When the nation of Panem was founded twenty-four years ago, the Capitol hired my uncle to make weapons in District 13. He and his family had lived there ever since. I never met my uncle's family. But I can't stop thinking about them tonight.
We just got the news of the bombing of 13. The footage is everywhere now—burning buildings crumbling to the ground; huge clouds of black smoke billowing over what remains of the district. Live shots offer a view of the City Center and show the smoldering foundation of what used to be District 13's Justice Building. The Capitol will use this footage for years to come—a reminder of the terror and destruction the Capitol is able to create, no matter how weak it may appear to be.
Only a week ago it seemed as though the Rebellion would succeed. The Capitol had lost control of all thirteen districts and was surrounded by the rebels. It looked like the Capitol was on the verge of collapse. However, conquering the Capitol proved more difficult than the rebels had planned and a deadlock ensued. After a week of stalemate, the Capitol let firebombs rain over District 13. Although the attack took place only hours ago, all of the remaining twelve districts are back under the Capitol's control. Nobody is willing to sacrifice their entire district for the rebel's cause.
I can't clear my head. Images of crumbling buildings and their smoldering remains invade my mind. I am thinking of my family in District 13. My parents haven't been talking about them, but it goes without saying that they are all dead. I have to clear my thoughts, and the only way I know how is to go to my pond. I decide to visit it as the sun rises in the morning.
This pond is my special place. It isn't mine, nor is it my family's, but it practically belongs to me. Who else would consider a small pond to be a close friend? There is something special about the connection between this pond and me. As I sit here watching the sun come up, a feeling of peace and calm rushes over me. I sit with my back against a large rock, facing away from the forest. Considering we live in District 7, I have a strange hatred of the woods. The only time I enjoy being near them is when I am sitting near my pond, and even then I don't want to look into them. I look into the brightening sky and think of my family. I feel emotional but can't bring myself to cry. I don't like displaying my emotions, which is probably a part of the reason my best friend is an inanimate object—my pond.
The sun is now up and I know I must return home. There is bound to be a required presentation or speech in the City Center today. The Capitol will want to remind the districts of their weakness—as if the footage from 13 didn't remind us enough already. As I rise from my rock I look into the pond to see if there are any fish to catch. I know it's hopeless. There haven't been any since I was fourteen. It's a shame, really. I loved eating fish. As I expected, there are no fish to be caught, so I begin making my way down the steady slope that leads to the village. I feel much better—my mind much clearer—but I still notice a sense of foreboding in the air. I continue along the path and reach the village after a few minutes of walking. For a Saturday morning the place seems dead. The shops are still closed and it appears as though everyone is still inside. The village is a remarkably desolate place without its usual hustle and bustle. Before I know it, I am at the front door of my house. I quietly walk in and find my parents huddled in front of the television. I hear the anthem of Panem and catch a brief glimpse of the national seal before the screen goes black. My parents remain still for a few moments. I decide to break the silence.
"I'm home."
My mother turns and looks at me. She smiles briefly and tells me to grab some breakfast from the kitchen. I turn through the kitchen door and wait to see what my mother has made for breakfast this morning. I enter the room and immediately smell what awaits me—fresh bread. Great—my favorite. I grab a knife and cut the loaf and grab two slices. My mom even has a jar of honey on the counter. I quickly spread a thin layer of the stuff over the warm slices of bread and dig in before I have even sat down. I plop myself at the small, rugged table in the middle of the kitchen as my mom walks in. I tell her thanks for the bread. She starts bustling about the kitchen cleaning up from her baking and preparing for dinner.
"No fish?" she asks.
"The usual," I reply.
"Well, I can pull together some vegetables and maybe some rice for tonight." She continues her work in the kitchen. "There is an assembly at ten."
