District 9 - Indigo Lexington (15)
My sketchbook has always been the most precious thing to me in the entire world. There is nothing like the feeling of creating something from nothing. Especially something that people can admire. The satisfaction of people scanning over every line and dot you have drawn, as these lines merge together to create an optical illusion. Creating something that is very well real, but also not real at the exact same time.
Drawing is life, and it's what I plan on escaping this forsaken District with.
I scan through the pages of my sketch book admiring my own work. Drawings of grains with inexplicable detail, of fields that carry on as far as the eye can see, of my mother with her jet black hair and caramel eyes that are so similar to mine. These images are like a timeline of my life. They mature as I mature, becoming something more than what they used to be, from the perspective of a child to the perspective of an adult.
Every year I draw the reaping. Ever since I can remember I drew them. I don't know why. It seems like a large enough event that no one would ask questions as to why. But if I did have to answer why, I don't exactly know what I would say…..
Maybe it's the emotion of the event. That would make sense, although it does sound sick. It could be the spectacle with all the cameras and the capitol representation making for a scene of mixed District poverty with Capitol Bravado. But, the main reason is probably just to remember. Remember the kids who left and never came back. Remember to never take anything in my life for granted, and also to remember that sense of fear I associate with the word 'Capitol'.
I have a special section for them in my sketch book, about two-thirds of the way through. The first one I arrive at is the 17th Hunger Games. I was only six at this point in my life and therefore the picture is not too glorious. There is a simple podium and 2 tributes. One I have coloured with fiery red hair, the other with short black and slanted eyes. They both died on day 7 after drowning in rising floodwaters.
*Flip*
*Flip*
*Flip*, the 20th Hunger Games. Two 12 year olds. My drawing shows the two next to our escort who wore a bright green dress and long orange boots. Those two both died on the first day.
*Flip*, the 21st Hunger Games; completely the opposite from the year before. Two 18 year olds fighting to the death. I've crossed out the man on the left. He didn't come back. She did. Rosetta, the victor of the 21st Hunger Games, but now I've added tattoo's down both her arms. They are filled with dates and times. Dates and time of each tribute that fell before her.
*Flip*, *Flip*, *Flip*
*Flip*. Last year, two children from the loony bin who went in because apparently the whole district decided to send the mentally handicapped in instead of the strongest tributes, which is stupid.
And now the next space, today I will fill this void in. I wonder who the unlucky two will be this year. Will I be adding to them after they win? Will I be crossing them out when they die. One drawing I completely erased the head of one of the tributes. I'm assuming you can guess why I did that, and hopefully I never have to do it again.
"Indigo!" Yells a voice from the other side of the house.
"Yes Dad." I reply
"Time to go."
Already dressed, I grab my meager possessions for this years reaping.
At The Reaping
"Indigo Lexington." She stutters. Our escort, still in her blue dress and orange boots has called out my name. MY NAME!
I gasp. I mean I'm not exactly the weakest person in the district. I'm pretty strong compared to the other boys my age, but still. The Hunger Games? No thank you very much indeed.
As I walk towards the podium my stomach grumbles in time with my deathly silent footsteps. Everyone in the district is looking at me. Eyes stare at my physique and my so far emotionless journey up on to the stage. They are scoping me out. Seeing if I have what it takes to win. Whether or not District 9 is in with a shot this year.
Sorry to disappoint you all, but I hardly think so.
My stomach grumbles again. Now I'm standing up on stage with my hands in my pockets and looking down avoiding eye contact with the people I will never see again.
My stomach grumbles. Mind racing I realize that I need to look up. To capture this moment for my next masterpiece from a viewpoint that I have missed the past nine years, that is the view from the podium itself.
As my head rises to take in the scene my stomach grumbles again. This time though it doesn't stop there. With some sort of reverse swallow I projectile vomit all over the peacekeepers standing in front of me. Yellow mush now completely shrouds their view and I stare in disbelief, mouth wide open and eyes like those of an owl.
Well, at least this will be one of my more interesting drawings. I take note that I'll need to add chunks to the vomit.
Well, 1 more reaping left before I move on. Sorry for the delayed update, I've been working a lot recently and am pushed for time. The tribute list is now up on my profile so have a look at that.
Remember to review and leave comments.
The question for this chapter is….Who is your favourite tribute so far and why?
