This is my first story here on , and I hope that you'll like it. I'm relatively new to writing fan fiction, and your reviews help move things forward. I appreciate all constructive criticism, but please remember to be polite when commenting.
The harsh winter in District Eight had hung on for as long as it could manage, the claws of hunger and cold clinging to the land and the people. It had finally died back, warmer weather blanketing the district in relief some time late in June, when summer would arrive hot on its heels. Millers should have been breathing a sigh of relief that the snow had finally melted and that they would once again be able to grow their food, but with winter ending so late in the year, relief was replaced instead with the dread of the upcoming reaping. Warmer weather did that to the people in the districts, perhaps more so in District Eight than in the others.
What had begun as a whispering in dark corners of the mills, crowded as they were with bodies to produce the luxurious fabrics which would be sent to District Two and the Capitol, had quickly grown into a dull roar. Anyone in the district with sense already knew the Peacekeepers were on to them, that there was going to be a price to pay for the rising rebellion, and yet the talk continued. Most nights his father came home late, swaying a bit as he entered the small house where Cotton lived with his father and brother. He swaggered, proud of himself for his part in the rebellion, pleased that he was able to contribute to the freedom and true peace in Panem. Cotton knew better, had read the stories of the first rebellion, had listened to his teachers talk about the terror that it had been in those dark days before the peace brought by the Capitol. His father was, at best, naive, and at worst he was a traitor to the country that had cared for them so carefully and so well for all these years.
Nobody ever got anywhere in rebellion.
Cotton had never understood his father's need to raise his voice above the crowd. Everyone in District Eight knew Cambric, knew the crazy way that he ranted and raved about how the Capitol treated all of them. Because of his father, the Capitol sent too little food to the people of his district. There had been public whippings and even three executions since Cambric had begun his campaign against the Capitol. How he'd never been caught remained a mystery. Cotton assumed it was because the Capitol was saving him to use as an example.
Now his brother - his twelve year old little brother who would experience his first "live" reaping in just under a week - had bought into the line that their father fed him. Cambric had almost convinced his younger son to make a run for it before the reaping day arrived.
That was - fortunately - impossible. The fence was electrified, and anyone who tried to crawl under it or through it or over it would be dead the moment he touched the wire. Was Cambric willing to lose his son to the fence to save him from the Hunger Games? Cotton snorted and shrugged his shoulders. It was no longer his concern, nothing that he could do a thing about. As unsafe though it might be, Cambric was entitled to make his own decisions. They couldn't affect Cotton as long as he remained loyal. Could they?
The truth was that he wasn't sure whether or not they would come for him if things became more precarious with his father. Cambric didn't know when to keep his mouth shut, and he probably didn't know how to keep his mouth shut either.
Somewhere near the middle of the room, somebody shouted. A single, loud bark split the air and everyone in the room fell silent. The man scrambled onto a chair, then climbed up onto a table, standing tall with his arms over his head. Ordinarily the Peacekeepers didn't allow the people to come into groups like this, but late at night it was easier to get them drunk, easier to treat the Peacekeepers as though they were just as human as the rest of the people in the districts.
Cotton wanted to be like them one day.
Not the human side, of course. Nobody wanted to be human in the districts. He wanted the power, the prestige, the ability to carry around a big stick, or even one of those stun guns. Some of the Peacekeepers even carried a whip on them at all times. The very thought made him quiver with excitement. To serve the Capitol in that way would be the culmination of everything he'd spent his entire life hoping for. His father was the only thing that stood in Cotton's way.
Somewhere near the middle of the room, Cambric's head bobbed above the crowd as he fought his way through to the man who stood on the table. Another person shouted, a woman this time, her voice higher in pitch, worried. Cotton smiled. She ought to be worried in this crowd of people who wanted to take down the Capitol. For all they cried for peace in the districts, they created chaos and anarchy. Why couldn't his father and the others see that? It was all a game that could never be won, so much like the Hunger Games. He thrilled at the thought, a little tingle filling his belly with excitement.
Cambric was talking the man down off the table, guiding him down so that he stood on the floor on steady ground, but the man continued to rant drunkenly. Is this what District Eight was coming to? Cotton sighed and shook his head. They were better than this, and they had to be smarter than this.
The only thing holding him back was his father. For a brief moment their eyes met across the crowded room. Cambric smiled, and Cotton turned his head away from his father. His old man was a fool who had no idea what he was bringing down on all their heads. Things were about to get more difficult in the district, and his father and the others involved in the rebellion were bringing it down on the heads of the children, like Weaver. No doubt Weaver's name would be called in the reaping next week. Wouldn't that be poetic justice? Cotton, who would have done anything to serve his country and the president, would have taken all the tesserae in the world to make it up onto that platform, and now he felt confident that the Capitol would make sure to be as cruel as possible. No doubt it would be Weaver up there. Weaver would destroy his father, and give the Capitol the upper hand.
He couldn't volunteer. His father would kill him before that moment could possibly come. Even so, a part of Cotton hoped that it was his name they called in the later part of the following week. He'd mount that platform one foot at a time and smile at the crowds because he would know that come what may, he had, after all, served the Capitol, and that was its own unique sort of power.
Disgusted by his father's display, Cotton turned around and headed out of the building.
"Cotton! Wait!"
He turned. Weaver had followed him out, the bright flush of excitement still painting his cheeks. Cotton groaned inwardly, not giving an outward sign of his distress. It was so easy for the child to believe the lies that their father told about the Capitol, to nestle in with the traitors to the president and to their country. Worse, he did it with a smile on his face, cheerfully walking into the trap that the Peacekeepers undoubtedly had already laid for him.
"Did you hear Father? What he said about the Peacekeepers in our district being weak? He talked to one of them, Cotton! Three of them are on our side now. Can you believe it?"
Cotton shook his head. The foolishness of young boys compared to little else, but surely his father was the fool here. How could he blame a twelve year old for believing the lies their father told? Bending, he looked into Weaver's eyes. "Listen to me, Weaver. I need you to listen to me really hard. Father's wrong about the Capitol. Everything they do is to keep us safe from one another. This is a dog-eat-dog world, Weaver. Do you think that if one of Father's friends changed his mind, that Father wouldn't put him down?"
The twelve year old hesitated for a moment, doubt clouding his features. As quickly as the doubt had come, it was gone again, and he was smiling, shaking his head. "No. No he wouldn't. They're not protecting us from anything, Cotton! All they're doing is taking from us. We work for them, don't you see?"
"You don't work for anybody, Weaver. Don't talk about things you don't understand." He paused for a moment, letting it sink in, then added, "Go home. You don't need to be here. If the Peacekeepers come, I don't want you wrapped up in Father's messes. Go home. I'm going for a walk. I'll meet you there later, and I'll bring a bun."
Weaver went hungry so often, a side effect of Father's rantings and his refusal for the boys to take Tesserae. The Capitol had everything they needed to survive, and it would give it to them if only their father would allow it. The Capitol wasn't their enemy. Father was.
Hope you liked it! Be sure to review if you enjoyed the story. Chapter 2 should be up soon!