Emerson Aquinas Locke (18)
"The main issue is dealing with other ideologies."
"Or lack thereof."
Emerson and his father sat at the plastic, orange dining room table with an apple in front of each of them. The small apartment was dimly-lit and filled with the noise of dish washing from his mother by the silver sink behind him.
"Exactly. No dissent is being allowed whatsoever. And this is something that has been happening for almost a century now. Do you really believe anybody towards the top believes in Kirkland and his powers. I will say he is much better than the others."
"That's only because he is younger and more experienced."
"True."
"I'll be completely honest. If Kirkland was actually good, unlike all the other presidents we have had, nobody would mind being under a dictatorship."
"Exactly. You see, Aquinas said that monarchies can actually be good if they are responsive to their constituents. Nobody has done that before."
"That's because they're pussies. If they could handle criticism, they would have done so already."
"So, when Panem is liberated, what should we do?"
Emerson laughed. "If, and I mean, if that ever happens, we need real representatives. But the thing is that the government is putting nothing into making us any better than now. We need systems with benefits that can support us. Benefits. That's the number one thing that is missing."
"So you honestly think that more government control is what is needed?"
"Not that. I'm saying that more money and programs need to come in for the poor. Welfare. It's this sort of fascist government that Aquinas said would cause anarchy. Out of the millions of people living here, nobody wants this rule. Nobody wants Snow, or Lanarsus, or Kirkland. We need a way for them to support us instead of hiding us in sewer systems filled with monsters and explosives."
His dad rolled his eyes "Social programs aren't going to stop the Games, though. Do you have something picked out for tomorrow?"
"Dad, don't change the subject."
"Talking about our great leaders are not going to save you from getting a bullet in your eye."
Emerson sighed. He stood up on the linoleum floor and walked towards the red front door. His mom said the bright colors made the house more welcoming, but the design seemed garish and monochromatically crimson to him. As he waded through the sent of smoldering clean linen candles, he turned the golden knob and started to leave.
"Where are you going?" His dad called out.
"Work," Emerson said without looking back as he left the room.
The walk through the gloomy street in District Eight was interrupted by the marching peacekeeper that gave Emerson a cold stare and the stray chorus of cats that snarled at any piece of walking meat they on the damp cobblestone road. The decrepit grey apartment buildings. The screen of textile smoke rose above the square roofs and hovered underneath grey clouds.
An automobile that was pounded into a dead power pole rested in a huddled bundle of metal. The crashed car had een there since the Peacekeepers returned two years ago.
Emerson stared at the ground as he moved through the maze of cracking brick walled apartments and a woman bracing her hands by a small fire in a trash can. The dampness made the night quite cold for the middle of summer. With the electric infrastructure barely humming through the frayed power lines, usage of electricity was suspect at best, nonexistent at worst.
The teenager opened the foggy double doors into the homely, rotunda-shaped building. The spines of book shone in the light of the recycled glass chandeliers hanging over the long, circular wooden bookshelves built into the concrete walls. The second floor, accessible by a short staircase had older books resting in the flakes of dust.
The boy with black crew-cut hair and grey eyes was amazed everyday that a library of any capacity could exist in Panem, let alone in the war-torn land of District Eight. The District was a more urban upkeep than many other districts. There was no room for libraries, not with thousands of people still starving in the dank alleyways.
He had dusted, repainted, and furnished the inside of the nearly-razed library himself after reading a few of the how-to books with water-damaged pages ready to be worn into tiny pieces. It was incredible that he refurbished the place to a respectable standard. It was a miracle that the Peacekeepers allowed it.
Emerson reached the circular desk in the middle and sat in the chair. He sighed and rested his head on the cool wood. He closed his eyes.
He thought about the books he had just read. They were the only good source of entertainment around. He felt the leather binds forcing him to stay in the fabric-rich District slip away like soap in a sink as he rose to the words of people before him. Most of the books were propaganda, but the best ones were the illegal books (or books he were pretty sure were illegal) that he hid behind the indoctrinating manuals he was forced through in school.
The library was the safest place in Panem. He never felt in peril, and he never felt like he was apart of the poor, emaciated grey world waiting to torture him outside.
A hand slapped a package next to him. His head jolted up, and he yelped in surprise. He looked up at the blonde-haired girl towering over his hunched figure in the chair.
"It's a new book. Well, it's more of a play than anything. And it's super rare," she said in a sultry voice.
Emerson raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, Beth. How long have you been here?"
Beth smirked. "Just wanted to see if you were still alive."
"You say that everyday."
"Just getting you ready for tomorrow," she said with a wink.
Emerson and Beth had been close friends for the past two years. Emerson had been told time and time again that Beth had flirted with him non-stop since they met, but he did not see that. They were just very good friends. To him, at least.
Beth tapped on the brown package. "Open it. You'll love it."
Emerson fumbled with the wrapping and ripped through the paper. Shuffling the torn, thin covering away, he uncovered the book. It had a crimson cover with a balding man looking with fury at him. On top of his head was a smaller man crouched in what seemed to be a costume of some blue bird.
He looked up a Beth's lime eyes. "I've never seen this before."