I continue eating my bread in silence. As I predicted, the Capitol will flaunt its power in front of all the people of Panem. Assemblies are always required. Skip one and you'll regret it. Just another way the Capitol demonstrates its power over the people. I look at the clock on the wall—7:30. The Square is about a thirty minute walk from our house, and this time of year the weather only gets hotter as the day goes on. Don't want to be arriving in the Square in your finest clothes drenched in sweat.
"What time should we leave? It's already starting to get warm."
"As soon as you can be ready. We can always go into the shops if we're too early."
Ha. True, we can go into the shops, but we likely won't get anything out of them other than a friendly conversation. We may have one of the nicer houses in the village, but we struggle keeping food on the table just from the locals. The shops in and around the Square are loads more expensive and therefore out of the question. But due to my interest in arriving as cool and dry as possible, I simply reply "OK" and place my empty plate on the counter as I leave the room.
I take a quick shower and rush to find something to wear. Considering my small selection of clothing, it takes me a surprisingly long time to decide what to wear. I finally choose a relatively new dress—one my mother made a few months ago. I haven't been able to wear it yet due to the cold winter, but it was made to be worn on spring days like this. The fabric is soft and light with a pastel floral pattern over an off-white background. The buttons down the front make the dress slightly impractical but all the more detailed and beautiful. I slip it on and begin working on the buttons. I admire my mother's precise stiches and detailing. After a minute of buttoning, I cinch the matching fabric belt around my waist and look in the mirror. The dress looks gorgeous. It accentuates my small waist and long legs. I pick out my favorite sandals let my long, dark hair flow freely down my back. I turn briefly back to the mirror to admire the whole look before heading out of the room.
I walk into the kitchen and find my parents sitting at the table, presumably waiting for me. My father sees me and compliments my dress. My mother smiles. My dad then gets up from the table and asks if we are ready to leave. "The sooner the better," I say.
My father leads the way to the door and holds it open for my mother and me. I smile and thank him. We begin our walk down the street in the shining sun. It is a warm day, but not too hot. The breeze blows against my face and leaves my hair waving behind me. By the time we arrive in the Square I can already notice the increase in temperature. I look up to the large clock on the front of the Justice Building—it reads 8:35. That gives us roughly an hour and fifteen minutes before we should be assembled. My mother decides to lead us into a little shop in the corner. The shopkeeper exclaims as we walk through the door and begins chatting up a storm with my parents. Not being the biggest fan of conversation, I start looking at the various items filling the store—tables covered in tea sets (Who drinks tea in District 7?) pots filled with different plants (you could easily wander outside and dig one up yourself), various pointless knick-knacks (completely pointless), and finally a shelf filled with jewelry. While I don't understand wasting money on something you don't need in order to survive, I can't help but admire the beauty of every piece. As my parents are wrapping up their conversation with the shopkeeper, I notice a necklace on the end of the shelf. I walk toward it and examine it. It has a fine silver chain and just one light green stone hanging from it. It is so incredibly simple yet remarkably elegant. My dad realizes my fascination and wanders over to me. "You like that necklace?" he asks.
"I guess," I say. I hate displaying my emotions. Luckily my mother spares me from any further embarrassment and calls for us to leave. We continue poking through various shops—including a delicious-smelling bakery—when suddenly my mother claims she forgot something in little shop on the corner. She tells my dad and me to meet her back at the bakery near the Square. She rushes away from us and we continue peering through shop windows for a bit. After a few minutes my dad decides that it is time to head back toward the Square.
We walk back and stand outside the bakery and wait for my mother. I turn and look around the Square. There is a large platform set up in front of the Justice Building with a tall microphone in the center. On either side of the stage there is a small wooden table with a large spherical bowl. I have no idea what these bowls contain or what their purpose is. There are very large screens around the Square that will display the happenings on stage to those in the crowd. The proceedings are probably going to be broadcast live throughout Panem. But now I notice that those who are already in the crowd aren't grouped together in the usual mass. There are different sections roped off like animal pens with varying ages of children—boys set apart from girls. Parents and other adults are standing in an area set aside from the children.
