"In every grain of wheat there lies hidden the soul of a star."
- Arthur Machen
Grain, the golden waves of district 9 are planted by the citizens to sustain us. It's part of our cakes, rice, bread and so much more. Yet it is the fourth most impoverished district in Panem. Twelve factories take up the center of the district surrounded by scattered houses of richer folks and housing building for the rest. Right now more than half the district's children and wheat workers are in the fields sowing the natural winter wheat. It was planted now to grow about three inches then the snow will fall and it will be harvested in late July. Inside two of the factory is an indoor farm made specifically for the Capitol. It's mutations give the food a burst of flavour and take under two months to grow fully. Snow orders the district's to wait for the natural growth and the Capitol to be given the fast growing so they would have a consistent flow of grain and we would have to work more for little. But what else would be expected from Panem's adoring President.
At the moment I am in the front line, sowing the seeds of our new crop. The seeds are kept in a peice of cloth used as a sling over the shoulder. It isn't anything special and it certainly is not 100% beneficial to the workers. The strap was known for leaving rashes along the wearers neck and being so old it could snap if there was too much pressure applied. If that were to happen and the 'seeds of life' as Snow puts it, were to fall and become dirty you would loose your pay for the week or more.
Today my skin is ivory with a small beige freckle resting on my cheek under my left eye. My eyes are a dull grey that would smile when my mouth does and my hair is a pale blonde. My lips nearly match the color of my skin though they are slightly plump, my bottom one more so than my top. My chin has a cleft and my jaw is wide and sharp, though today I am muted and it blends in with district 9's citizens.
I wear grey cargo slacks that are large around my waist and a plain white tee-shirt with a light jacket to protect me from the coming winter air. Most people around me wear the same thing, all except Bran Miller. He wears a dull yellow shirt and khaki cargo pants with boots that keep him from muck and reinforces traction. His hair is dark and greying on the sides with eyes nearly identical to the soil in color and knowledge of years. He is the reason I'm here.
Miller is the head sower of district he's the one that plants, watches over, and then instructs through the grain's life. And that makes him the perfect person to carry out and lead my plan. I wait for him to come closer to me then I make my move.
"Lead sower Miller, it's urgent that I speak to you." He continues to walk, but I follow like a mosquito.
"And who are you?" His hands are clasped behind his back as he watches the seed fall in their respective row.
"Kasha Fields, Sir."
"Okay." He stops infront of me then nods for us to walk off the fields. "Continue as you are. When I return I will be checking over your rows." He guides us to the shaded resting area and motion for me to sit on one of the benches opposite him. "You've made me leave the fields, you know I don't like doing that."
"Yes, and I also know you will despise my plan."
"As long as my fields remain unharmed." His voice is controlled and calm only making me want to shy away. He catches on and breaks his stoic stance. "Oh, not my fields!"
"We want a portion of the Capitol grain burned. Claim short rations this year after that. Snow will claim most of our natural grain for the Capitol. Store the excess in several hidden locations for the distribution to the district's. The Capitol citizens will be filled with despair that we have to eat untampered grain, but they will continue to eat it until there is none left. Prices will sky rocket and the Capitol will not have something they want for once, giving them knowledge of the second rebellion."
"You're killing me here, Kasha." He puts his head in his hand, elbows resting on his thighs.
"I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't necessary." I place my hand on his shoulder for comfort and he raises his head to look at me sadly.
"Only the Capitol grain gets burned?" I nod my head.
"That's it. Do you have somewhere to keep the hidden grain?"
"There an old dilapidated silo that's hidden in the border trees of district 6. I fixed it up when the air began to smell worse of roses and blood. The inside is pristine, but the outside will make everyone over look it." We both looks towards the borders.
"I'm sorry that you have to do this, Bran. But you are the only man for the job."
"I understand the need. And it might just give me extra time I would be using to harvest to improve our own natural grain." His finally cracks a smile.
"May the power be returned."
"May the truth be seen."
Bran Miller is rounding middle age. He has earned his standing with the people and Capitol for being as chivalrous and knowledgeable as the olden day knights.
R&R and Follow!
DECEMBER DANIELS