Emery Means Brave
Prologue - "Misfit"
Izzy wouldn't. stop. screaming.
Emery, alongside the dozens upon dozens of other nearby inmates watch on utterly astounded as her fellow twelve-year-old friend shrieks her head off without end. It's a stomach-churning, cringe-inducing screech that only adds to the surreal scene in front of her. Continuing to screech, Izzy bounds up and down in what Emery thinks is a freighting mix of anguish and anger, discarding her wheelbarrow full of supplies before stumbling towards the lifeless bodies of her parents. Emery turns her attention to Mr. Wilkinson. He lays sprawled out against the steps of their weatherhaven like a starfish, his eyes gazing half closed up towards the sky while the hole in his throat continues to gush blood. Mrs. Wilkinson on the other hand lies crumpled on the ground beside him. Her back is toward Emery, but she could see the gaping red wound on the side of Mrs. Wilkinson's head where her ginger locks should be. Still, Izzy continues to shove at their shoulders, despite the unresponsiveness she receives in return.
"Ma...Ma...Daddy...Daddy, Daddy please!" Izzy wails, circling back to face Emery and the crowd. Her face is red and her eyes wide as they scan around frantically. "Someone...Please, someone...Someone help! Help! Help me pleaaase-"
No one, Emery included, makes a move to help Izzy as the girl pivots back to her dead parents. They were all too scared or shocked. Emery would try to help, it's in her nature, but she herself remains stunned. She had both the Wilkinsons' blood on her face and clothes. She had been right there when it happened.
It's then that Emery's Mother moves back to try and soothe the other twelve-year-old. "Izzy...Izzy stop it! Hush, hush," Mother hisses, fighting against Izzy's frantic force as she tries to pry her away from Mrs. Wilkinson's limp body. "I'm sorry, there's nothing more we can do-"
It's no use. The more Emery's mother tried to pull her away from the gruesome scene, the more baby-like Izzy became, her wails becoming louder and louder before pushing Emery's mother away and returning to her mother's side. Izzy tugs at her mother's collar, her sounds of anguish intensifying as she receives a limp response back - Mrs. Wilkinson's head lolling up and down like a doll all while red matter escapes from the hole in her head. Emery wants the scene in front of her to be oh so not real, but the fact of the matter is it was. Two nice and chatty people who were alive and well just seconds ago lay crumpled on the ground and their just as bubbly daughter was now a total wreck.
Emery flinches when she hears heavy footsteps rapidly approaching. Mother is right there, pressing her to her abdomen and pulling the both of them back as Peacekeepers arrive on scene.
"Alright alright, show's over!" the lead Peacekeeper barks, his voice distorted through his helmet's speakers. "Take a hike, unless you wanna get right back t'work!"
Emery watches as a second Peacekeeper points to a pair of inmates. "You two over there - toss these bodies in the incinerator!" he commands, turning his attention to Izzy who continues to shriek. He grips her by the collar. "Shut up kid, shut. up!"
Izzy doesn't listen, continuing to shriek and attempt to push past the Peacekeepers as the other inmates take Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson by the crooks of their arms and begin dragging them away. Her wails break down into sobs as they drag her to the ground. Emery watches as one of the Peacekeepers prepares a needle of sorts. Before she could see it be used, Mother spins Emery around and presses her firmly to her side. Emery could smell it - the blood that caked on her face. With the stench came hot-off-the-press images of Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson drowning in pools of their own blood. It doesn't help that her Mother's smock smells of sweat and tar from work, causing her stomach to somersault at the influx of scents.
"Emmy darling," her mother coos, holding her gently by the bicep as she glances down at her with. "I-Is everything alright?"
