I have never liked History class. The Capitol doesn't trust us with many of the details, so the teacher is always presenting the same vague storyline. Sometimes we'll delve into the specifics of the economy or some treaty or conflict, but for the most part each year has the same curriculum. The past is not boring, my father made that clear when he was alive, but History class certainly is. Our teacher, Mr. Raselmunde, has the unique ability to make any topic dull.
I slump down in my seat, sinking down several inches. My fingers drum restlessly against the old wooden desk. It's the last class of the day. When the final bell rings I'll be able to go back home, maybe escape into the woods for a few hours. I haven't gotten the opportunity to do so for a few days. The 73rd Hunger Games just started the other day, and the security in Twelve has been ramped up quite a bit. Most of the Peacekeepers stay in the town, but I am must be wary of the occasional Peacekeeper who wanders into the Meadow.
"Katniss!" someone whispers.
I start. "Uh?" It's Heamon Beecher, who sits directly behind me. He lives in the community home, and I know nearly nothing about him, but his black curly hair and gray eyes say that his family was from the Seam. Several times over the last year I have often caught him looking at me when he had no reason to, but his gaze was never one of desire, so I have no fear of him chasing after me.
I realize Heamon is saying something. "Sorry," I interrupt. "I missed the first bit."
"Miss Everdeen," the teacher says sharply, "only one person in this room should be talking right now, that that person is me."
"Sorry," I mutter, slumping down in my chair again.
Behind me, Heamon whispers, "I was just saying to pay attention. This stuff is actually new. Well, we haven't heard about for a while. Should be interesting."
I raise my eyebrows but tune in to the lesson. Mr. Raselmunde is lining up several books at the base of the chalkboard at the front of the room. I sit in the third row, so I have to squint to read the titles: The Book of the Dead. The Qur'an. The Bible. The Panemian Compilation of Greek Myths. There are several more, but at that point I have had enough. I lean back and wait as the teacher lists the selected books.
"Now," Mr. Raselmunde says, his words agonizingly slow, "can anyone tell me what these books up here are?" After a few seconds of silence, the boy three seats to my left raises his hand. "Yes, Peeta?" Mr. Raselmunde says.
"They're storybooks," Peeta answers. His blue eyes dart to the notebook open in front of him and back to the teacher, who gestures for him to continue. "Before Panem, people made up all these crazy stories to explain how the world was created and how everything happens. Even when scientists found out why everything really happened, it wasn't until Panem that they finally accepted it."
I resist the urge to raise my hand and tell them how my father told me religion was eradicated, how the Capitol burned down all the places of worship and threatened to kill all who were found practicing any religion. The government didn't like the idea of anything more powerful than it, my father had said. But I know to keep my mouth shut.
Mr. Raselmunde nods in approval at Peeta's words. "Very good, young man, very good. Here I have assembled a few of the religious texts of the old religions. Not all of them, not by a long shot, but some of the better known ones. We will be discussing each of these readings in full. Which should we start with? Any requests?"
There is a rustle of movement behind me. "Let's start with the Greek stories, sir," Heamon says.
Mr. Raselmunde frowns disapprovingly at him. "You do not speak in this classroom without my permission. Is that understood, Mr. Beecher?"
"Yes, sir," Heamon mumbles. "But really, can we start with those? Some of the others are a bit dull. Only one god and all of that."
The teacher sighs. "Yes, I suppose so." He lifts the thick volume from the base of the chalkboard and flips to one of the first pages. "We'll start by reading one of the most important myths. Now, I'm losing my voice, and we only have one copy of this, so we'll be passing this around the room. When it gets to you, read a paragraph or so and pass it on. This should take the rest of the period. We'll discuss it in full tomorrow." He hands the book to the student in the far corner of the room. "You start."
As they read, my mind drifts off to the woods. As the minutes tick past, I am not sitting in a stuffy classroom but walking through the woods, bow in hand, Gale at my side. He makes some cynical remark about the latest Hunger Games, and we laugh together.
"Miss Everdeen?" Mr. Raselmunde's annoyed voice brings me back to reality. "This lesson is being taught for your benefit, and I would appreciate it if you would pay attention. It's your turn to read. We're waiting." He points to the book, which someone has placed on my desk.
"Um..." I stare down at the tiny words on the page below me.
"And so Rhea," Mr. Raselmunde prompts.
My face reddens slightly as I search for the words. "And...and so Rhea birth...birthed her sixth child, Zeus. The infant was whisked away and raised by a rock swaddled...I mean, nymphs. He was raised by nymphs. He was nursed by the goat Amaltheia. When Kronos asked for Rhea's child, she instead gave him a rock swaddled in an infant's clothing. Kronos...swallowed it?" I look up from the book. "What?" He didn't see that it was a rock? And he was able to swallow it? He didn't notice it was just a bit harder than a baby?
Mr. Raselmunde just sighs again. "I think that's quite enough, Miss Everdeen. Please pass the book to Mr. Mimura."
I hand the book over to the boy at my left. Not too long ago, a different boy occupied the seat: Evan Palian, a kind boy with light blonde hair and a kind smile. I have never had many friends, but Evan was one of the few people who might have deserved that title. We weren't exactly close, but we would often sit together at lunch. Him, me, and Madge. I didn't really click with him the way I did with Madge, but we were almost friends.
And then, on the day of the reaping just over two years ago, not long after we turned thirteen, he disappeared. The Peacekeepers pronounced him dead, but they were never able to produce his body. I assume he escaped into the woods. Perhaps he even went through the gap in the fence that I frequent; we didn't live too far apart.
And perhaps he is dead now. Life in the woods is not easy, and as far as I know he was not among District Twelve's few hunters. But I hope that somehow he is still alive. He was a good person, and he deserved to live.
The final bell rings. I stuff my notebook into my bag and slip the fraying straps over my shoulders. I weave between my taller classmates and through the crowd meandering down the hallway. I find my way to Prim's classroom at the far end of the hallway.
My eleven-year-old sister is sitting at the back of her room, her small hands fumbling to close her satchel. She sees me and smiles.
Prim crosses the room, and I embrace her. "I missed you," I say affectionately. "You have no idea how lucky you are to have a teacher like her." I nod towards the tall figure cleaning up her desk at the front of the classroom. It has been four years since I was in her class, but I still remember her as my favorite teacher. "I hope for your sake you never get Mr. Raselmunde." I poke her in the belly, and she giggles.
Behind me, someone clears their throat. I turn to see the aforementioned man standing in the doorway. I swallow and mutter an apology, then duck past him, Prim close behind me. We walk down the hall, anxious to distance ourselves from my teacher.
Prim stiffens at my side, and I turn. She wears a queasy expression. "Let's get out of here," she whispers. "I - I feel strange. Like something's going to happen."
And I do, too. My heart races, and there is a strange tingling sensation in my chest. Suddenly the colorful hallway, once familiar and comforting, seems foreboding and dangerous. Prim is right. We need to get out of here.
I grab Prim's hand and pull her down the hallway.
I'll be co-writing this with my friend SkyeBird128. I hope you liked it. Please tell me what you thought!
By the way, I do not mean to offend anyone with the part about religion. These are not my beliefs about religion, merely how I believe the Capitol would have people think.
