A Wild Turkey approached the bush where I was hiding out. It spread its wings, basking in the sunlight that found its way through the trees. Slowly, he closed his eyes with content and a false sense of security, completely unaware of my presence. But that's how you cause the most damage with anything, lure them into a false sense of security before you make your strike. Make them feel that they're safe and they will willingly lay down on the slaughter table. This is how the advantaged treats the dissadvantaged; how they always have and always will.
I held my knife poised, ready to throw, and with a slick flick of the wrist, the Turkey laid dead on the floor, my knife wedged into his neck.
"Whoa!" Haymitch stumbled out of the tree line, laughing a little too loudly, ensuring that we wouldn't be able to get any more game today. "That was deadly!"
"Pretty good, huh?" I grinned while wiping the blood off of my knife and onto my trousers.
"Good," he hesitated. "Just not my standard."
Poaching and entry to the forest had been against the law for as long as I can remember, but that had never stopped us.
"All right." He clamped his hands together. "Let's make tracks, we've got work to do."
We made our way back into District 12, sliding under the long fens that they held us in like livestock. They said it was to keep bears and other predators from the woods out, but we knew better. As I said, false sense of security.
As we made our way back to the Seam, we stopped by the Hob, a Black Market, looking to score a loaf of bread. The abandoned building was usually teaming with people and common criminals, trying to sell off their old and usually less than legal possessions. The Peacekeepers were fully aware of it's existence, but luckily for the stall owners it was the only place in town where they could go for cheap licker or find meat when there were shortages, so it was never shut down.
Before we entered, Haymitch bent down and ripped a handful of grass out of the ground which he tied into a bundle using a small piece of string.
We walked up to the grocer who owned a small stall overflowing with rolls and loafs of bread. The smell of it made my stomach grumble. The man behind the stall watched as Haymitch produced the bundle of grass out of his pocket. "I'll trade you this for a loaf of bread."
"What's that?" The grocer grunted.
"Oliveander. Have you never tried it before?" Haymitch acted as if he was surprised that the grocer hadn't heard of this made up ingredient.
"It looks like grass." The grocer replied.
"Well observed, sir." Haymitch dead-panned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Haymitch detested stupid people, but unfortunately our survival depended on them. "It's a herb. It's very strong and slightly sweet but also quite rare. It will turn any broth, or loaf of bread, into something quite special, and your dish will take on a whole new life."
"If it's so good then why are you selling it to me?" Good question.
This is where I step in. "Look we've been searching all day for it and we just need to trade them for any food we can get. We're hungry."
I always got the sympathy card. As all of my subjects, the baker's cold eyes softened as he started to pack a couple of rolls into a bag for us. We accepted the bread and quickly left the Hob in case, with closer inspection, he realised that there was no such thing Oliveander and that he had, in fact, purchased a handful of grass.
Haymitch and I made a good team. He was the seller and I was the persuader. We had been best friends since the first day of school. We were both dirt poor and had a less than adequate family unit, so we had a lot in common. We soon learnt to look after one another and realised that we were self-sufficient enough not to have to depend on anyone. For me, Haymitch made this living hell bearable.
From the Hob we went straight back to my room in the community house that I shared with 36 other unwanted children. I was left there as a baby and had managed to survive in this dump for 16 years. To this day I still have no idea who my parents are or if they're dead or alive. But to be honest, I really don't care.
Haymitch started preparing the turkey on the floor as I started the make shift fire-pit which we had made in my room under a slanted window.
"We're in for a feast tonight, Maysilee." Haymitch rubbed his hands together.
"Well, we do need fuel for tonight's main event." I grinned.
And what we had planned for tonight was grand indeed. Other than being poor and having crappy parents, we had another similarity: our hate for Panem. And tonight we were planning to make a move against the Capitol. It was a very weak move indeed, but at least it would be something. We've been planning what we would do for months, and a few days before the reaping seemed like a perfect time to do it.
So we ate the turkey and the bread (well, I ate and Haymitch inhaled the food) and went over the plans one last time. Haymitch hid under the bed when the landlady came around at lights-out as he usually did when he stayed the night. Sometimes he dreads going home and I could understand why. I had never met his farther because he never wanted me to, but I had seen the bruises that he had left on Haymitch and understood that he was a nasty piece of work. I was happy when I had Haymitch at night. Even though I'd lived here my entire life, something still scared me about the coldness of the place and it's residents.
