Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing make no mistake.
I live for danger.
The adrenaline that circulates through my veins is like a drug, but not any of that hoity-toity stuff you buy from the Capitol. Real adrenaline comes from the feeling of lowering your life into death's hungry jaws and then snapping it just out of reach. Teasing. Taunting. Tantalizing. The rush comes before survival instinct.
Not that we don't have "real" drugs here in six. We have a fair few. A morphling drip here and there. At least that's according to the Capitol.
Because what they don't know is that District Six got a taste for drugs. But no one could supply us enough to feed our needs. So we made our own.
Of course at first they weren't fit for human consumption but that didn't stop some. The ones who were already too far gone. Most of them died but some survived. And those that did came back for more.
See that's the problem with humans. They don't know what's good for them. You give them the rope and they'll hang themselves.
A large whooshing sound breaks me from my thoughts. The classroom window is open since it is the hottest day of the year. Unfortunately the hottest day of the year is also train day, an all around horrible day for anyone in Six with ears and skin.
Train day, is the day they test out the train cars meant to become trains and go to the capitol. Normally it would mean a day off but the older kids had a mandatory history lesson slotted for today. Anyone between the ages of twelve and eighteen had a mandatory lesson this week on, 'what we owe to our country'.
It's all because of the Hunger Games and the reaping. Can't have anyone trying to pull a fast one over on the capitol after what happened in the forty-seventh annual Hunger Games.
"Delila? Delila Whelsemoine?"
A voice calls my name and I look up fast. "Yes?" I say in my normal bored tone. "Can you tell me about district thirteen?" I let out a sigh. I am never at full attention in class and am a least favorite of most teachers. So, they try to catch me off guard with questions most students either, don't know how to answer, or don't have the guts to answer.
"'District thirteen was known for mining graphite. During the war it was made known that they had a few missiles and projectiles in their possession. When the war ended they were bombed and there was nothing left but rubble. It's ashes remain to this day and can be seen in some broadcasts today.' The History of Panem by Festus Creed." I quote verbatim from the assigned book.
She does a sickly sweet smile that is so obviously fake I almost laugh. Even the Capitol teachers hate me.
"Looks like someone has been doing her reading." She is clearly trying to seem impressed and happy that someone in this class knows a thing or two but, her disdain couldn't be more obvious.
I sneer at her, forgoing any pleasantries.
For a fraction of a second her nostrils flare up destroying her maintained image. She turns away and I lay my head down on the desk grinning against the cold wood.
The rest of the school day is only a few hours. Like I said, it isn't the normal classes on 'how to build a car engine' or, 'how to fit wheels on a motorcycle', it's a mandatory lesson on what we owe to our freaking country.
I don't owe Panem anything.
If anything they owe me. They've taken everything I have and anything that would've mattered in the long run. Not on purpose of course but, then, is anything ever on purpose? Was their killing my father with their horrible machines on purpose? Was their watching my sister get killed in an arena on purpose? No. Just sacrifices to the cause.
And what do they think they're proving anyway? By killing children? Do they think it will quell the fire of revolution? Perhaps. But you can still feel it brewing. In the deep underbelly of my district, with the ones who choke to death on carbon monoxide. What do they have to lose?
And with the ones who drown themselves in drugs. What do they have to give? Their bodies are beyond repair, yellowed and sagging. But they're happy, blissfully happy.
Well maybe they're right. Maybe they are killing whatever delirious hope for revolution we have. What good could we do with ragtag rebels whose frail bodies tip over when the wind blows too hard?
Nothing.
I lift my head off the desk and rub my cheek, which had stuck to the desk a little. I squint forward as the blurry room comes into view. The bitter history teacher they sent from the Capitol is glaring at me, so I stage a large yawn which almost sets her off.
"Ahem," she says rather aggressively. "Well class is over now, I hope some of you learned something new," she finishes shooting me a pointed look. I roll my eyes and begin to pack up my things.
I've barely taken two steps out of the classroom when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
"Did you think that was funny?" I turn around and have to hold in a groan, because standing next to me is possibly the most aggravating person on earth. "Yes, I thought it was the most hilarious thing on earth-, didn't you hear me laughing?" I say sarcastically.
She hmphs' then sashays away and I consider myself lucky.
"And to think I was about to give you a talking to." I turn and grin as I face my best friend. Or- er, acquaintance. "Yes, after the scolding I've just received from Silvia I've really learned my lesson. You know- I think I might turn over a new leaf." She laughs as I suppress a smile reminding myself I'm not allowed to be happy.
"Well," she says, clapping a hand on my back. "Better get to the tracks, but don't work yourself too hard over there Dee tomorrow is an important day." I grin, which is not the same as a smile by the way. "Wouldn't dream of it Alex.
I always work myself to the bone, Alex knows that. It's sort of a joke I guess, but even now I feel her eyes digging into me as I assemble engines faster than most kids tie their shoes.
My mother used to say I was made for District Six, that I would've been no good anywhere else.
I suppose that's true. My hands are fast yes but not strong. I wouldn't be much help deep in the catacombs of District Twelve where they mine coal with their own powerful arms. I have a good memory but what would that do in District Four? Where they weave nets and catch fish? I'd probably get tangled up in all the nets, and I've never liked fish.
Where they really should've placed me is District Three. With their fancy wires and technology. Once I watched reruns of a Hunger Games from years ago, -not on purpose of course it was just part of the curriculum- and I found myself enraptured with this boy from Three. He ended up winning by electrocuting his opponents with some complicated contraption, and I was taken aback.
