We've been out in the woods for well over three hours and caught three geese, a duck, a gallon of blueberries, a large bag of roots and edible plants, seven fish and four squirrels. A good catch.
We'll sell the squirrels to the baker for two loaves of bread. One goose will go to the Peacekeeper named Reilly for twenty silver coins. We'll use them to buy some more pain killers for Melman. Most Peacekeepers, like Reilly, are just as miserable as the people in the Seam, starving and with nothing better to do with themselves besides standing around with their thumbs up their asses. On the plus side, they are my best customers. The duck will go to Greasy Sae, the old woman at the Hob who sells mysterious stews to trade for some sewing material. Nice enough lady. She's the only person we know who gives us good to almost cheap prices on meats. The blueberries will stay at home along with the last goose, plants, fish, and bread. They will be today's lunch, dinner, and hopefully tomorrow's breakfast.
Quickly running to the Hob to finish up the errands, I take the time to visit my favorite stand that displays vintage nick-knacks as Tigress drops by Greasy Sae. It's not that I don't like the elderly woman, but because every time I go up to her with Tigress by my side, she tries her damndest to make us uncomfortable as possible. Preaching for all fo the world to hear that we're a young couple madly in love and yada yada yada. It's better when Tigress goes alone. That way I'm not tempted to bury myself alive of the embarrassment of the hag's proclamations of our nonexistent romance.
My eyes skim over the bushels of old junk cluttered on the makeshift table. From buttons to teacups and rings to stuffed animals, all are fragments of my homeworld. A world that was once a simple place where animals didn't mingle with humans, where we weren't ruled by tyrant killing children. Most are partially destroyed, scavenged from wherever these things had survived from whatever wreckage was left in shambles. I've never bought anything from here and I've never planned to but then, like most things in my life, it happens unexpectedly. Something catches my eye. A small, golden pin glistens through the crowds of rusting charms and chains, the eye of a golden Mockingjay peeking up at me. A really nice adornment to be in such a dirty, grim place.
I pick it up with my fingers, inspecting the bronzed bird melded to the clip in between my pads. The owner of the stand watches me. "How much for it?" I ask.
The woman regards me with tired eyes for a moment before answering. She's older, withered and aged like a piece of parchment.
"Keep it. It's yours." The woman says with a wave of her sickly thin hand. I thank her and stuff it in my pocket.
We leave with our goods in tow and make it to the outskirts of town, concealed by a fat grove of trees. The scent of lush greenery is refreshing compared to the thick smog hanging in the air of the Seam. I inhale as much of it as I can before I once again go back in. Tigress and I split the food and materials evenly and are about to go our separate ways. She turns to leave when I call out to her.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
She turns to me, expressionless. Looking at her now, you'd never guess that she was once the so-called infamous Tigress of the Furious Five. She doesn't wear the hand-made battle garments of silk and satin embroidered with flowers and dragons ever so delicately with a needle and string. Instead, she's don in mud-stained trousers, hammy down shirt, a torn grey blazer to a tuxedo that she had rummaged from a burnt down building. At times, I don't believe it myself.
Yet having a friend who is a master of the ancient art of Kung Fu can have positive ties to the bargain. A while back, she had agreed to teach me in an exchange for a quiet, strong errand boy and hunting partner, one who had a stock of weapons hidden in the woods.
"I think we can both agree that we can make an exception for today." She states, shouldering her bag. A remorseful look overcomes her features, and no matter how hard she frowns her ashen expression can't hide from me.
I decide to be a clown in this situation. "Thank God!" I exclaim a little too loudly. "I swear you kicked my ass more than usual last time."
She grins ever so slightly. "Can't say I went easy on you. I'll see you at the reaping."
"Wear something pretty for me," I respond. She whirls her head back to me as he jogs away, grinning.
Despite my earlier outburst, the reaping is no joke, but I think anyone-especially you-would have guessed that. Yet as the depressed, somber citizens we are, we have to make it sound like a holiday. Not just because it's the rules and acting otherwise will result in a brutal punishment, but because we're scared shitless. True we've laughed, smiled, had a good meal, but they could never suppress the absolute horror of today's events.
I head home where everyone is sure to be awake. The steer clear from the town's streets. Peacekeepers line the sidewalks like lampposts, waiting for any sign of trouble. And strutting around with a dead goose in paw is the key ingredient of a recipe for disaster. I trek along the fence, dragging my claws through the metal. On arrival, I witness smoke stream out of our brick chimney in a thick cloud, meaning that my mom is boiling water for our baths. Sprinting through the meadow, I burst inside with a bang of the wooden door. At the kitchen table, Gloria converses with Melman over a cup of tea while he sorts his jars of herbs. Marty is straightening his jacket in front of the mirror with Goldie sitting at his heels, and my mom leaves to pour water into the tub.