"The title?" Beth asked.
"Birdman Or (The Unexpected Virtue Of Ignorance). Is it like a play?"
"Exactly. From way back in the day. This is one of only two copies left, and it looked interesting, so I got it for you."
Emerson grinned. "Thanks."
Beth huffed. "No reward or anything like that? I worked hard to illegally smuggle that."
Emerson looked at Beth with an inquisitive expression. "What do you mean? Isn't the satisfaction of knowledge enough?"
"Honestly," Beth said with a frown. "For a seventeen-year-old girl, very little is enough."
Beth sauntered over to the front door. As she gripped the golden door handle, she looked back with a soft expression on her face. "Better finish that soon. Never know what'll happen at the Reapings," she said in a soft voice.
With a grin, she left. Emerson shook off her words and delved into the play.
Maiza (Mai) Bluhurte (17)
The cool water ran through Maiza's hands like the pink earthworms slithering through the moist dirt underneath her bare feet. Despite the soft drizzle, she felt energized by the rough waters beside her on the riverbank. She loved the feel of raindrops stabbing her bare shoulders as she waded through the chopped waves of the river.
"Stop playing with the dirt and get over here."
Maiza looked up at the source of the deep voice. Her friend, Tus, had his hands on his hips as he waited for her to come forward.
Maiza rolled her eyes and got up, adjusting the straps on her yellow bikini. She walked over the soft soil towards the tall male. When she reached him, she pushed him back. "Don't boss me around. I'll come to you when I'm ready," she said with a playful smirk.
"Whatever."
"Maiza, can I ask you something?"
Maiza looked at a girl with long, braided brown hair. "Yes, Brica?"
Brica cleared her throat. "So, as you know, this place was very important to the folks back before the revolution days."
Maiza sighed. "As exciting as their deaths sound, I think we have enough to go around."
Brica stammered. "It has nothing to do with that. I'm not interested in the death. I'm talking about their second lives."
"Ghosts." Tus said.
Brica nodded. "In a crude sense. Can't you feel them?"
Maiza stopped and looked around at the shoreline. The dark clouds dropped more pellets of rain like the fallen bullets on the battleground. The quite breeze ruffled the edges of the deciduous trees, making them dance like leaves in a small twister.
"I don't feel anything," she said.
"Same here," Tus said.
The other girl looked over at the two teenagers and hummed. "One day you will. Nobody realizes just how many other beings there are, even the ones that don't exist yet. But they are all important, especially the ones we don't know about."
"Well, aren't we special?" Maiza said to Tus. "We get to experience the unknown first."
"Don't make fun," Brica whined.
"I'm not making fun," Maiza said. "I just came here to swim, and you're trying to bring back undead beings."
"I thought you came here to play-fight," Tus said.
Maiza smirked and turned to him. "It's called sparring."
"With you? It's play-fighting."
Maiza gasped dramatically and clutched her bare, flat stomach. "Are you challenging me?"
Tus took a step back and crouched down slightly into a fighting stance. "Unless you want to prove otherwise."
Maiza grinned. "Brica, ref for us."
Brica sighed. "As usual."
Maiza rushed towards Tus, ready to commence their battle on the riverbank.
"You need a real dress."
Maiza looked up from her blue jeans and tight red shirt at her mother. She was a regal, proper looking aristocrat. She stood in the doorway with a tight frown. As the sunlight warmed the spacious emerald-walled room, Maiza rose from her queen-sized lavender bed and walked towards her mother.
"I look fine with this one," she gestured to herself. "If anyone really cared, then I would have been shot and robbed a long time ago."
"We are lucky. Me and your father get all of these things. Things nobody else in this District can afford. And you don't want to wear any of them."
"I still look better than most of them, mom. And I;m not saying that to be conceited. It's true," Maiza said as she turned to the tll mirror next to her window. Her long chestnut hair was tightened into a ponytail while she rubbed her dark brown eyes. "Now, can I be left alone. This isn't really something I need to deal with right now."
"You remember how lucky you are to be in this family and in this house."
Maiza rolled her eyes as her mother left. After straightening her hair, she walked out into the long, wide hallway. The golden tresses along the baseboards of the wall matched with the yellow picture frames of their family's history. She briskly passed a man with a walrus moustache, standing next to her mother who donned a white wedding dress with the long train flowing behind her.
More and more pictures of the happy couple hanged on the periwinkle wall. As she got to the large dining room, a single picture of her and three smaller children were put in a dark corner. A few strands of dust had been collected along the faded edges. It was her three siblings: Jarid, a year older than her, and the two young twins, Era and Willot.
Only one picture in the entire house of their kids. Maiza always became angry at the thought. However, the tight hug and large grin she had, matching the rest of the kids in the picture, immediately put her back at ease.
Maiza would have to see them later. They were already situated at the Reapings.
At the crowded town square, Maiza huddled around the eighteen year old girls. It was her final year, so her fingers twitched with anticipation to leave. The hot sun beamed down on them. The weather had cleared up just in time for a picturesque ceremony.
