Haizea Lobo, District 10, Female, Age 18
My story is one I often tell in a very bitter voice. A very passionate speech. I often grit my teeth throughout it and don't pay proper attention to what I'm saying as long as the proper words come out. As long as the fact that I absolute loathe the Capitol is clear, I'm happy.
My older brother, Mikel, and I had gone for a ride. We'd been going to one of the many cattle farms in our District. It was supposed to be fun, our monthly chore. We were going to pick up some meat for our family butcher shop. Run by our parents, the staff consisting of us, their children. Mikel and I had joked around, made friendly conversation with the cattle farm owner, a man named Derek Chandler and then sung old folk songs on our way back. We were having the time of our lives. And I loved it.
When we reached the slight hill that our house rested upon, I dropped the meat. And I remember hearing Mikel shriek. It was a loud piercing song, and it scared me. I remember wanting to turn and look at Mikel, see how he was, but couldn't. My eyes had stayed fixated on the burning building in front of me.
The flames consumed my house, the sound of our father, Arturo, screaming is a memory forever embedded in my mind. Our mother, Maya, and sister, Katalin, yelling for help. I think the youngest, Roberto had shouted something too, he was only three, so it may have been my imagination. Alaia, who was only nine had died too. Katalin being nine. Our grandma had died in the fire too, she'd been sixty-five. I'd stood frozen on the hill, staring as them, the peacekeepers, torched my house.
I remember hating them.
Ironic, it is, that in the moment I saw my house burn to the ground, a certain fire rose up in me, the fire, the passion for revenge. Cold, bitter revenge. I'd wanted to hurt someone. Mikel'd been horrified, I'd developed a taste for revenge. I wanted to run toward them and break them, I wanted to do anything to avenge my fallen family. My fist had clenched the meat resting at my feet completely forgotten. I felt rage boil inside me. They'd been children.
Pthe next thing I felt was how absolutely lucky I was. Because of a chore Mikel and I'd been sent to do, we'd survived. We'd survived. I was eternally grateful. I wouldn't waste this chance, this second life, I wouldn't waste it. I would use it to accomplish my revenge. As I watched the flames lick my house hungrily, the white-clad peacekeepers torch my house, I knew that I'd been given this chance to fight back.
The peacekeepers soon left, taking their flame throwers and walking away as if they hadn't just murdered children. These men were monsters, that, I think, is when I truly understood the war. It affected all of us, Dostroct 10 was a safer District, but even we were not above the war. And the peacekeepers were not above murdering children. They moved almost robotically, I thought. Their arms moving at the same time, their faces, forever concealed by the black of their masks, hiding everything from us.
I remember Mikel's sharp intake of breath before he'd turned to face me. I'd forced myself not to look at him.
Then, as if in a trance I remember walking forward, slowly stepping over the fallen meat resting upon the ground. I remember Mikel telling me to stop, I also remember ignoring his pleas. I kept walking. The stones etched into the pathway that I'd always loved tracing the outline of when I was young, seemed cold as my feet moved slowly across them. I remember feeling hot, the sweat slowly starting to form across my forehead, as I neared the house.
I remember falling to my knees, and reaching out towards the house. Completely unaware of the numbing pain slowly building up in my knees. My hand feeling hotter the closer it got to the building. The flame surrounding my hand, as if considering whether or not to eat it, then they'd dived in. Orange-red flames consumed my hand, I felt no pain, I'd just wanted my family back. I pushed my hand in farther, telling myself that if I went all the way in, I'd be able to get my family. I closed my eyes and imagined I was reaching out to my family. I'd have smiled. Then I felt a tug at my shoulders, and Mikel had tugged me away from the building.
"What the Hell were you thinking!?" He'd scream. I'd see tears in his eyes, but my body wouldn't reach, I'd stay numb. His voice barely reaching my brain, his words barely touching anything at all. The pain in my hand barely registering in my mind. I'd look up at him and whisper, "I want the Capitol to feel my pain." I'd say it with such fierceness that Mikel would step backwards.
"What." He'd say, his face a mask of hurt and confusion, I saw fear too, but we never bring that up. I'd repeat myself. "I want the Capitol to feel my pain. I want them to hurt, to watch as their own people burn to the ground. As their baby brother is murdered in front of them. I want them to hear the tortured sounds of their father screaming for help. I want-"
Mikel would cut me off. "Haizea, stop." He'd hug me, pull me into his shirt and I'd cry. He'd cry too. The tears weren't fast, they were slow, the first one fell, then another. Slowly, more would fall. Until my whole face was sticky, his shirt was sticky too. I would feel the wetness of his tears falling into my hair. We stayed like that for a long time.
Soon enough, I'd come to find out that my parents had been killed because it was rumoured that they'd been harbouring rebels. I grit my teeth and clench my fists. Peacekeepers had killed my family because of a rumour, one that wasn't even truthful at that. My hatred for them only grew after that day. Every single fiver in my body hated them, hated them with a burning passion so hard that sometimes I'd swear Mikel was afraid of it.