"Hey Alex, how was it?" Gloria asks as I close the door behind me.
"It was good, got some food and plenty of supplies for today's meals." I unload the plants, berries, bread, and sewing materials onto the table. I hand Melman the silver.
"Thanks, Alex." He thanks. I nod in return.
Ever since he started working as a doctor in the Seam, he's been more of a workaholic than ever. Always working, dealing with one contagious sickness from the next, tending to wounds. Sometimes he even goes days nursing a patient. It keeps him busy and helps with the income, which I'm not one to complain about, but if I didn't know any better I'd say he's wearing himself thin. One can't help but feel sorry for the overworked giraffe.
I hand the goose to my mom who has just returned. She hugs me and gives a quick peck on the cheek.
"Your bath is ready." She says.
"Thank you."
She returns it with a sad smile and heads to the side door to pluck the goose outside.
My mother was once a beautiful, powerful lioness. The crowning jewel of her pride. My father showed her off for every creature in the savanna to see all of her wonder and glory. And when they had me, they became the national treasure of Africa. A strong leader for a husband, a gorgeous wife, and a precious baby boy to inherit their fame and throne. But from the day we had arrived in Panem, that life ended in an eruption of ashes and despair. My mother has taken to this turn of events more emotionally than I have. It seems as if the world drags at her shoulders. Depression grinding even the smallest fragments of hope of her going back to the way she used to be in the coal-coated streets of District 12. Can't say any of us are the least bit better off.
I enter to the bathing room where a barrel split in half steams with graying water. A ratty towel and a bar of homemade soap wait for me on a stool. I strip off my clothes and sink into the water, a shiver running down my spine at the intensity of heat. It's nothing short of scorching hot and I'm sure that I'll leave with a few burn marks, but if I want to get properly clean I have to wash in this literal cauldron of boiling stew like a lobster.
Lathering the fur of my arms with the unscented soap, my gaze shifts to the broken window glowing with sunlight. My movements slow to a stop as I stare at it, the panel illuminated like a beacon. Calling to me like the window I had watched through all those years ago, the window that allowed me to see my people's deaths.
—
Three years ago on the plains of Africa, we were roaming the grasslands with my parents. It was a beautiful day: sunny and dry, the scent of wild grass and dirt pungent in the air. The other day, we had just watched the penguins leave in the giant monkey-powered super plane and for the past week now, I had become more acquainted with my parents.
Walking side by side with my father, he suddenly grabbed a hold of my shoulder, stopping us in our tracks. The others continued to walk forward, oblivious to their lack of followers! as I watched my father. His dark, straight eyebrows were furrowed into a scowl, but not the kind for reprimanding. He looked worried, almost nervous.
What did he have to be nervous about? Did I do something wrong?
"Alakay," he said, "you know I love you, right?"
I blinked in surprise. "Of course, Dad."
"And that I'd do anything to protect you?"
"Yes!" I retort, stunned at his inquiries. "I know that."
He avoids my eyes, running a large paw through his thick mane of black hair. I start to get a little anxious. I've never seen him like this before.
"Dad, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just..." he paused, his dark green eyes darting across the tall yellow and brown clusters of grass. "I wasn't sure if you knew how much your mother and I..." he drifts off.
"How much you and mom what?" I ask, getting impatient.
After a moment, he takes a deep and straightens his back, his chest puffing out proudly. More sure of himself. "When you were taken, I tried to go after you. I ran after those hunters as fast as I could. I even had you in my arms at one point. But no matter hard I tried, no matter how hard I ran, I could never catch up. You slipped right through my paws and... and... I thought I had lost you forever. And then you come back to us. After all these years you come back alive and healthy... and the next thing I know you've gone off to the reserve. And I... I couldn't..." He stops, his assured posture deflating.
And it hits me. "Dad." I rest my paw on his shoulder and he finally looks at me. The wrinkled flesh at the corners of his mouth hangs from his mouth as if the blood in his face had been drained.
"You don't ever have to worry about me. I'm right here." I say. "And you don't need to protect me, because no harm will ever come to me. And that's thanks to you."
"But-But I overheard you and your friends talking about going back to New York and-and your mother and me-"
"Will be just fine." I interrupt him. "You know why?" He gives a quizzical look and I don't wait for him to answer. "Because you will know that whether I'm New York or here in Africa, I'll always come back. Even if I have to rent a rowboat and sail halfway around the world, I will always find a way to come back."
