I only ever killed one person that wasn't a peacekeeper. It had been a foggy night, and the stupid man wore white, the color of the peacekeeper's outfits. He was loud, and clumsy like them too, which is odd for someone in District 11. I recognized my mistake almost immediately, and I gave him a quick death.
Merciful.
Peacekeepers die slow.
Besides, I was running a business off of what I managed to gather. I couldn't risk getting caught, now could I?
Staring at what promised to be an amazing sunrise, I remembered something I had tried very hard to forget :
Today was the day of the reaping.
Today 24 children – 1 male and 1 female from my own district – would be sent to play in a violent game known as the Hunger Games. They were forced to kill each other, and the last one standing was crowned the victor. Of course, it was possible for me to have been among them – my name would be in there extra times – 20, because I had signed up for tessera to feed me and my dad.
If I wasn't apart of them, I would get to sit by the television and watch it – every minute of it.
No one really watched if they could help it.
Why did the Capitol make us do this?
To remind us not to rebel again.
I signed and dropped danother Granny Smith apple into the basket on the ground below. A mockingjay trilled an octive, startled by the sudden sound. Another mockingjay takes up the tune, and another after that. In only a few moments, the mockingjay song echoes throughout the field. Taking advantage of the sudden noise, I jumped to the ground and picked up the basket, walking hurridly away from the fields.
Exiting the fields was a complicated matter – the gate squeaked when you opened it and you had to be sure that no peacekeepers heard it.
Because if they do, you're dead.
Or, at least, as good as dead.
But there was no problems that day, for there were no peacekeepers in sight, and the still strong song of the mockingjays covered the squeak.
The peacekeeper that guards the gate turned his back on me, aware that he couldn't turn me in after I'd given him meat, but not wanting to lie and say he's seen no one. I closed the gate behind me and truged off, carrying the basket. It was a larger load than normal today.
I placed the basket in my ususal alley. It was filled with trash – our compost heap. The peacekeepers stayed clear of it – they didn't like the smell. The whole district was bugged with voice recorders, so, as long as everyone is careful about what they say, I can easily sell my goods here.
My first customer is beside me in an instant – Isadora Remming, a short, skinny girl who was often underfed – a fate only too common.
I smiled at the 12-year-old girl "Hungry?" I asked. An innocent enough question, but Isadora looked hungrily at the apples and nodded.
"Didn't sleep well," she said casually, grabbing three apples. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question : how much?
"No one sleeps well on the eve of Reaping Day," I sighed, shrugging my shoulders "but surely you slept a little bit." This last sentence was me offering her to name the price.
"Oh, and hour or two . . . on and off . . . four times," Isadora grabbed another apple, raising an eyebrow again at me. I understood her meaning. She'd pay me a coin or two for each of the four apples.
"One and a half each time?" my tone was casual
She nodded immediately. "Yes, yes, that sounds about right." She fished out six coins from her pockets, and placed them in my palm. "See you in the square."
"See you in the square." I echoed absently.
My apples sold quickly. People paid with what they could. It was well known that I preferred coins, but I was reasonable. I gave the baker 3 apples for a loaf of bread, the seamstress seven for a new hat (my old one was getting small) and teacher Mary two for a few potatoes. I was dying to ask where she had gotten them, but I didn't dare.
I was only left with three when a small, dirty-faced orphan girl approached me, her even smaller brother trailing behind her. Seemingly nervous, she pointed at my basket. I nodded, extending my hands : What do you have?
She shakily began to sing. I could tell by the way she closed her eyes tight that she was making it up as she went – ambitious. She gripped her brother's hand so tightly her knuckles were white.
Feeling bad for this small orphan girl who wanted an apple for herself and her brother on Reaping Day, I gripped her shoulder and joined her in the song, making it up as I went.
'Like the bird
Flying above the trees!
Like song
Free to do anything
Like the wind
Not contained by anything.
One day, I shall escape
One day, I shall be free!
Free of this prison
Free from this cage
Free!
Free to fly!
Free to love!
Free to die ...
Freedom ...
Oh!
To be free,
To be free
I swear to you,
I swear it!
I shall break through these barriers one day
No matter what it takes
To break through the injustice
To reach the liberty!
Freedom!
Free!
Free to fly!
Free to love!
Free to die ...
Freedom ...
Oh!
To be free,
To be free!'
The final note hung in the air. I stared at the girl, our eyes meeting. I can tell by what I see there that we are thinking the same thing.
Of freedom.
Of rebellion.
For someone in the Capitol was sure to be listening to a recording of our song at that moment . . . wondering what it meant. It was perfectly obvious to me – it was spitting of rebellion and trouble.
I have pretty much guaranteed one of us a spot in the Hunger Games – and the other the year after.
And a guaranteed bloody and gruesome death in the arena.
I stared at the girl. You could tell by the way she held her chin the she's a proud one, and if I try to look past the filth, she looked older. "12 years old?" I guessed
"13," she answered, staring into my eyes, asking : What have we done? I shrugged, not daring to answer.
"Sign up for tessera?" I asked instead.
"Yes," she said, putting an arm around her brother.
"Good girl," I handed her an apple "and your brother's name?" I referred to the ragged child behind her
"Issac," she ruffled her brother's hair fondly
"Issac," I knelt down to his level and met his ice-blue eyes. "It has been a pleasure." I handed him an apple. His eyes widened slightly, and he took the apple, clutching it to his chest protectively as though he thought that she would take it back.
"Thank you," he said. I wondered what the Capitol would make of this remark. I shrugged to myself. We'd already done enough damage for this small remark to be ignored.
I stood back up, taking the girl's hands, staring into her eyes. There is so much I wanted to say to her, but I can only squeeze her hand. She smiled at me and let go. She took her brother's hand and then they were gone.