How can electricity, something so dazzling and brilliant, be so deadly? Perhaps beauty and poison go hand in hand, after all it's like my sister said, 'it's always the prettiest flowers that hold the most venom.'
It reminds me of the second Quarter Quell which occurred just a few years after my sister's games.
All those boys and girls lying stiffly, their veins filled with poison. Such a beautiful toxic wasteland. Full of death and despair.
But there's no escape, is there? Even if you survive the Hunger Games and return home to your district. To what? Lounge about with your fellow victors as you watch children starve in the streets? So rich, and famous, and hated by the hungry eyes that follow your every move.
Possibly it's better to die. In an arena full of district children, mutts, and Capitol made traps.
What would it feel like? To be alive one moment, gone the next? Where does your mind go? Is there some sort of abyss for the bodiless souls? The lifeless spirits? Is there a god? Most likely not. At least, not one who cares.
No one cares. I think as my hands automatically assemble another engine. I wonder if somewhere far away in a place called the Capitol they have gods. Perhaps temples and churches. Here in Six our only god is morphling.
I flinch as another trains whooshes by us.
We work in between the tracks which seem to go on endlessly in either direction. How stupid. How they make us work so close to these deadly cars. Of course there are rails but they're not reinforced and easy enough to get over.
They really must not care about our lives. Obviously I mean, aren't we thrown to our deaths every year for their entertainment?
What it must be like, in the Capitol. Fat, rich, altered to the point where you're barely recognizable as a human. The list could go on. And it might but I was never one to rant.
I'm sure some do. Scream in the woods til' their lungs run out of air. Stupid really, idiotic. Waste of breath, which is probably the one thing they give us.
I continue to work until my hands are red and sore.
Alex told me to work less as tomorrow is a big day. Big day indeed, though not one to celebrate. The reaping is the worst day of the year, second only to train day.
So I work harder. Drive myself into my work, until my hand blister and stubborn tears track down my face. The reaping is horrible, more so when you know what the Games themselves are like.
Sure, the Hunger Games are mandatory viewing but no one really takes it in. They grit their teeth and stare at the screen with unseeing eyes. But my sister was in those games and that year, I watched.
Suddenly they weren't just kids, no. Every face was hers, every dying, bleeding, crying face was hers and I felt my aching pain multiplied by twenty-four.
I push the memories from my mind and force myself to look down at the engine in my weak pink hands.
The sun beats down on us with its blinding light and sweltering heat.
There is none of the normal chatter that usually fills our work stations instead, only a bitter silence. We don't laugh, we don't talk, and so every squeal of steel against steel screams in my head making my bones sing.
"Last car of the day!" A conductor announces.
I let out a small breath of relief, then clench my bones preparing for the incoming train car. It comes and goes and finally, finally, this day of shrieking metal is over.
After the last car of the day some kids go and dance on the tracks. It's silly I suppose but Alex does it so I really can't find all that much fault in it.
I never really liked dancing and don't think I can see myself enjoying it.
Looking at the rails I catch some kids eyes and look away. I don't understand why but, no matter what I do my eyes keep drifting over to the tracks. Drawn to them I guess.
But no… there's something else, something I need to remember.
I see Alex dancing on the rails and for a moment I'm enthralled, trapped in time, this moment. Every twirl and leap is irrevocably etched into my mind as I watch the steady rise and fall of her chest.
Suddenly dancing on the tracks isn't silly at all.
No- it's beautiful really. Maybe I'll just sit here and watch her dance… Wait. I can't. There's that thing… It's tugging at me, pulling at the back of my mind. Think you worthless thing, think!
Once again my eyes are drawn to the rails. I squint as if looking closer will reveal some hidden secret, something I didn't notice before. But it is something I know, something no one in District Six could ever forget.
From morning to evening. Dawn to dusk. In total they run twenty-eight cars. Sometimes more, but never less. They have a train day every month. So we always meet our quota for the month.
Three trains. Seven cars each.
I metally count every car I've heard go by. Twelve during the lesson. One while I walked down to the tracks. And fourteen since I've been here. Twenty-seven in all.
My eyes grow wide and my lungs take in a breath large enough to fuel the yell that is coming.
"GET OFF THE TRACKS!"
Every head turns to me and suddenly I'm hyperventilating. My heart is beating out of my chest and I find my voice again.
"Twenty seven- twenty seven… you need- the tracks- NOW!" I scream because they're not moving fast enough. But my thoughts and words are so scrambled they just stare at me as if I have two heads.
"What are you saying?" comes a voice I recognize. I turn to face Alex who's looking at me with one eyebrow raised. I look at her feet.
She's still on the tracks.
I take breaths and try to calm down- no one will believe me if I seem like I'm going insane. But how can I be calm? When each second is another second wasted?
Somehow I steady my voice and utter the words. "There's one more train."
It's then I sense the flicker of life deep within the bowels of the tunnels. A single train car clacking up the rails. Some kids were smart enough to step off the tracks after my first warning but two remain.
They hear it. The train. I know because I see it registering on their faces.
But it's too late and the train car comes speeding down the tracks. I look her dead in the eyes and know mine must be filled with emotion because I know. No matter what I wish I cannot stop a speeding train.
She just has time to mouth her final words before the car hits her.
A/N Ahhhh, first chapter done! I will try to upload weekly on either Fridays or Tuesdays. Don't be shy leave a review.