of the rebellion, if there is one, but I want you to keep your thoughts to yourself. Wait until it's necessary to say them. Never before."
She gives him an apprehensive look. "Everybody's always telling me to shut up, but nobody's ever told me to save it for later."
"Trust me, if my instincts are right, you won't have to wait long. But then again, a long time for me would be longer than you've been on the plane of existence." He grins conspiratorially.
"You're a senile old man."
"And a nasty pervert, or so they say."
"You say that as if it's not true." She looks at him scornfully.
"First of all, I doubt you even know what those girls were talking about much less what you were walking into…" He sighs.
"You're right, I probably don't," she nods, "but I know it'll help my family live."
"Survive, maybe. Live, no. Nobody's lived since pre-war," he rolls his eyes. "Second of all, I haven't done, er, those things… since they killed my wife. But I have a reason for pretending to."
She smirks. "You haven't done those things with her or with street girls since she died?"
"AHAHAHA!" He chortles. "With my wife, of course. Are you sure you don't know what we're talking about? You seem to know an awful lot about this."
She gives him a sly sideways glance. "I know a healer. She doesn't believe in innocence."
"I don't believe in innocence either. Not for a long time. Not since the Capitol came to power."
She stands up a little shakily. The food has long disappeared from the table and she looks quite a bit lumpier than when she first came in. Even a master thief would be hard-pressed to hide so much food on their person. "Is this where…" she motions with her hand. "You do…" Her face is stony and her eyes reveal no emotion.
He doesn't move. "Girl, don't you trust me? I told you that I don't do that kind of thing. It's just an image I uphold to help the people of District 12 survive. Besides how else do you think my house stays standing? These old bones can't do chores like they used to."
"I suppose…" She looks at him skeptically, not relaxing at all. "You haven't done anything to me yet."
"I have done something to you…" He says. "Now that I'm done using you, you can recover on the couch and leave in the morning. Here's your coin." Tell whoever asks that I did what I do. Here's a bed for the night. Here's your money. Now rest and you can leave in the morning. He motions to a leather couch that must have cost seven goats, then presses a few heavy coins in her hand.
She looks at him gratefully, and he can see in her eyes that she understands the hidden message. He smiles. She knows how to look underneath the underneath. She'll grow up to become great. He only hopes that he lives to see it.