Most people come out here because it's quiet.
I come because it's loud.
I suck in a deep breath and watch the red sun disappearing behind the waves that reach until the earth curves. The sand beneath my fingers is damp from high tide, and a pale crab scurries quickly across my hand. No one's talking, no one's moving. No one's here. Yet noise pounds around inside of my head, rattling my skull. Silence tends to speak louder than words.
It's nice to get away from the lies sometimes. It can work on someone's mind when all they hear are lies, lies, and more lies. All I want is to take in some good clean truths. I need to hear a fact, an opinion, anything that isn't constructed to deceive me. Don't they know I can tell when their lips form words they don't mean?
I tuck my French braid into the back of my scarf and stand up quickly, slipping into my worn-down sandals.
The ocean is beautiful, just as it is everyday, but one cannot watch it for too long. It stares me down, taunts me, and draws me to it. I could swim until I reached the curve of the earth, until I fell off the edge. I'd never come back to Panem, to District 4.
I glance once more at the sun glancing off of the waves and turn on my heel, kicking up sand behind me.
The beach ends in no time, and the cold air of fall in the south hits my cheeks, reminding me all at once that I am no longer protected by the empty sand, and am instead being watched by every blinking eye as I approach the square.
"Hey Shay," a man calls to me as I hop over the old pothole that sits in the middle of the road.
I nod to him quickly, although I have not the slightest clue who he is. I'm Shay Farley Cresta, though, and around here that name is famous. I reach into my beige overcoat and pull out the crisp white notepad that lies in my pocket. I shake my head slightly, not enough so anyone could notice, and pull my scarf closer to my chin.
"Good evening, Ms. Cresta," another woman says, bowing her head at me as she sweeps her porch. I offer her a minute smile but no words. What am I supposed to say to the people living in shacks that line the outskirts of the city? Good day to you to? I hope you don't get shot? I bite the inside of my lip to keep from blurting anything that will get me arrested and sigh in relief as my eyes find the stage set up just for me and my family.
"Welcome," my mother is saying as I quietly climb up the stairs and take a seat next to my dad, whose foot is tapping anxiously against the floor. It isn't often you see Red Cresta anxious.
"My name is Sea Farley," my mother continues, grabbing the podium so tightly her knuckles turn white.
Everyone in the crowd nods politely, although they already know who she is. Her speech is scripted, though, and changing the words could mean all our deaths.
"I am here today to remind the lovely citizens of District four that we would not be here if it were not for the Capitol. They provide us with protection from the unspeakable things lurking outside of the city limits, and keep order in our fragile but prosperous community." Sea swallows loudly, beads of sweat rolling down the back of her neck.
"I thank you, District four," she continues, her voice shaking slightly. "For being so supportive of our government and of our system."
She turns quickly and walks back to her seat, her eyes glazed over as if she's just finished watching the games.
I step up, my legs steadier than I would have thought.
"Good evening," I say, testing my voice in the microphone. "I'm Shay Farley Cresta. The Capitol has done more for me than I could have ever asked." I glance down at the flash card before me. "They have offered me shelter, and supper, and clothing. They have offered me an education, an opportunity. They have offered the games, which keep those who despise our race in line." I shutter as I look at the last piece. "I am forever in debt to the nation of Panem. I will do anything in my power to repay them. I would give my family, I would give my humanity. I would give my life."
I step away from the podium, scowling, and tuck the notepad into my pocket.
I know what else I'm supposed to say, and I don't need the Capitol's words staring back at me to do so.
"The 26th games are approaching, and we ask, as a community, that you do not let the events of the recent quarter quell hinder your thoughts towards one another, nor towards Panem."
I bow my head at them and walk quickly offstage, my fists clenched tightly.
"I'm sorry you had to say all that, Shay," my dad murmurs next to my ear, his feet moving in time with mine.