Before we knew it, we were living on the street.
Our house had been burned down, we were orphans. Mikel was fifteen at the time, he'd try getting a job, but they'd say he wasn't qualified enough. I'd want to hit them. We lived on the streets for two weeks, both slowly dying from famine, cold and my burn had started to get infected. The pain had already registered and so far it's been killing me. Then, as if out of nowhere we were scooped up by rebels, they took us to their camps and then they trained us.
They trained us to be everything I'd always wanted to be. They'd trained us to finally punish the Capitol. We became assassins. We were chosen, because somehow the Rebels found out about our situation. I'd never felt more blessed. Finally, I would be able to act against the Capitol, they'd finally feel my pain. When millions of their soldiers died, they'd know how I'd felt when they heartlessly killed my family. They'd know and they'd feel my pain.
For two years we trained brutally, finally we were ready, they sent us out to fight. We'd kill. I'd tel myself that it was Ok, these were Capitol men, but somehow I'd still end up hating myself the more the war raged on.
To this very day, I can still remember my first kill. We'd trained for th forever. I thought I knew what it'd be like to kill a man. We'd snuck into a Capitol meeting, many important Capitol officials had gathered there. We'd snuck in under fake names, I'd danced with few, gained information along the way, I found my target. I'd worn a huge gown, it was white and silver, flowing out from my waist. A knife strapped on the inside of my bott and attached to my bra. Mikel was in charge of the planning, I always did the killing. Always. I'd Led him, the target, off, spromising him things I kne I'd never fulfil. Then I'd pulled out the knife I'd had strapped onto the inside of my boots and turned as quick as light to face him. I was about to stab when I saw his eyes.
Fear, shock, guilt, love, loss. I saw a story flash before my eyes, and I'd thought for the first time ever. This man was human, I would be killing another human being. This man, have had a family, friends, who was I to take that away from him. I'd tel myself he was a Capitol man, none of it mattered. But still I hesitated. On that moment of weakness, the moment where I hesitated, he'd tried to shove me out of the way. I'd stood my ground and stabbed the knife into his heart.
That night I'd dreamed of the man, his eyes telling me his silent story, I woke up in the middle of the night crying. Mikel not there to comfort me.
Mikel was brawn, brute strength, but he was a sweetheart once you warmed up to him. I was stealth and cold as the night. I was grace and poise, I was the perfect assassin. And most times I hated myself for it. Others times the thrill of murder was a huge rush of adrenaline.
I wasn't just an activist, I was a murderer. I'd try and comfort myself, telling myself that I'd done what I'd needed to do to survive. We all did what we needed to do to survive, mine was just slightly less humane. There were times when I'd kill and want to kill more, other times I'd have to look away as my knives pierced the heart. Blood and screams filling the air. My conscious would say I was no better than the men who murdered my family, I'd tell it to shut up. But a part of me would always agree. This was the life of an assassin.
Nightmares plagued my sleep. Of my parents and siblings, of Mikel dying, of every single kill I'd ever made. They'd haunt me. It was at times Like these, where I could consider myself the monster. Not them, me. Over the course of my life what I'd needed to do to survive was become a monster.
When the war ended, Mikel and I reopened the old family butcher. Mikel got back together with his old girlfriend, Dimitra. I revisited the old cattle farm, the very same one I'd been sent to do my chore. The very chore that saved my life. I met his son, Buck, such a sweet boy. Poor thing spdoesn't deserve the cruelty this world is. It is in moments like these, where I can almost feel normal. But then I go to sleep once more, and my nightmares return, remnant me that I am anything but.
The door rings and I look up, Buck's just walked in. He'holding a slab of meat. I smile, the little boy looks like he can barely hold it. I walk out from behind the counter and saunter over. "Thanks." He says, I smile. "No worries, little guy." I ruffle his hair before grabbing the meat for him, winking asI bring it to Mikel. Where he'll cut it up and then prepare it for others to consume.
I walk back out to see unknown still standing ther, alittle awakwardly. "Hi." He says, I smile, amused. "Hello." "Money? Please." He says it in such a timid voice, almost as if it's a question that I burst out laughing. "Sure, Buck, sure." I hand him the money. "This is too much." He states, looking a little confused. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to smile. "Keep the change." He smiles up at me gratefully. "Thanks Haizea, you're the best."
He does something I definitely don't expect, he leans over the counter and haves me a hug. I stand there shocked for a moment before I smile, and hit him back. He remind me of the little brother I lost, and the boy he could have grown up to be. I smile because despite everything, this is a comforting thought.
And Ihave never been more grateful for anything ever.
Haizea. This chapter. Lot longer than I first anticipated, was written way faster than I antipathed and took an unexpected turn halfway through. She got pretty dark on some of those passages, dang.