Panem turned out to be good for their promises. Within a week, they had gotten the electricity back on in the center of town. From there, houses were wired one by one for electricity, even houses in the Seam. Bureaucrats and peacekeepers arrived to take volunteers to work on the railways. They made do in work camps which moved as the railways were repaired and expanded. People migrated in from the surrounding areas, bolstering our community. That was not viewed as a good change, but a necessary one. They told us stories of the bombings and the fires, so it was no government lie. Perhaps they would be able to move back once the rebuilding began in earnest, but for now, power, communication, and travel were the priority. Most importantly, trade came back to us, giving the money we had hoarded out of sheer habit value again.
In practice, not a whole lot changed for Mother and I other than I was able to buy food with what meager wages I had. It didn't take long to realize that this would not supply the both of us for too long. New people, experienced miners the lot of them, in the area meant wages were not going to rise. Probably the opposite, since there was a glut of cheap labor. I began to hunt around looking for more opportunities to make a few chits here or there. Mother and I talked about moving in with her sister, and selling the house to a family of newcomers. I would hate to leave my home, but it might be the best thing to do.
Other than those changes, for the next few weeks, everything seemed normal… even better than it was before. No one relaxed though. A cloud hung over the district, waiting to spill its poison rain down upon us. The other shoe had to drop at some time. It seemed everyone was on edge except for me. I didn't see the sense in worrying about it too much.
Production increased in the mine, seemingly overnight. I was suddenly working ten, then twelve hour days, checking new tunnels, looking for stress cracks, double checking safety… and then swinging a pick and clearing rock. Grunt labor. It wasn't fun, but I wasn't qualified to run the machinery, and just because I was a girl didn't mean I didn't have to carry my own weight if I wanted to work. Many of the kids my age dropped out of the mines, one by one, for various reasons. Some were overcome by the dust, others taken out by the work, and still others found other jobs to be done-such as repairing the rail-or married out. I wondered if any of them would come back, and figured they probably would have to. There wasn't much else to do, and Panem wanted more and more coal.
I always walked back home dead on my feet, too tired to care about the sudden overproduction of our only resource. Sometimes Mother would be there, and sometimes not. As time went by, I found myself caring less and less if she was off. I knew that was bad of me, that I should respect my mother and look after her, but I was doing all I could to ensure we had food to eat.
When I came back one evening, she was sitting in her rocking chair, holding something. "Where's dinner?" I asked from the doorway, trying in vain to dust the coal off of me.
"Oh, I forgot," she said, one of her hands moving in a repetitive motion.
I bit my lip and swallowed the words I wanted to say. "That's alright," I said. "I'll make something." I figured I could make rice or something, something simple. I just wanted to eat and go to bed.
My Mother didn't acknowledge me, and I set about grabbing the pot and measuring out the rice, a cup apiece. As I got our meal underway, I couldn't help but to notice Mother being fascinated with whatever she was holding. "What do you have there?"
"A bunny," she said.
I blinked. "What?" I couldn't have been hearing her right, and I moved to the sitting area of our house, and peered at her. Sure enough, she was sitting there with a tiny rabbit swaddled in cloth. She stroked its fur softly and murmured gentle nonsense sounds to it. I could tell that rabbit was terrified, but not full grown, not by half. I stared, and my mouth watered. It had been a long time since I had had meat, so much protein. "Where did you get it?"
"I've been trying to hunt," my mother explained, her voice soft and lilting. "Not with the rifle, but snares. I caught him. I'm going to call him Hazel, after a story I remember hearing." She frowned to herself, then smiled, looking at that damn rabbit.
"We can't…" I said, and got no further. I looked at her, and even though 'Hazel' looked like a tasty morsel (we could have had rice and rabbit, with gravy!), it soothed her. I knelt down by her, and put my hand on her leg. She looked up at me, and her eyes were focused and clear. "You are going to have to feed him, and clean up after him," I said.
"I will, Caitlyn," she replied, frowning in irritation. "I'm not a child, young lady," she added. I grit my teeth, but she went back to ignoring me in favor of the rabbit.
"If I find rabbit shit in my bed," I muttered under my breath, going back to the rice. I didn't finish it. As much as I wanted to berate her for it, and kill the rabbit for food, she looked… happier, much as I remembered her from my childhood. She spent the rest of the evening making a makeshift pen for it, and then going outside to find plants for it to eat. The little thing shivered in fright no matter how hard she tried to make it calm. She stroked its fur and sang to it. I watched with a mixture of disdain and jealousy brewing in my chest. It was so stupid to pay attention to the runty thing, but at the same time I wished I wished I was in Hazel's place.
