District 11
. . . . . .
It's noon, or close to it. The sun is high in the sky and relentless as it beats down on the busy farm workers of District 11. The only rain that the residents have seen in over a week comes from their own pores as beads fall from their skin to the soil beneath them. It's hot. So very hot. The only clouds in the bright blue sky are small puffs of white, barely clouds at all, and offer no relief of shade. They stay motionless up above as there is no wind to move them. The only relief these workers receive is when the Clock Tower in the Square finally strikes noon, signaling lunch, the only break in their 14 hour work day.
All at once, the sprawled out, hunched down farm workers of the wheat fields uncurl and place down their tools in their work spots. Most let out sighs, some smile, and they turn to the east in the direction of the wheat field's canteen. Most use whatever energy they have spared to walk as quickly as they can without running, motivated by the promise of cool water once they get there. Some struggle to walk at all, trying to push through the dizzy haze that the heat has put them in.
Farthest out in the wheat fields, away from small clumps of the other workers, a teenage girl is crouched down in the middle of tying up her newest pile of wheat that she has cut when the sound of the noon bell reaches her. She is the only one that lets out a long sigh before uncurling her back to stand upright, letting the rope slip from her hands and unravel its hold around the bundle, making her last minute or so of work a waste. She doesn't care. She can't wait another minute until she can feel cool water on her skin. She drinks the last big sip she has saved in her old water bottle. The water is warm.
The ragged off-white t-shirt and pants of her uniform are rolled up as much as they can go, exposing her skin to the scorching sun rays. Her skin is a mix of old pale golden tan and new bright red sunburn. The skin of her lower back and sunken stomach that are revealed between the gap made when rolling up her shirt has become dark red and she can feel it peeling. The matching off-white cloth of her torn old uniform is wrapped around her head, soaked completely through with sweat.
She is working farthest in the field today because she does every day, and like every other day she arrives at the wheat field canteen last. Her fellow workers already have their wooden bowls in hand, filling them with water from the fountain wall, gulping it down or pouring it onto their hot and tired bodies. She am eager to join them, but before She can cross out of the wheat and into the open canteen yard, a Peacekeeper approaches her, tall, a large gun in one arm. Without saying a word he reaches out his empty arm expectantly. The girl realizes that she had grabbed her machete by accident and brought it with her from her work spot. She lifts my arm and hands it to him. He takes it and steps aside to let her pass.
She reaches the table by the fountain with the water bowls and finds the one with her name scratched into it, carved by her 8 years earlier. The first letter, the letter M, is giant compared to the others. The other letters are barely readable, but it doesn't matter. Everyone knows that this is her bowl, and no one ever tries to take it.
She exchanges small talk with those who speak to her as she fills her bowl to the brim, carefully bringing it to her mouth, and gulping it down. No one has much energy to talk, they are just too exhausted, but many try to anyways. Lunch and the water fountain beforehand are the only times that some of the workers ever get any social interaction during the Harvest.
Today, as it has been for the past week, the main topics of conversation are complaints. The heat, the lack of a breeze, sun burns, sun blisters, headaches, how terrible everyone smells. The complaints are followed by questions, Why hasn't it rained? When is it going to? What will this do to the crops? To us? Can everyone please bring soap next time so lunch isn't ruined by the collection of everyone's body odor?
There is a dinging of a triangle, and food is served at the long wooden tables under the army green tent of the canteen. The tables by the entrance fill up quickly, so the girl walks towards the back corner to one of the half tables, where she sees Gragg, his long gray hair looking particularly wiry in his ponytail, and Betha, her dark skin showing through her water drenched uniform.
She sits down next to Betha, trying to keep her eye sight from going anywhere near the front of her body, as the girl knows from past experiences that it will be completely visible through her wet shirt and that the 46 year old woman doesn't believe in under cloths.
As soon as her bum touches the seat, she hears the sound of soft thumping of 10 little hands on the wooden table, as the 5 youngest wheat farmers scramble onto the leftover seats. Pika, an 11 year old with her shoulder length blond hair pulled into two buns on either side of her head, makes to sit next to the girl. But before she can scoot a foot, a pair of very dark, thin arms block her way. Two small hands plant themselves on the table in front of him, and 9 year old Shiro jumps over the bench and sits right where Pika was moving to.
Pika makes a whining noise at Shiro. "No way, Pika." He says to her. "I always sit next to Marri."
Even though Shiro is being a brat to Pika, Marri giggles and smiles down at him. "When did you become so assertive?" She asks. He shrugs his bony shoulders and reaches out for the food laid on our table.
Down the tables center are the usual dishes: plates of slightly burnt bread and stale crackers, bowls of bruised and overripe fruit, old or squashed vegetables. No one complains about the food though, as they are too busy shoveling as much as they can into their eager mouths. Marri grabs a fist full of grapes from one of the fruit bowls and drops them into her own bowl. She picks one up and pop it into her mouth. It lands in her right cheek and she bites down. Immediately her mouth is filled with an awful taste.
"Bleh!" She says, squirming in her seat and then spitting the rotten flesh onto the dirt floor behind her. She turns back to her bowl and makes a disgusted face, smacking her tongue around her mouth in attempt to get rid of the taste. Almost everyone at the table is laughing at her.
