We are on high alert, constantly looking over our shoulders. The district square is filled with gallows and flogging posts, the rattle of firing squads can be heard almost daily. We patrol the streets regularly, more of us are patrolling, more of us arrive each day. We now patrol in groups of five to six, marching down streets while single peacekeepers snoop around alleyways. The Capitol high command must be expecting some calamity soon, else they wouldn't bolster our ranks in anticipation. In the letters Annona sends me, she mentioned sweeping drafts of several males and females into the ranks, from all socio-economic classes in District 2. I hope Annona is doing well in my home, since she wasn't born in District 2, there is no chance of her being drafted. The family I come from was one of weapon-smiths, wealthier than quarriers but not nearly as well off as the victors.
The career districts have no delusion of being Capitolites, but District 2 is treated as a vassal. The relationship is like that between a knight and a king, both know who is really in charge but neither goes hungry by days end. From what we learned in school, the form of government that dictates Panem was first proposed by Plato, thousands of years before even the North Americans time. He envisioned a society in which a philosopher king who sought wisdom would rule over all, with the help of a class of the brave and courageous warriors, who kept those concerned with primal needs in line and protected them from themselves. This is why a gold statue of Plato stands in the Capitol city circle, and why centuries before the dark days the Capitol was originally named Kallipolis. Or at least that is the theory. The Capitol is populated mostly by hedonists addicted to debauchery, with only an ever decreasing handful of scientists and statesmen actually steering a continent of people in the hope of reaching the port of progress. The peacekeepers however, still emulate chivalrous knights as never before. All my life, I and every boy and girl my age were surrounded with tales of chivalry on the battlefield and monuments to courage litter the landscape. In fact, where as the Capitol society is dominated by individuality, pursuit of pleasure, and living large, district 2s society constantly drills its people with messages of self-sacrifice, courage, gratitude, and preparation. Still, it's impossible to complain, because despite having no interest in silver or gold, our district never has a shortage of bread and the other good things of life. The constant stream of career victors adds free food for a year at best, and tessera without fear at the worst. Since district 2 has the most victors by a long-shot, they often pool a portion of their winnings to fund the building of great public works like the fifth alexandrine library, the largest library in district 2 and the second largest in Panem until the Capitol built one twice as big so they can keep the record for biggest everything. The great library was the result of five long years of district 2 sweat and several million dollars of many collective victors, it holds many ancient and sometimes untranslated works, some of which belong to the pre-North American indigenous peoples, as well as modern classics written in our time. This structure brings District 2 a strong education system, contrasted by the rampant illiteracy of District 12. The spaciousness of district 2 allows colossal building structures to be erected without sacrifice. This is contrasted by district 8, where everything was crowded, and district 4, where the sea blocks expansion.
As my group of peacekeepers march down the streets, peoples close their window shutters and hurry away from us. It's no longer out of resentment alone, but also fear. In alleyways, pre-pubescents train with their parents unmolested, using wooden replica weapons. Taking up a career in the Hunger Games is the most honorable and profitable way to earn ones bread in districts 1 and 4, but in district 2 peacekeeping is still more honorable, if significantly less lucrative. The air is filled with sea salt. Even from the inland parts of this district, salty sea air can still be inhaled, as can be heard the squawking of numerous sea birds. Some of the sea birds live along the coast and pick apart fish left in the garbage bins, others migrate through or to here, often traveling the whole globe to reach this location. It's funny how the animals travel more often than the people. District 4 is one of two where extra-Districtal travel is even possible, not counting the hunger games contestants. The other is district 2, for its sons and daughters dawn white and spread throughout the nation.
Right now, my group of peacekeepers is heads to the docks for inspections. We scan every inch of the steamship, looking for possible contraband, stowaways, runaways, and regulation violations. The crew wait outside the vessel while the captain shows us around. The captain is a burly man wearing a bushy beard, a sea blue coat, and cap. He shows us every room, and we investigate.
"What are these guns for?" I say, holding one up.
"They're only narwhal hunting rifles, they don't even fire bullets, just harpoons."
"A'll be the judge of that."
I take one, load a harpoon in, and fire into the water. " Are these registered?"
"Yes sir, here are the proofs."
He hands me wrinkled paper, I look over it, they're clearly forgeries. "Do you take me for an idiot, or do you just like insulting people?"
He seems to not understand this. "What do you mean?"
"These are forgeries, apart from the fact that the signer died two years before this was signed, no one in their right mind would allow this many rifles for such a small crew. You and your first mate are under arrest for forgery and weaponry stockpiling. Your crews sailing permits are voided."
He suddenly became enraged, pushing me down. "You filthy pale coat! You think you can come onto my boat and tell me how many rifles I can have, you and all your pale coat pals are all a gang of pirates."
He kicked me in my weak area and punched me across the helmet. Pulling out my knife, I stabbed his stomach while simultaneously kicking him across the room, which was the captions cabin. He tried to get up, but I shot him dead as he began to charge me. He doubled over and collapsed upon the flood, a pool of blood forming under his chest. We went out to arrest the first mate, and tell the crew they no longer have permission to hunt. They grumble and curse, and as they leave, the largest shouts bitterly.
"You'll pay for this, you and all your filthy renegade friends will all pay for this!"
On of the other peacekeepers answers tauntingly. "O look, the poacher thinks we're the renegades." This is the fourth weapons stockpile raided this week.
While eating the third days meal, I'm filled in on the events of the games. From what Helena, Aric, Harod and Montgomery tell me, Cashmere and Gloss fought their last battle. This is a disappointment, as I can already imagine the weeping, the crying, Gloss's pregnant wife who lost her beloved, his six children who are now without a father. Though Cashmere was never married, she still adopted one boy and bore another with here boyfriend, now her children no longer have a mother. It would be hard enough, if not for them having to move out of the victors mansion. I still hope Brutus or Enobaria can still deliver the victors justice and separate Katniss's head from her body. The people seem to grow restless with every passing day, every weapon stockpile confiscated adds more rage, each arrest and execution piles on more fury. I fear how they'll react should Katniss actually win.