"Nuh uh." Emery couldn't describe it. The inside of her mouth felt filmy and gross. Oh gods, it's in my mouth! Swallowing the film away with saliva only made matters worse for Emery, as even her own spit felt and tasted disgusting, causing her to gag. Thankfully Mother seems to notice, gripping her by the shoulders as she hustles her over to the lavatory. Emery spares one last glance back at the scene. The other inmates quickly spread elsewhere as the squad of Peacekeepers collect a limp Izzy by her limbs and carry her away. Whatever they stuck her with must have worked. But where did the shots come from? Emery wonders as she lifts her eyes from the armored men to the watchtower that looms over their block. Lieutenant DeWynter heaves a rifle in her arms while Peacekeepers shower her with praise. Emery swears the young Peacekeeper Officer is staring straight at her with those dull, ice blue eyes of hers. Emery bolks and before she fetches up all over her clothes, Mother bursts into the lavatories and forces her head into one of the sinks just in time to catch the contents of her stomach. Heaving now, her Mother holds her upright so that she is facing the grimy mirror in front of them. Someone should clean this up, Emery thinks, or the Peacekeepers would be on all of us for sure! Izzy, her dead parents, the dirty lavatory, all these frantic thoughts come to a halt at the sensation of her Mother's hands caressing her back. It felt so good. A few weeks prior, she would've shrugged her Mother away and now, she couldn't be five inches away or else she would feel unnerved.
"Let's get you cleaned up before the guards call us back to work, hmm?" the older woman coos while slipping off Emery's circular eyeglasses. Emery could feel her Mother's hand tremble as they did. "H-Have I ever said that you take after much like me? Such a beautiful little girl."
Emery got that all the time back in the Capitol, but she knew her mother was trying to cheer her up. Emery forces herself to look at her reflection in the mirror. She didn't feel like a 'beautiful little girl'.
Her eyes - red and prime with tears - weren't the eyes of a beautiful twelve-year-old girl.
Her clothes - ratty striped pajamas with a '2513' stenciled on her chest and tattooed on her arm - weren't the clothes of a beautiful twelve-year-old-girl.
Her life - confined to a dirty Godsforsaken camp guarded by gargantuan fences, mutts and faceless men - wasn't the life of a beautiful twelve-year-old girl. Knowing this, Emery bursts out sobbing, only for her Mother to stifle her cries with a hand over her mouth.
"Emmy darling, please, not right now someone will hear-" Mother hisses, shushing her. Emery could hear her Mother's voice warble as she pleads with her. She knows that Mother wants to cry too but is trying to keep up a strong face.
Emery continues to cry, regardless if anyone hears her or not! Emery wants to go home! How was this possible? How did she get here?! Why her?!
Hey you, author in the making!
I do not own the Hunger Games. I wish I did, though.
Ratings should be T. Typical cannon violence spiced in with abuses (as seen above) in relations to a totalitarian government exacting their revenge upon their rebellious citizens.
Since finishing my SYOT back in April, I said I would come back and I have.
This is "Emery Means Brave", a failed-rebellion prequel-of-my-prequel "Atonement" which is set to come out perhaps in June. It's a casual reading sort of story, which I'll be happy if you peeked in for a read every time it updates.
It's connected to my SYOT universe, so you'll see characters and names of people/ancestors who have appeared already.
Emery herself is a personal OC of mine. Believe it or not, she's EIGHT YEARS OLD! Time flies. Christmas Day, 2013 grade 10 she first graced the fandom in a story I'm not particularly proud of. Let's just say she was a Rue clone, District 11 female and all.
(2513, not a coincidence).
Now, in 2021, Emery will be promoted from a Rue clone to a Hunger Games OC that stands on her own.
Oh yes, the nice commission you see of Emery for the fiction cover was created by 'Oha' of Artists&Clients
My profile picture of Emery's bust was created by someone on DeviantArt that I do not want to credit just yet...Lets just say there's plenty more where these arts came from. :).
**Updates every Monday and Friday**
Coming up next...
My stomach becomes warm with anticipation when Persephone locks eyes with me and says, "Emmy, truth or dare?"