"It's not his fault," I express loud enough to the man while his arm is still raised and ready to strike if I say the wrong thing to provoke a hit. "He's just-he's just trying to help calm everyone down. Please don't resort in violence. It's what they want." I don't need to explain who 'they' are, and I know the man understands exactly who I speak about as his demeanor softens and the weapon lowers. I can see something click in his grey eyes and realization dawns in his expression: this is what the Capitol. They want the frantic violence so they can whip the districts into shape again with the games. The control of the country with the threat of sending children into a killing arena is an addictive feeling, I feel, which is why they can't stop the Games for forever; they're bored now with everything finally having settled in.
"I'm sorry," he stammers, dropping the weapon which I am now aware is a baton most likely stolen from Bones or another officer. Knowing that I am now safe for now, I quickly assess Bones' injury. There is a purple, swollen lump on his temple, and I know that he needs medical attention for the concussion. Who knows if he's internally bleeding in his brain, but I don't have that kind of medical training to know.
I look up again at the man who is still can't unglue his eyes from Bones' body and speak with newly-found bravery, "Can you pick him up?"
"Wh-what?" He's still shocked that he has hit a guard and knows he can and will probably get reprimanded seriously for it.
"You can fix this. Can you pick him up and carry him to the medical center?" I ask, my voice now harsh and urgent, having no patience now for his blundering. It wasn't the time to stand there in shock and look so surprised for something he acted upon before thinking. Bones is no small man nor is he very bulky, but the other man, however, obviously works in a field that involves in carrying or working with heavy objects. Convenient. As if Bones weighed as much as sack of flour, the man hoists the officer over his shoulder and hurries off in the direction of the hospital. I can only hope Bones doesn't suffer from that bad of an injury.
It's almost as if the thinking before acting rubs off of me as I don't really think before I slip further into the crowd to find some sort of center of it all or someone who obviously ignited the whole riot, but I find nothing. There is nothing to signify where the the match struck in the midst of all the flames, and it also doesn't help that there are so many people here. It also possible that no one person started it, that it had been a quickly thought of plan to get together to revolt.
"We didn't fight to have this happen all over again!" A voice yells over the rest, and I follow it, sliding and pushing past all the bodies who were bumping into another as if they were a swarm of angry tracker jackers trying to find the exact culprit of who disturbed their peaceful nest. It was the Capitol, of course, but there was no way to attack them from here without travelling a long distance. "We will not send our Victors' children into the ring nor will we send future children there! We didn't fight in a war for the games to return again!" It was a woman who I had seen only a few times in the Hob, named Camellia. I had traded with her those times: a squirrel for a bag of greens, a rabbit for coffee and more greens, and she had given me eggs for the bakery since we had once given her daughter a small cake for her birthday; she had said it was a small token of her appreciation for such a nice gesture.
Somehow Camellia spots me weaseling my way to the front of the thickness of the crowd and gestures me to join her up on the small podium made of a wooden crate, to possibly say a few words or just agree with her statements by contributing just my appearance. Whichever it is, I am somehow comfortable enough to oblige. Being that I am more of the shy one compared to my twin, I am surprised that I have summoned enough courage and strength to step onto the crate and have Camellia hold me next to her by wrapping her right arm around my shoulders. The surrounding people listening to the words of Camellia fall a bit more silent when they see my face appear before them. I am a child of the Mockingjay, but it shouldn't be a shock to see me stand alongside everyone who opposes the games to resume. My parents fought to bring down the games, so shall I if I must. "Willow Mellark will not be sent to fight to the death in the Hunger Games like her parents did! The Mockingjay did not fight to end the Hunger Games just to see her children go in just like she and Peeta did! We will not stand for such injustice!"
The crowd roars in agreement and anger, and my chest swells with an emotion I cannot place. Sadness? Awe? Anger? Bewildered? I am emotionally moved nonetheless that so many of District 12 agrees that they do not wish to have my brother and me sent to the Hunger Games. It makes me feel as if they will be just as sad as parents will be to see me off, possibly to never see me again, and I am overcome with more heartache knowing that I may not step foot in District 12 in the near future.
