Arthur Harrington- District Nine male
Anyone who saw me from the back would have thought I was an old man. My shriveled body clung in on itself when I walked. I stood drawn in and leaned forward, like a stalk of corn dried up by the sun and starting to curl inward. My hair was still thick, but it had no shine. It was like a dull coat of paint. If I started to look at someone, they'd see the gaunt cheekbones spiderwebbed with lines before they saw my child's face.
There was no sun in the basement cell I paced in. For an agrarian District, I lived an indoor life. Our sun was the glare of a flourescent light. Our fresh air was the flour dust that clogged our lungs and stung our eyes. Day and night were marked by the screech of a shift whistle. And for the last three days, I'd had none of that. I'd had the stone cell, the four hundred and thirty-nine ceiling tiles, and the tapping of my feet. I kept a tally of the taps. It kept me grounded, gave me something I had control over. Tap, tap, tap, until the door finally opened.
"Ready to get back to work?" Overseer Sod asked.
"Uh-huh," I assented. I looked at him plainly as I waited for his response. There were a lot more things I wanted to say, but I only wanted to say them if they would matter. I wanted out of here, but the only way out was through a lot of waiting. Waiting for the right minute, waiting until everything was lined up, waiting for my tiny pile of money to add up one cent at a time until I could run from this place and never look back.
I jostled into Overseer Sod as we walked up the narrow stone staircase connecting the basement to the factory above. He shoved me aside like a farmer pushing back a sheep that got too close. That's all he thought of any of us. We weren't even animals, we were just machines to do work to get him money. I was safe to do what I did because it never would have entered his mind that a machine had the capability to pick his pocket.
A scream pierced the walls. It didn't break my stride. Someone caught their hand in a machine, or someone didn't work quickly enough. Other screams punctuated our walk up the stairs. Some of them I recognized. Plenty of my coworkers knew my scream. The supervisors had lined my back with scars over the years, but when they walked by I didn't flinch.
We reached the factory floor and I looked into Hell. Stifling waves of heat from machines and closely packed bodies. Uniformed monsters wielding whips and truncheons. It wasn't legal what they were doing, but the devil doesn't need permission.
I looked from one side of the factory to another. The first scream from the staircase started up again. My eyes followed the noise to a boy younger than I was. That was why it was so high-pitched. The boy's voice hadn't broken yet. He was barely visible behind the supervisor's legs. I looked at the boy and in a flash I saw the way out of Hell. Because anything was better than this, even a one in twenty-four chance.
Camille Igawa- District Nine female
Ever eaten Hoot Loops? Flakeys? Pumkin Mumkins? On behalf of my parents, you're welcome.
Poor little rich girl, bleeding-heart types might say. I knew how it was. I was privileged. Madly privileged. When most people want cereal they buy a box, not a company. I used to live in my fancy house, doing my fancy activities and associating with fancy people. Then I finally went outside and realized I was fancy. That not everyone lived with this. It was hard to learn, but I never looked back.
A sea of black looked back at me when I opened my closet. I used to wear the frilly dresses and the pretty things my parents loved. I got into "alternative" to make them mad. I stayed because the more I looked into it, the more I realized goth shouldn't be a phase. It should be an aesthetic. It's not about shocking people. It's about acknowledging that darkness exists but appreciating that there's beauty in it. It expands the definition of what beauty can be. It's a contrast to most of the world. It's something different. For me, it was an entirely new skin. It was a way to make myself someone else. In my rich girl clothes, that was what I was. Anyone who looked at me could tell my class and my world. When I wore the clothes I picked for myself, I could have been anyone. I could go anywhere in Nine and not look out of place... or at least not out of place because of my class.
No one knew who I was when I stood on the corner and played my violin. They just knew I was Camille. That was what I told them when they starting coming up to me and getting to know me. Sometimes they tried to leave money, but I turned them away. They needed it and I didn't. The butcher needed it for his little boy Bobby. Old Mrs. Miller should have used it fo her limp. I saw the way she walked back in at night from the fields, way behind everyone else. I knew all the faces and I loved it when my music made them smile. When I was wearing my dark clothes and makeup and standing on that corner, it felt a lot more like I was at home.
Evey day I hoped I would see Dalek. Every day the song ended without him. I didn't blame him, not really. I'd been naive. We both had, but naivety meant different things for rich people and for poor people. We'd thought we were brave and invincible with our petty vandalism and mischief. When we were caught trashing my house, I got grounded. Everyone else got arrested. Dalek was the one that showed me how insulated and sheltered I was. On that day, he was the one that learned it.
That was another reason I came out and played. I played for myself and for how happy it made me. I played to see how far I could stretch my abilities and how far music could go. Also I played because I owed something. I had so much I didn't earn. My parents ran a business. I just lived with them. I was protected from tesserae and hard labor and even the law just because of who I was born as. These people had nothing. The least I could do was give them something beautiful. They deserved more, and I was working on that. I kept up my vandalism and petty crime on people who could afford it and gave any proceeds to people who needed it. A modern-day Robin Hood, if Robin Hood was as rich as the people he robbed and wore black tights with skulls on them. It just ate me up I couldn't do more. When I was with Dalek, I felt like what I was doing meant something. That was what I wanted. I wanted every minute of my life to be worthwhile. Not one wasted second.
Arthur: A short, malnutritional boy with gaunt features and tanned skin. His hair is overgrown, thick and black with dark brown eyes. An oversized Aquiline nose, misshapen from being broken multiple times. Of Greek descent. He has a charming smile and his eye still shine like most children his age.
Camille: Camille is a very tall and gangly looking girl. Her skin is very pale. She has a generally symmetric face with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Her hair is pitch black and always smooth and glimmering.