Soon, a large man wearing high, platform shoes sauntered through the main doors of the town hall. As he reached the microphone, he let out a massive laugh. It was a high-pitched squeal that made Maiza shiver.
"Hello, and welcome everybody to this year's Reapings. You've all seen the video, so it is time to pick out our lucky Tributes to bring honor and glory to this…wonderful District. Ladies first."
The man reached out his stubby fingers towards the large glass bowl. When he reached in, his shoulder plunged through the top of the bowl before coming back up. He straightened himself and unfurled the small slip of paper.
"Our female tribute this year is Miss Alyson Janison."
Maiza gasped as she looked over at the fifteen-year-old section. A smaller girl with green eyes and short brown hair started to tremble. A scream was bubbling up from behind her drying throat. The whole crowd turned to her and pointed their vision at her like nails in a black coffin.
It was Brica's younger sister.
"I volunteer as Tribute."
Maiza's voice rose by itself over the murmuring crowd. Like a flash of lightening, the District turned to her. As she saw the people scanning her like a piece of meat, her legs started to move forward on their own. It was a slow death march to a waiting guillotine.
Maiza surveyed her situation. She had just volunteered. There was no going back. She felt salty liquid moisturize around her eyelids, obscuring her vision of the staring cameras.
It was her following another impulse. Her life was made up of impulsive decisions, and this could be her last one.
For some reason, she was okay with that.
She had saved Brica's sister. Her family was not nearly as well-off as her own, so they needed all the tesserae they could get. One less child would cut those rations down.
The major drawback was her siblings missing her. She would be gone forever.
Maiza would not let that nightmare become a reality.
She took to the stage and stood up straight. Looking up slightly over the horizon, the clear, cerulean sky stretched through the small world she had been imprisoned inside. Her upper lip stiffened, and she spoke with a smooth dryness.
"My name is Maiza Bluhurte, and I am this year's Victor."
Emerson Aquinas Locke (18)
The family was not hysterical like he thought they would be. Instead, there was a solemn look of acceptance on their faces. His father had blown his nose and dabbed his moist face dry a number of times as he sat on the red love seat. His mother, who had nearly strangled him with a massive hug, was planted on the armrest next to his father. Emerson's brother and sister, Augustine and Jone, cuddled up next to him on the brown sofa in front of the red walls surrounding him.
Not a single sentence passed between them as they lay in a quiet, desperate state. None of the family had the courage to look the other one in the eye. They did not want to give themselves the chance to say goodbye and break down further.
Emerson saw the clock on the wall. He knew his time was close to over. He cleared his throat. The family snapped their attention to him like a line of training Peacekeepers.
"We disagree about a lot of things. Uh…but I need t-to make it clear that I do love you. You're my family, and you can't pick those, right? So thank you for sticking with me. And I hope I can see you in the future."
His father stood up and trudged over the purple carpet towards him. He clapped a rogh had on Emerson's shoulder. They looked at each other. Emerson saw the redness sawell in his father's eyes.
"Hoping isn't going to do anything. Hoping is for when you have no control over it. But you do. You can come back. But don't hope for it. Make it happen."
Emerson nodded. "Yes, sir."
A short knock was heard. The family looked up and saw Beth at the doorframe. "Can I have a second?"
"Fine," his father said. "I think we are done here."
His parents and siblings got up and individually gave him a soft hug. Emerson smiled and thanked them again as they left together.
Beth looked over at Emerson and lightly pushed him back onto the couch. She sat next to him on the warm leather.
"Did you like Birdman?" she asked.
"What?" Emerson asked with a confused expression.
"Birdman? The Unexpected Virtue Of Ignorance? Don't tell me you didn't read it?"
Emerson nodded. "I did. I loved it. A little sadder than I would have liked, but it was still great."
"Remember the quote at the beginning? And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so?"
"Yes."
Beth smirked. "And what did you want?"
"To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on this Eart-."
The last syllable died as Beth latched her mouth onto Emerson's. His shock as Beth kissed him turned into instinct as he returned her lust-filled affection. They continued to kiss until Emerson ra out of breath. He pulled back and held Beth at an arms length, panting at the giggling girl as her green eyes lit up.
"Wha…What the hell…was that?"
She smirked at him again and raised an eyebrow. "Seriously. I hit on you for almost a year, and you still don't get it?"
"No, I got the message loud and clear. Why now?"
Beth got up and caressed his face. "Now you have to come back. Besides, I have a whole lot more in store for you. There's this book I've been keeping from you, and I want to try a few things from it."
Emerson gasped. "What?"
She laughed. "I'll give you a hint. It starts with a number, and ends with a color."
The Peacekeeper came in. "Time to go."
Beth had a watery smile on her face as her eyes started to fill up with emotion. "Have fun, babe. Cause you're gonna have a bunch when you get back."
Emerson could not believe his eyes and ears. How could he be so oblivious. AS he clutched the book, he felt something on the inside cover. He opened it, and he saw an old brass coin. It was the coin with the word "knowledge" in an unknown language printed on one side, and a mysterious man plastered on the other.
That was all the resolve Emerson needed.
He was going to come back. He had a library to take care of, and a girl to make up to.
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