"It doesn't mean anything," I say harsher than I intended to. "They're just saving their own skin. Can't have a rebellion now, can we?" My father nods, his eyes flashing and slows his pace, letting me pull ahead. I keep my eyes straight ahead as I make my way to the victors village. It doesn't matter what I tell these people, it won't change what they think, what they do. The threat of the games and of death is too large. No one has enough bravery to speak up, including me.
That's why I don't know the truth yet. That's why I'm so sheltered from the realities of Panem.
I'm not brave.
Without glancing down, I begin to run, my sandals pounding against the ground, my corduroys hugging my thighs, the salty air filling my lungs. I've said that same speech one hundred times, and it's never had any effect on me. I don't know why it does now, on an ordinary Sunday night, in the middle of March.
I guess that's the price of being famous.
You do what they tell you, and slowly, without warning, it breaks you apart.
The path leading out of the square is made of faded brick. I make sure to step on each one as I walk, until they begin to disappear and are replaced by only dirt.
I watch the children play on the beach, their blonde heads bobbing as they trip in the sand. They're all sitting in a circle, their little hands pounding against their knees in time with my heartbeat. The path curves towards them and I follow it, straining my ears to hear what they are singing.
"People are dying,
Children are crying.
Concentrate."
I shove my hands into my pockets and continue on, still watching the kids, no older than six, singing their song.
"Tears stream,
The rebels scream.
Concentrate."
A rebellion song. My feet come to a stop and I stare at them, surrounded by the beautiful evening light.
"Bones break,
we lay awake.
Concentrate."
They can't sing that. They can't.
"People are dying,
Children are crying.
Concentrate."
The scream rips through my throat and somehow I find the will to move my feet again. I run faster than I have ever run, stumbling over the rocks in my way, tearing along the path until my breath escapes me and I am forced to come to a stop.
I glance up at the house I have halted in front of.
The door is a light blue, the windows rimmed in gold. I skip the front steps two at a time and pound on the door twice. It doesn't take him long to answer.
"Shay," he says, looking surprised. "What are you-"
I push past him, slamming the door behind me, and collapse at his kitchen table.
"Can I have some water?" I demand suddenly.
He nods, reaching into his cupboard without taking his puzzled gaze off of me. I snatch the glass from him and let the cool liquid seep into my throat.
"Thanks," I say, breathless.
"Now you get to tell me what's going on," he says, sitting down across from me.
"Jersey, I don't-" I begin, but this time he cuts me off.
"You don't get to say that you don't want to talk about it. You're here and so you get to talk."
"I'm not very good at talking," I mutter.
"Neither is your mother," Jersey chuckles, standing up. "Fine. You don't have to talk."
"I'm scared," I blurt suddenly, wringing my hands together in my lap. "About the games. About District 4. About what I have to say to these people day after day."
He stares at me with those golden eyes and nods.
"You wouldn't be human if you weren't scared," he says finally, turning back to the dishwasher. "I was scared when I got picked for the games."
"No," I say, frustrated. "I'm not scared about getting picked. Hell, it might be a good break from all of this."
"Don't say that," he interrupts harshly. "Never say that."
I ignore him and continue talking. "I'm tired of feeding these people lies. That's all anyone ever tells me, lies. And I'm tired of it. Aren't they?"
Jersey sighs and wipes his hands on a dish towel.
"I don't know, Shay. I can't tell if someone is lying like you can. I don't know the difference between a truth and a lie. So I don't let it bother me."
I don't say anything, and instead stare at his face.
"Okay," I whisper after a moment. "Thanks Jersey."
He nods. "Anytime Shay."
With a last wave, I let myself out of his house and cross over two more to mine. The reaping isn't for another two weeks. I have time to find my level head again, to realize that it's my choice if I am to tell people lies or not. I have to, if I don't want my family killed. I step into my house and let the warm air from the heater surround my body. I glance only once over my shoulder, at the ocean, and see the children in their circle.
I shutter, a shiver running down my spine.
People are dying, children are crying. Concentrate.