"Willow, do you wish to say something?" Camellia whispers in my ear, not giving me any involuntary spotlight. Do I wish to relay any of my commanding, overwhelming thoughts? Could I say everything I need to in just a few words?
"If Rye and I really are sent to the games, don't lose hope," I say, the words diving from my lips almost without my consent, "Like Camellia said, we didn't fight for our peace to go to waste. Things may seem depressing or dark, but we can't let that destroy everything we fought so hard for. We rose from the ashes, but we will not fall again." District 12 had literally been built up from the ashes from where it had been bombed, but it was deemed safe to restore after only a couple of years. And when the district was almost complete, my parents were expecting my brother and me to join the newly created world that they helped restore. A district was reborn as the ones who assisted in bringing the peace were delivering their own new life into it. I can't just allow their suffering and trauma be for nothing. If I have to, then I will fight so they won't have to.
But before I am utter another syllable, there is a tug on my shoulder and see that it is Rye with a very worried expression plastered on his face. "We have to go," he says simply and I don't think twice before letting him help me down and following him. I can't tell if my words have made matters worse or better, because I am now surrounded by my almost-crippling anxiety instead of the suffocating flock of people. It is as if the crowd has melted away, and all I see are my irreversible mistakes and unfavorable decision making. I can't believe I willingly climbed up onto the makeshift podium and spoke in front of everyone as if I was my mother. Any other day I would have strayed clear from anything like that. I can only expect the worse when I see my parents, and what their reactions are going to be.
The silent treatment is what I receive up until we enter our home in the Victors' Village; not even Rye utters a single word, knowing that we say will ignite something bigger. The walk home is agonizing as my thoughts are forced to drown in everything I did wrong in that short amount of time. Their facial expressions said it all when we reach them at the edge of the commotion: worried, upset, angry. Had they heard what I said? Had they seen me stand next to Camellia?
Walking inside was worse, knowing that some sort of lecture was about to ensue. The stifling air is tangible and I feel as if it may be worse than the crowd I had thrown myself into. My mother doesn't look at or talk to me when we simply stand in the living room, not able to sit down as all of us are running off of adrenaline; it is my father that speaks first.
"Willow, I-" my father starts, but pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, attempting to relieve the stress that I have induced upon my parents. They had been looking for me, and I couldn't imagine the amount of fear they must have felt during that time, but they knew exactly where I was; the fear will be worse when I am in the arena, but I don't dare bring that up. "What were you thinking, running into the crowd like that? The Capitol is already watching everyone, don't you get it, Willow?" My father places his hands firmly onto my shoulders, forcing me to look at him, "You are already being watched closely; do you want to give them a reason to send you out of the district earlier than need be?" I don't answer for a long moment as fear has caught my tongue, not letting go until my father continues with a, "Well?"
"I'm sorry. I saw Bones get knocked down, and he would have been in much worse shape if I hadn't shown up. And I just had the feeling that I should go further into the crowd, and I did. I felt drawn, I can't explain it. And I didn't think before standing up on the crate, I didn't-"
My father cuts me off by pulling me against his chest, his arms securely wrapped around me. "We have to be more careful, do you understand? It's almost Reaping Day, and we don't want you to be more on the Capitol's bad side. It's enough that you're being sent in the games, we don't need anything else to make the situation worse."
It's possible that I have already created a worse situation for all of us by speaking. I shouldn't have stepped up beside Camellia; I should have kept my mouth shut when Camellia inquired if I would like to say something. If everything goes terribly during our journey to the Capitol, I wouldn't be surprised.
Here's to being consistent in weekly updates! I hope y'all enjoy today's installment, and if you have any suggestions on who would like to see in Willow and Rye's friend group that will be in their alliance in the game, let me know. Or even be instant enemies, that works too ;) Next chapter will be most likely Reaping Day, or should I write another chapter with them trying to live their normal lives, but things are super tense with the obvious uprising happening? Things are about to get wild, y'all.