As I am pondering this new form of organization in the crowd, my mother walks up behind me and drapes something around my neck. I look down to confirm my suspicions—I should have known when she left. It's the necklace. I admire the fine chain and beautiful green stone and turn around and see my mom smiling at me. I reach out to hug her and she pats my back. After a few moments we split apart and she says "Let's go."
We walk toward the registration table so the Peacekeepers know we are here. The Peacekeeper helping us tells me where to go—the section labeled for seventeen-year-old girls. My parents try to argue but I am told to leave and they are escorted to the section for everyone over eighteen. Everybody seems confused. We don't know why the crowd is divided like this. Fear is evident through the crowd. I feel it, too. I don't see anyone I know in my section. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the small crowd gathered inside the pen. I try to find my parents but I can't see them. I look toward the platform and see a long Capitol train in the station. A tall, colorful figure is strutting away from the train, which I assume has just recently arrived. The figure walks toward the stairs leading to the platform. I can know this figure can only be a woman from the Capitol. Nobody else would wear those insane colors. She leads a small pack of people including the mayor of District 7 and two others in matching outfits up to the platform. The woman and two others sit in three of the four chairs on the platform while the mayor takes his place in front of the microphone. Silence fills the crowd.
The mayor clears his throat.
"We are gathered here this morning to celebrate Panem's victory over the rebel forces. I know we are all glad to know that our nation is once again whole and united."
He pauses just long enough to allow the audience to absorb the statement. Like hell we are.
"A treaty has been signed between the Capitol and the twelve districts. The Treaty of Treason acknowledges the wrongdoing of the districts and reinforces their duty to the Capitol. The treaty states the Capitol's power over the districts as well as the punishment that will be bestowed upon them." The Capitol woman stands up and strides over to the mayor, holding a large scroll. The mayor takes the scroll from her, nods his thanks, and opens it. He begins reading. "The Treaty of Treason…"
No. He can't be reading the entire scroll. Half of the crowd will be asleep by the time he finishes. I listen to him droning on but can't take in a single word of the complicated Capitol phrasing. To try and keep my mind going, I take this time to inspect the Capitol visitors further. The initial woman is tall and slender. Her height is accentuated by her shoes with long spikes coming out of the heels and her tightly tailored clothes exaggerate her small waist. Her bright purple hair is painstakingly pulled back with accents of brightly colored jewels that bring out the bright colors of her outfit. Her pale face is painted with blues, purples and pinks that make her look non-human. Her frilly costume is a bright pink dress that comes above her small, pale knees. Blue jewels wrap themselves around her neck and wrists and cover her elevated shoes. She is the only person in the Square who is paying attention to every word of the Treaty. I am just beginning to observe the two others when one of the mayor's words snatches my attention: "Punishment."
Aha, we've finally reached that part. Hopefully this means the document is coming to an end. I give the mayor my full attention.
"It has been decreed on the same day each year, the various districts of Panem will offer up in tribute one brave young man and one brave young woman to fight in a pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice—the Hunger Games. Twenty-four tributes will be sent to an outdoor arena in which they will struggle to overcome both man and nature as they try to triumph over the odds. Each year the lone victor will serve as a reminder of the Capitol's generosity and forgiveness. This is a time for repentance and a time for thanks. From now on, this is how we will remember our past. This is how we will safeguard our future. This has been decreed on the thirteenth day of June in Panem's twenty-fourth year of existence." The mayor rolls up the scroll and turns to sit down. But no one in the crowd understands.
As the mayor is approaching his chair, someone calls out asking for the meaning behind the words. The mayor pauses for a moment before he slowly turns around and makes his way back to the microphone. He seems lost for words. When he finally begins to speak, he chooses his words carefully but seems eager to get this speech over with. "Each district must provide two young citizens to be put into an arena and fight to the death."