The damn rabbit seemed to be exactly what my mother needed to rally every day: something which needed her. I didn't. I didn't blame her exactly, and every time I saw her smile because Hazel hopped over to her warmed my heart, but I still wanted to have that attention. He helped her to get over her shellshock, somewhat. Loud noises, and sometimes sudden movements, brought her to attention, eliciting that fight or flight response I had gotten to know so well. She calmed down much faster though, and she rarely ventured too far from the house unless she had a specific task in mind. For that peace of mind, I thanked that stupid rabbit every day.
Life was easier, and maybe even a little bit better. Our house got wired for electricity, though we would probably never use it, and when they did that, they installed a television as well. I stared curiously at the foreign object. Why in hell would we need a television? It wasn't big, and it sat mounted in the upper corner of our house unobtrusive, but it just seemed… out of place, a relic from a different time, different place. The technicians tested it, got static, then tuned it. I would have thought they would have different channels, but no, it was all one channel: the national channel. You couldn't turn it; there were no other options. It stayed off until it turned on by itself for some announcement or another. We played more with the electric lights than anything else, turning them on and off again.
I found out everyone's house was getting that upgrade, including the television. "But why?" I asked one of the older men, Henry. "It doesn't make any sense."
He shrugged, "They gots something they wants us to watch."
Put like that, of course they did. But what? No one could answer that, or would answer. News, perhaps. That was my best guess, although a radio would have been much easier for communication, and more portable too. After all, if there were an announcement, the miners would all miss it. Come to think of it, so would shopkeepers and the like too. It didn't seem very efficient.
Mother did continue with her hunting, laying snares and catching animals from time to time. Her main bounty came from harvesting plants around the settlement, along with other people. Anything edible that was not nailed down disappeared, and soon she started ranging farther, but never too far for fear of not being able to find her way back if it got too dark. One thing she looked for was seeds, and she experimented a little with digging in our back yard. "Do you think it's good soil?" she asked. "It's dark, but do you think it's good soil? It feels thin. Shouldn't it be thicker?" I had no replies for her. I knew nothing about gardening. The only thing I could tell her was that she would have to wait until spring to plant anything and expect it to grow. I knew that much. She rolled her eyes at me and tsked. "There are growing seasons," she said. "Multiple seasons. It's just a matter of finding the right one…." At least it was a good idea, one which might bring us food. It all used to be written down, somewhere, but books were rare. Most of them had been confiscated ages ago, and those which were still around were propaganda. I was educated by my father, but so many other children and young adults hadn't been so lucky.
One night, we sat by the fireplace, eating our meager dinner. The only good thing about working so much was the increase in wages it brought me. Mother might have time to try to hunt and garden, but I didn't, and my time bought us food until she could figure out how to make us become self-sustained. Then, maybe, I could do something else, try something else, be something else.
I watched her and Hazel sit, her giving the rabbit bits of her food. Hazel nibbled it off of her fingers, delicately, and I felt… if not happy, then comfortable. The dissonance was over and things had gotten back to a sense of normality again. I thought I knew what to expect now, more of the same. Every day the same. I had never been more wrong in my life.
The television flickered on, and we heard the "patriotic" music of Panem, blaring through the speakers. Both of us twitched in surprise. Our eyes turned up to the television in the corner as the flag of Panem waved atop a mountain. That scene faded and an announcer came on. He was older, looking distinguished in features if not in clothing. The clothes he wore were colored brightly, an electric blue suit over a lemon yellow shirt. If the colors were not so sharp, it might not have looked so garish together. "This is Cassius," he said, voice silky and smooth. "I bring you news, hope, and redemption from the Capitol!" Wherever he sat, there must have been a studio audience for they burst into applause. He raised his arms, smiling to these unseen people, waving them down gently into silence. "Thank you, thank you," he said, his teeth gleaming in the bright lights. "Before we can go any further, however, let us pay tribute to our fallen warriors, to those soldiers who died to bring you liberty, peace, and plenty." His mien grew serious and somber, and as the sad music started to play, his face faded out and began to show still photographs from the recent battles. Mother scoffed and went back to petting Hazel, and I watched, feeling unrest and a sense of injustice burn within me. 'The victor writes the history books,' someone had said once. They had could call the rebels anything they wanted and eventually no one would care.