"You gotta pinch 'em first, Marri." Betha says, smiling with a mouth full of cabbage. "How many times are you going to eat a sour grape before you learn?"
"I couldn't wait, I'm just so hungry today." Marri replies in a mock whine. The others laugh again. When is there a day when they aren't so hungry?
"Hey, these apples look pretty good today! They aren't all that beat up!" Shiro informs the rest of the table, his small body propped up in his seat to peer down at the red fruits.
All at once every arm is shooting out to the two bowls of apples, which are usually ignored for being so covered with brown or purple bruises that they are rarely edible. Each hand finds one now though, and after they each peer down on their apples in intense inspection, they join each other in a chorus of crunches as they all bite into them.
"They're even hard!" Cries a delighted Pika, who bounces up and down in her seat with excitement.
"They taste good." Says Martin, 14, his soft voice barely heard over the continuing crunches. But those who heard him nod and "Mmm" in agreement.
"Good catch, kid." Croaks the grizzly voice of Gragg from the opposite end of the table as the kids. "Nice to see that one of you brats can be useful."
Marri rolls her eyes at Gragg and says, "Oh don't be so grumpy, Gragg. We aren't forcing you to sit with us."
"I sat here first!" He protests, bits of apple flesh spraying from his mouth. "It's because you sit there that they all came to this table."
"Man, you're just jealous that they like Marri so much and no one likes you." Chimes Betha with her mouth full of her last bite of apple.
The children and Betha all laugh, but all in good fun. It's true that Gragg is grumpy and irritable all of the time, but they all know that they end up sitting at the same table together every lunch time this Harvest because of they actually liked each other. And even though Gragg acts like it bothers him, Marri always see him smiling to himself whenever one of the kids tells a silly story, or makes a funny face, or when Betha gives them some strange nonsensical bit of wisdom.
Though they are sitting in the shade, Marri notices a darker shadow creep across her bowl on the table before her, and for the first time in days her insides go cold. It is a very familiar shadow, with very familiar tousled hair.
"Marri.", says the shadow. "I told you I wanted to eat lunch with you today."
Oh no. Marri panics, but from years of practice she is able to compose herself in half a second. She turns in her seat to face the shadows maker, putting her face together in what she hopes is an expression of concern and surprise. She looks up at him, her cousin, Derik. He is standing in a relaxed stance, his hands in the pockets of his own off-white and dirty uniform pants. He gives off an air of slight amusement, making a face of mock hurt. But Marri can see in his dark brown eyes what he is really feeling. But if Derik puts up a show, so does she. She tries to suppress the sickening fear bubbling inside her and does her best to keep her voice steady as she says, "Derik! Oh no! I forgot!"
"You forgot?" He smiles down at Marri for everyone else's benefit and she adds, "It's so hot today, my brain is so cloudy, I haven't been thinking straight all day." She slides her mouth into a sheepish smile. It's a weak excuse, and she knows Derik can see right through it.
"Oh, no worries Marri." He says, flashing a bigger, brighter smile. "There's still about 10 minutes left. Why don't you come finish your lunch with me?" He turns to the others at the table, making sure to make eye contact with Betha, Pika, and 13 year old Carla, who everyone knows finds Derik attractive. This small gesture works, and even the boys are willing to let Marri leave without an argument. If it had been anyone else, they all would have protested, told whoever it was to buzz off, but never Derik. It makes Marri hate them a little at how easily they are fooled, and how they practically throw her at the most dangerous person in her world.
As Marri stands, she feels as if she will hurl all of the food she has just eaten, and tries not to fall over as she swings her legs over the bench, which is difficult as they are trembling. She has made him angry. Very angry.
Marri says her see you laters to Betha, Gragg and the kids, and tries not to cringe when Deriks palm presses against the small of her back, leading her away from them, away from everyone, and out of the tent.
He doesn't stop pushing her forward until they are out of sight of all the other farmers, where they are only in the presence of the Peacekeepers, their backs facing them as they guard the edge of the wheat field. All of a sudden Derik's palm pushes harder against her back, shoving her forward, and she is thrown to her hands and knees in the dirt. Marri gasps as she is caught off guard, and the closest Peacekeepers, turn around to look at her. Derik lets out a gentle laugh and says for their benefit, "Oh Marri, don't trip! You'll rip your uniform again." Under the watching eyes, Derik reaches down at her and grips her upper arm, pulling her up to her feet as if she were made of wheat. He does not let go. He pulls her close to him, increasing the strength in his hand around her arm. It hurts and he knows it. He is causing as much pain as he wishes. He jaw is clenched, his eyes glaring down at her with furious impatience.
"Derik, I really did forget." Marri tries to lie again. She keeps her voice calm, refusing to show him how much he is hurting her.
"Shut up." He growls. He jerks her even closer, leaning his face down towards Marri's until his nose is practically touching hers.
