A/N Hello! Thank you to Reader Castellan, Dame Selena, and santiago. poncini20 for reviewing and Reader Castellan and fangirl246010 for following! I greatly appreciate it, and it really encourages me. I said that this was a side project, so that's why there was such a gap between the previous chapter and this one. Let's visit District Eleven.
District Eleven
When the sun rises upon the huge fields of District Eleven, people are already up, laboring in torchlight, working to harvest all the crops. They still have a few more hours to complete before the next shift comes on. They adeptly pick the tomatoes and dig up tubers. Corn that produces three times a year is plucked by men and women, boys and girls, young and old. Sweat runs down the side of their darker skin, and it only increases once the warmth of the sun banishes the coolness of night.
In a neighboring field, a strong nine-year-old boy works beside his older sister, pulling up the greens. They work carefully, every so often, she nervously glances at the stern peacekeeper standing at the end of the row. The boy doesn't mind though, he knows that the Peacekeepers don't really care about the crops as long as they're harvested. He doesn't know what Peacekeepers might do.
Meanwhile in the shabby, run-down residential sector, a woman goes into labor. Her husband has to work, so her little three-year-old daughter runs to get the doctor.
"Mama need you!" the little girl says, "Pwease!"
The doctor moves quickly, but he can't help but smile at the little girl. He follows her to her home to deliver the baby.
A few hours later, a horn rings in the fields, signalling the end of the shift. The boy follows his sister onto the truck they use to ride home. He brushes his hand on the wild grasses growing by the road before he enters the truck and they close the door behind them. He stands in the darkness, since there's no room for anyone to sit, waiting to get home.
The truck pulls into the pickup spot, and the Peacekeepers open the door, letting them all out. They walk home silently. His family was never one to talk, at least, since his mom died and his father ran off. As they walk by a row of shacks, they hear the wailing of a newborn baby. He smiles.
Meanwhile, inside the shack, the little girl watches her baby brother, fascinated. He cries and cries, but as the mother rocks him in her arms, he slowly falls asleep. The girl asks to hold him, but her mom doesn't let her. The door opens, and the father comes in, tired from a long night at work. He picks up swings the girl playfully, and creases from laughter cross his worn, tired face.
But later in the day, when his little girl is out playing with the neighbors, the parents talk.
"Old man Tucker died last night. He tried to eat one of the apples we were picking and got shot. He probably hasn't eaten in a week. It's a miracle he lived til today."
"There was another whipping in the square because a woman tried to steal a few heads of corn. She has four children! And her man, who knows where he is? They say that the poor woman won't live."
They both sigh, knowing that there are hundreds upon hundreds of these cases every day. They are powerless, unable to do anything against the trigger-happy Peacekeepers lurking around every corner. This is what they know and have always known.
District Eleven, where farmers die trying to eat the fruit of their labor.
A/N Any predictions for District Ten?