At 1am, we sneaked out through the window and shimmied down the drain pipe. Over the last couple of weeks we had studied the peacekeepers patrol system, so that we knew that we weren't going to bump into any of them. But we still only had a small window of time to get the job done before we would be in their path.
We arrived outside the Mayors house where the reaping would be filmed and pulled out the red paint that we had made from berries we had collected in the forest. As Haymitch dipped his brush into the paint, I gasped. "A Peacekeeper is coming."
Haymitch's spine shot straight and his eyes grew wide as he looked around for the said Peacekeeper.
"Just kidding." I grinned.
He gritted his teeth, "I swear to God…"
I left him fuming and cursing at me as I quickly started work on the wall. Working with haste, we were done in just over a minute.
We stepped back to observe our work. The spotless walls of the centre of District 12 were now gratified in red paint which read: "the odds are never in our favour".
"That is a thing of beauty." Haymitch nodded in approval.
The next morning, we took a detour through the square on our way to school to see if they had covered the paint yet. Our graffiti had seemed to of drawn somewhat of a crowd. A couple of peacekeepers were desperately trying to get everyone to keep moving but had little power over the crowd.
We didn't stop to watch, as not to give the game away, and continued out of the square. But we were being followed. We soon recognised our stalkers as two peacekeepers that we have had frequent run ins with before. They were both young and overly ambitious and seemed to hold a grudge against us.
We heard their pace fasten as we turned into an alley. Suddenly, I was being flung into the wall. Two large beefy hands grabbed me and positioned me against the jagged stone, where he held me with his forearm lingering dangerously near my throat. He was of a large build, around 6.2" and even under his suit I could tell that we was made of solely skin and muscle. The Peacekeeper's name was Olli and the other, who had attacked Haymitch, was named Rondall. Haymitch was now on the floor with Rondall standing over him wavering his baton.
"Stay down!" Rondall demanded Haymitch, which he did. I can safely say that both Haymitch and I are good fighters; for the amount of trouble we get ourselves into, we have to be. But fighting Peacekeepers was pointless, they were stronger than us. And even if we did get a swing in, the punishment would be far worse than taking a little beating from a power-tripping boy in a white suit.
"Well, well, well." Olli sneered, his face lingering inches away from my own, obviously trying to intimidate me. "The punishment for theft is death but the punishment for treason is far far worse."
"Lucky we don't partake in any of those activities, isn't it then?" Haymitch grinned up at Rondall, who raised his baton and struck Haymitch on his side. And that's what you get for being a smart-arse.
"We know it's you." Olli continued, leaning into me. "It's always the two of you. And one day we'll have the evidence to prove it. One day you'll slip up and we'll be there, don't you worry about that."
"Oh, we won't." I dead-panned.
Suddenly, Olli let go of me and I slid to the floor. Without another word, he bowled off with Rondall trailing behind him like a puppy.
"Have a nice day." Haymitch called after them, even though they were now out of ear-shot. "Arseholes."
"They know it was us." I hissed, panic now consuming me. Was the graffiti really worth it? The punishment that we were inevitably going to receive.
"Did you not just hear them? They said that they didn't have any evidence." Haymitch said, as he pulled himself up and shook off the dirt.
"But what if…"
"Look at me." Haymitch placed his palms on my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes. "I will not let anything happen to you. I promise."
At school that day, Throughout every lesson I kept one eye on the classroom door, waiting for a Peacekeeper to come in with a warrant for my arrest. Waiting for someone to take me away to never be seen again. Or if so, it would be for my public execution. They'd probably leave my body hanging there until I started to rot, to serve as a warning to the rest of the district.
But no one came. The bell signalled the end of the school day and it looked as if we hadn't been caught after all. If they knew it was us they would have made their move by now. And Haymitch was clearly thinking the same thing. "I think we deserve ourselves a little celebration, don't you?"
We found ourselves in the market on the nicer side of town. We rarely came here for two reasons. 1) we couldn't afford anything here and 2) when we did go to the market, we were there with less than innocent intentions. So it was better not to show our faces as much as possible. We both remained hidden within the shadows of a side street, dressed in oversized hoods that concealed our identity without looking suspicious.
"Go on then, you go do what you do best." I gave Haymitch a push, who gave me a wink before emerging into the busy crowd of market-goers.