Dangerous thoughts too, so I shoved them away and just watched the photos parade back and forth, intercut with pictures of Panem soldiers, or sometimes even video of them, all smiling and happy (before they were evilly cut down by the rebels, that was). The sad music ended after a few minutes and with it, the pictures. Cassius came back on, urging the audience to applaud softly, with respect. "We honor our fallen soldiers. Their sacrifice was not in vain as we are whole again!" At that, applause crashed over him, and I couldn't help but to smile, just a little, at that. Back to normal, I reminded myself. Things were settled and this was a good thing.
"President Snow has an announcement, during this broadcast, but in the meantime, let's revisit our Districts, let's relearn about us." He turned to face another camera, and the angles switched. "It has been years, and in some places decades, since the word of Panem was carried to every citizen. Thanks to the reconstruction efforts, we are now able to broadcast to every single citizen. As the rebuilding was going on, we sent camera crews out to film, so that we could relearn things we might have forgotten…" The television cut to the news story, and as I watched it, I became incensed all over again at the forced division. In addition to that, almost everything was wrong about everything, so far as I could tell. Oh, sure, when it got to District 12, they knew we made coal, which made us the coal-mining district, but it said we had only one town, which was not true. Ok, well, technically it was true now, but it wasn't before. The story went on to say how we were besieged by wild animals (again, not true. Most of the animals probably fled the horde of hungry people chasing after them), and how a fence was to be constructed to protect the town. District Four, for another example, only produced fish and seafood. While they did provide seafood, I knew from my geography lessons that much was mined in that area, or had been. They also had had massive computer manufacturing plants, and I'm sure other factories as well. No longer: manufacturing belonged to another district. District Eleven only produced food, which they did produce a large bounty of variety, but they were no where near the production potential that Districts Seven and Five used to be, the great bread basket of the middle of the continent. Was that all we were? Something to be cordoned off and stereotyped? Something my grandfather used to say, from a very old television show, came to mind: "I am not a Number. I am a free man."
I didn't dwell on it too much and instead just sat and absorbed the telecast mindlessly, letting the prattle wash over me. It ended after an hour, and Cassius came back. "Wasn't that interesting?" he asked. "But I bet all of you are waiting for that special announcement from the President, aren't you?" The audience cheered its assent, and it soon cut to a middle-aged man, very pleasant to look at with an easy smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes: President Snow. He was sitting in a garden which looked lush and verdant, filled with flowers of all kinds. I could see what must have been his wife and son in the background, playing quietly with one another giving the illusion that he was broadcasting this from what might have been his back yard.
"Loyal citizens of Panem," he began, and his voice was rough and low, with not nearly the charisma of Cassius', "we have been through terrible times before, and we will again. For the Loyalists, we thank you for your continued service, proud and true. For our dissidents, however…" He paused and interlaced his fingers together, staring directly at the camera, "there must be reparations and punishment before we as a country can truly be healed and set this ugliness behind us."
I shifted uneasily, and glanced towards Mother. She watched the television with an intensity which caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. I opened my mouth to speak, and she shushed me. I turned back to the television, not knowing what else to do.
"To this end," he was saying, "tribute must be paid by each District, each according to what they can provide. This is in addition to the normal production which is required as tax so as to keep Panem's machinations running smoothly. Second, every house and public gathering area must have a television where possible, and citizens must watch when told. These programs are to reeducate you, to bring us all into the same way of thinking so that we are not District One and District Seven, but all Panem. Whole. To this end, we have generously decided to offer tesserae to families who meet certain conditions, to held them through these tough times. Each unit of tesserae contains enough grain and oil to feed and warm a person for a year, and can be taken up to one per family member."
His blue eyes kept staring, seemingly unblinking, boring a hole into the camera he was staring at. "Lastly, as tribute and a reminder of the rebellion, it has been decided that each District shall provide a boy and a girl from ages twelve to seventeen every year, during the first week of June. These tributes shall enter an arena of the Capitol's choosing and shall fight to the death for honor and glory for their District." I blinked. What I was hearing didn't go through to my brain; I couldn't comprehend the words he was saying. I knew what each word meant, but putting them together made no sense at all. "The tribute who wins shall live in luxury for the rest of their lives, and want for nothing. In addition, gifts will be given to their District, to help their home make it through these tough times. Because they fight to end hunger in their homes and for themselves, these gladiatorial fights shall be known as the Hunger Games."