Like everyone else, the hot sun makes Derik's body odor much more potent, and this close it is suffocating. Marri fights not to gag, so nauseated that she has to swallow hard to push down her rising lunch. She switches her breathing to her mouth, but it doesn't help, because now instead of apple, she can taste his scent. Touch, smell, taste, sight, hearing, all of her senses are once again accosted by him. She has trained herself so hard not to feel it, to keep her cool, to not care, but she is weak from the heat and she can't push out the sensations she hates and know so well. Why do I have to feel them now, the imaginary hands that are crawling all over my body?
He lets her go. He steps back. Marri realizes it is because of the approach of two Peacekeepers. She is filled with further dread as she recognizes who they are. Quint and Naymen. Really? Is this a joke?
"Well if it isn't the lovely Marri!" says Naymen in a tone that implies that they are friendly with one another. Chums, even.
"Enjoy your lunch today, beautiful?" Quint asks in his creepy voice that he believes is supposed to be charming.
Normally, with the freedom to walk away from them, Marri would play dumb and ignore them on the spot. If she were in a better mood, she also might respond with a cutting comment. But not now, not with Derik here. She is panicked, still frozen, now stuck between three young men, all looking at her with eyes that make her time and time again want to claw off her own face.
Or at least, she assumes they are all looking at her that way. She can't muster up the courage to look at any one of them in the face. Instead she finds a rock on the ground about 10 feet away and choose to stare at that. She is holding her breath. She is waiting for Derik to say something, do something horrible, but seconds pass and he is staying silent. But Marri can feel it, his rage, radiating off of him and directed at her. God I feel so sick.
"Aw, ignoring us again? Even though we came all the way here in the sweltering heat just to visit you today in the wheat fields, you can't even muster a hello?" Naymen says in mock hurt.
"Well I guess it's not all a loss." Quint says. Out of the corner of Marri's right eye she see him take a step closer to her. A chill runs up her spine. "Seeing her like this makes it worth the trip, don't you think? I like your hair wrap, Marri. And look, Nay, her shirts rolled up all nice like that. It's all burned but you can see her bare mid-section, and it's so..."
He is going to touch me, I can sense it. No. God no. This is so bad. The second he touches my skin, Derik will lose it and attack him without hesitation. Once he does he will be shot down like a dog by every Peacekeeper in sight. It is a dream come true, but at a price. Marri knows that if they shoot him, they shoot her too. She has a millisecond to react, and all she can think of is gently rushing into Derik, putting her face into his chest and her fists under her chin. As expected, Derik puts his arms around her. He speaks, and Marri can tell that he is forcing himself to smile at Quinn and Naymen as he says, "Sorry boys, my cousin really isn't feeling well today. She is such a hard worker, but even this heat takes a large toll on her. I hope you'll forgive us, I am going to go take her to get some more water."
And once again Derik is forcing her somewhere, though this time his entire arm is around her like a vice, and he is leading her to the canteen. Relief washes over her as she realizes she has successfully averted what could have been an incredible disaster.
Marri can see Shiro and the kids, Betha, Gragg, and the other works rising from their tables as they approach, and for the first time in her time as a wheat farmer, Marri is glad that lunch is over. She can return to her spot in the fields and be alone, away from everyone again. But before Derik lets her go so he can return to his own job of working one of the tractors, he does one of the things that Marri hates the most. He puts his face close to hers again and kisses her on the cheek, in front of everyone, and smiles his sweetest smile down at her for proper effect. "I will see you at home." He says as he puts his hand back to where he had gripped her arm before, squeezing it one more time as hard as he can. Marri is able to keep the yelp of pain from leaving her throat, she maintains an aura of calm, and then she watchs as Derik turns his back on her and walks away. With each step he takes, the fear in her chest drops and drops, and the one feeling that she always keeps there in his absence comes back: deep, all-encompassing hatred.
Marri can not get deep into the wheat fast enough. She grabs her machete from a Peacekeeper and keeps a steady pace until she is out of sight. Then she runs. The wheat whips at her arms and stings her face, but it makes her run harder and harder. When she reaches her pile of wheat, she drops to her knees in her work space, panting. She rips her sweat soaked hair wrap from her head and stuffs it in her mouth. She leans over, put her head towards the ground and curls herself into a ball. Then she screams. And screams. She screams until she gets weak and dizzy, which doesn't take long. She takes the rag from her mouth and takes deep breaths until her head is clear again. Then she slowly stands back up straight. She lifts her machete above her and then she plays the game she has played every day of the Harvest since she was given her working tool.
Imagining Derik, imagining her uncle, imagining her Aunt, Quint, Naymen, all of the other Peacekeepers who leer at her, who try to talk to her or touch her, her worthless and ignorant neighbors, anyone who has ever made her angry, she whips her machete at them. With her blade she cuts down the imaginary figures that surround her. She hacks off their legs, their arms, their heads, or stabs them repeatedly in their torsos. She slices off the skin on their faces, cuts off their noses, scalps them, pokes their lost limbs on the ground with the machetes' edge. For hours she can play this game. For hours she is lost in it. It is good fortune that even with her mind stuck in this imaginary world she creates she is able to cut enough wheat for her quota. Sometimes she cuts more. It is this game that makes her work bearable.
It is this game that keeps her sane enough to be prepared for what awaits her at home.