I'm not sure how I managed to sound so wise, or if I even said anything of the like. It's just how I remember it. But the one thing I know for certain is that after I had said that, my father's smile was forever imprinted in my mind. The corners of his mouth no longer hung limply at his jaw, his eyes no longer darted to and fro in an anxious manner. His smile, his simple smile, was a symbol of his trust. That he had put his faith in me and my statement. It meant more to me than I can ever express.
Little did I know that in the end, nothing I had said would ensure our future. In fact, it only sealed our demise.
It started out as a dot. So small and so insignificant that I didn't think twice upon seeing it. But then in came closer, and it grew bigger. And so we stopped, both of us watching in angst as what appeared to be an aircraft soared through the sky. It was impossibly big and round with white, curved wings that resemble a snow-white sting ray frozen mid flap. It glided forward and gently landed in the distance, blowing up clouds of brown dust. It sat there for a moment, quiet and still, but even from where I stood dozens of feet away I could see a door slide open and spot a ramp. Men in white suits filed out of the ship, all identical. They marched off in different directions, each cluster lead by a commanding officer. And like the calm before the storm, they suddenly snapped. They charged like a raging herd of rhinos, barking and howling battle cries. One group headed straight towards us, large guns in tow. My dad yanked on my arm and we got down on all fours to run only to be confronted by yet another batch of soldiers. Their armor was like an albino insect's, padded with white titanium, stitched with a cloth I couldn't name, the majority of their helmets overtaken by giant black eye sockets. We were surrounded. One of them held a pistol that was larger than the rest and from it came a blast of black. It flowered above our heads into a net and as if hypnotized, I stood and watched as it descended. I felt my dad grab me and pull us in the other direction at lightning speed. We landed in a heap and I turned to see the snare land with a thwack right where we just were.
BAM!
A heavy weight pummeled into my side and my head slammed into the ground, my vision blurring white. For a moment I couldn't see, feel, or hear anything. Through a sheen of mist fogging my eyes, I saw that two soldiers had tackled us from the side and were trying to contain us. A ringing in my ears muffled their grunts and groans of struggle. I gritted my teeth as I tried to push them off, but their suits must've been made rocks because they wouldn't budge. I arched my back and flailed my arms and feet underneath them, pushing and pushing to no avail.
My dad was in a very similar state. A pair of troops was hunched over him, straining to control the now frenzied lion. My father, a mighty and powerful leader of a lion pride, used al of his strength and shoved the two straight off of him. In a flash of brown and black, he pounced at one of the disheveled soldiers that had previously tried to hold him down, baring his fangs and raised his claws, poised to lash.
Click.
Something went off above me and with a turn of my head, I saw that a man had unhooked a gun from his hip, extending it with unshaking arms, his gloved finger hovering over the trigger. I didn't realize what he was doing until a loud boom rang out, resonating through my entire being. Time slowed to a stop as I watched my father stumble back, clutching at his chest. Slowly, ever so slowly, he fell to the ground, his body limp as a crimson liquid leaking from where his heart was.
... no. No no... no no no no no no no no.
"Al... Alakay..." He mumbled through blood coated lips. I watched him. I watched with a still heart, unblinking eyes, motionless body, as the light left his green eyes.
No no no no no no no no no no...
This... this couldn't... this couldn't be happening. It can't be happening.
"No...No, Dad!" I cried out. I was vaguely aware that the soldiers were hoisting me up, their fists of iron causing little to no pain due to unexpected numbness. "Let go of me! Dad! NO!" I shouted at them, even though I knew all they heard were roars.
No, no no no no no no no no NO!
No! No, God, please no!
As they dragged me along, I pulled and pulled with every fiber and bone in my body, screaming and crying till my vocal cords were shredded to nothing.
He can't be dead he can't be dead he can't be dead he can't be dead!
From what I can recall of my trip from the field to the aircraft, it involved a lot of punching, kicking, and biting. My vision had gone into some sort of tunnel where the walls were a blur of grey and white, the end laid my father's corpse. Suddenly, a soldier cried out of the corner of my eye, jumping away when I bit down on something hard and meaty. The blob of a man shrieked, an appendage of his came away dripping with blood.
Did I do that? I didn't care to know.
Three more men came to help their fellow brothers in arms and restrained me. I felt one punch me in the face, putting my blood lust fit to a stop if only momentarily. I was then thrown onto the floor, the back of my head banging against hard metal. With my eyes clenched shut I stayed there, the wind knocked out of me, as the door shut with an echoing clamp of its locks. Slowly I sat up to find myself in some sort of a room, more like a prison cell than anything. A small window the size of a textbook was the only outage to the outside world except for the door, streaming with yellow light. I scrambled to it, pressing my nose against the thick glass. Ten stories below me, white donned soldiers scampered along the ground like ants, chasing after terrified animals. Bullets were fired, nets were thrown, cries for help were left unanswered. I could've sworn I saw my father's body lying in the midst. I continued to watch in horror.