Haymitch casually walked down amongst the stalls before abruptly turning on a little old lady. She had a frail yet sweet persona and any colour that had once existed in her hair had long gone.
"Did you just grab my arse?" Haymitch accused the poor old lady, loud enough to grab attention. "How dare you touch me in such a private place. You should be ashamed of yourself!"
Once the crowd was focussed on Haymitch and the unfortunate lady that now looked like she was going to keel over from a heart-attack, I made my move. Swiftly, I ran through the back of the market and as I approached the table set up by the brewery, I snatched a large bottle of wine and a bottle of some unknown white alcoholic drink (I didn't have time to be fussy). Everything was going smoothly, Haymitch was still accusing a grandma of sexual assault and I was running soundlessly towards the exit. Now grinning as I thought we had gotten away with the crime, a cat appeared across my path and entangled itself in my feet, sending me plummeting to the ground. Fortunately, the bottles remained in tact. Unfortunately, my cover didn't.
"She's got my wine! Stop her!" I heard someone shout.
I didn't have to look back to know that I had a mob of angry stall-holders chasing after me.
"He's in with it!" I could only assume they were talking about Haymitch.
Soon he was beside me running, and I knew that we should have been scared because of the amount of trouble that we could be in, but we looked at each other and we just couldn't stop laughing.
We made it back to "The Den", still laughing and without losing pace.
"That was brilliant!" Haymitch looked giddy with adrenaline.
"Did you just grab my arse?" I mocked, tears of laughter literally rolling down my cheeks.
The Den was a place that we first discovered when we were 10. Hidden behind an unused coal mine and over a river was a small patch of grass where flowers grew and a couple of trees created a spot of shade. It was like our own little Haven. A place where we could escape life, just for a while.
Over the years we've made a few improvements. Firstly, we found a plank of wood that someone discarded, so we placed it over the river and we're now using it as a makeshift bridge in stead of having to wade through the water, at risk of catching a cold like we used to. We also added a few candles around our Den so that we could stay there late at night if we wanted to. But I think that our best addition is an old mattress that someone left on their door step to be taken away, which we did.
"Congratulations, my friend!" Haymitch grinned, as he fell back onto the mattress and ripped the cork from the wine out with his teeth.
After taking a seat next to him and passing the wine back and forth a couple of times I asked, "How are you feeling about tomorrow?" I was of course referring to the annual Hunger Games.
He made a disapproving sound at the back of his throat. "I hope they haven't covered up our masterpiece yet, and they have to show it on live TV, all of Panem watching." He laughed at the thought.
"They would probably knock the entire building down before they would let that happen." I rolled my eyes.
"Look at it this way," Haymitch said. "Most of the kids in the seam have their names in the hat at least 20 times by our age. At least 20. And we have, what? Eight? Nine? Technically, The odds are in our favour."
"Wish we would have realised that before we wrote it on the mayors wall." I joked. Haymitch was right. Most kids (especially the poorer ones) put an extra name in every year for provisions for each member of their family. The best thing about not having family is not having to look after them.
"If I did get reaped though, I know what I'd do." Haymitch conspired. "I'd wait till the parade, jump off my chariot and slit President Snow's fat throat."
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"I'd definitely watch that Hunger Games." I nodded in appreciation.
"I was thinking," Haymitch, sat up taking on a serious demeanour. "We retaliate against the Games. Say, we shut down the large screen showing it in the square."
I considered this. "How would we do that?"
"I was thinking about damaging the screen but it would put us too far at risk."
"How about we cut the power supply? Cut the wires?" I offered. "I mean they will soon replace it but at least we could show them what we think of their 'show'."
"You, Maysilee Donner, are a genius!" Haymitch grabbed me in a hug(?) and wrestled me to the ground.
"You only just realised?" I giggled.
Soon enough, and after a bottle of wine and a bottle of mysterious and very very strong white stuff, night was upon us. I lay down on the mattress, resting my head on Haymitch's chest. My favourite thing about our Den was the view. From here we could fall asleep, gazing up at the stars. Tonight there seemed to be more stars in the sky than ever before.
"It's beautiful." I said.
"Yep." Haymitch said, obviously not taking quite as much interest in the stars as myself.
"All of those stars out there, every one with their own solar-system, like ours. All of those planets. All of that life... There has to be. It really makes you realise how insignificant we are. How small all of this is. How pathetic our struggle is."
"Yep."