This can't be happening! This can't be happening!
After what felt like an eternity, the troops came back to their ship with their catch of animals and the aircraft started to take off. I barely felt the sway of the vehicle leave the ground. Time ticked by; seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, but I couldn't tell. And I didn't care. I didn't care because I didn't want to. I didn't care because I refused to. I didn't care because all I felt was total hysteria take over my thoughts. What little of my heart there was had been left behind in Africa, brutally ripped out of my chest and left to bleed out at my dead father's side.
I leaned all of my weight onto the wall and slid down until my legs gave out, my long fur of my back brushing the cool steel grazing my spine, my arms wrapped around my knees. I sat there, gasping, my thoughts nothing but jumbled randomness. Somewhere far away, a distant throbbing stung my cheek. Must've been where they had hit me. But it was more like a thorn prick compared to the absolute agony I was in.
He's... ... he's... he's gone. He's gone, he's gone.
The steel door sighed open, revealing eight pairs of white boots and three others with white coats trailing at their calves. I didn't look up. I refused to look up. The men quickly got a hold of me before I could try anything and strapped my arms and legs together with lengths of thick rope, even took the measure sealing a large muzzle over my mouth. They forced me to lay down on my stomach, all of them pressing down on my head and body with their conjoined mass, making it nearly impossible for me to move. I didn't bother to struggle.
He's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone...
One of the doctors grabbed ahold of something on a medical cart that had been wheeled in. I chanced a glance upwards to see that delicately balanced in his thin fingers was a long syringe filled to the brim a blue liquid, clicking the glass vial with his gloved fingernail. The men pressed even harder, grasping the back of my skull with their balled fits and allowed the man to stab the instrument into the flesh of my bicep, pulling on the plunger. I still didn't move.
He's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone...
A deep ache coursed through my arm, spreading to my shoulder, my chest, my belly, my legs. It felt like fire, scorching my veins, bones, flesh, blood. Flames licking my insides, marking invisible, searing burns. And suddenly, I snapped. I roared in pain, I roared in agony, I roared despite the weighted metal clamp on my snout, I roared for all the world to hear of my anguish. I screamed and thrashed under the soldiers' knotted bodies, the back of my eyelids flashing white, my body going out of control due to the tremendous spasms shaking my limbs. At that moment, death would have been considered a blessing.
This is it! This is how it ends! I have lived my last day.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain subsided to a numbing tingle. I stilled to a stop, panting short breaths with my tongue lolling out of my mouth as the suited men cautiously got up and undid me. I didn't move. I didn't want to move. I refused to move.
"Quite the fighter, ain't he?" A voice said above me.
The last thing I wanted at that moment was to make eye contact with the ones who had murdered my father and enslaved my people. To see my reflection in those bulbous black eyes embedded into their helmets, hollow and empty like that of an insect's. My eyes were too watery to see anyway.
"Hell yeah, he is." Another asked, his voice deeper than his comrade's. "Did you see what he did to Jackson?"
"Yeah. The poor guy nearly got his arm torn off."
We're they talking about the person I had bitten earlier?
A sudden pressure became present on my temple, smelling of rubber and dirt. "Son of a bitch got him good." The soldier kicked back his book harder than needed, my head jerking to the side with a smack of my ear against the floor.
A burst of flavor coated my tongue. The distinct iron tang of blood.
Their feet trampled heavily by my head before exiting out my vision with the door shutting following after them. My throat was raw, my head ached, my muscles in miserable soreness, my appendages plump with the foreign substance now circulating through my blood vessels. I curled myself into a ball, fresh tears trickling down my sweaty face.
What little sanity I managed to cling enabled me to start thinking. Questions formed in my head, bobbing like wreckage at sea as if I were drowning in this mess.
Where are they taking me? Why me? Where are my friends? Where's my mother? What's happening?
I don't know I don't know I don't know.
But I did know that I was dying to close my eyes, to drown my worries in the murkiness of the injected fluid. I will fight and maul and beat the shit out of anyone that got in my way of finding the answers. After I rest, for... for just a minute... just one minu...
I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
After that, it was a bit blurry; all I remember was arriving in some deserted village and being placed in a house. Inside, I was reunited with my friends and mom and a woman in a stiff pencil skirt and pale hair explained to us what had happened. How the people who had kidnapped us, Peacekeepers of the Capitol, had enabled us to talk to humans and had placed us in specially designed districts made to provide and tend to the needs of our new leaders. The country of Panem, she had called it. The supposed land of the victorious.
From that moment forward, I knew that my life would never be the same.