The Ballad of Lucy Gray

Chapter 11

The hot sun beats down on me, drenching me in a sheen of sweat under my army uniform.

I'm sitting outside on the rubble of District 13 where the bombs dropped. I'm 21 now and five years ago, I escaped the grasp of the Capitol. Today, I'm high in the ranks of District 13's army force. It's all down to persistent training and constantly pushing myself. I don't tell anyone but my main motivation is bringing down the Capitol. "I'm doing this to bring down the Capitol the Games and Snow. Free Panem." I repeat it to myself like a mantra every morning, night, when I'm doing drills. Every moment of my day.

Edel and I convinced President Ashbrook to let the citizens of 13 go outside four years ago. At first, he was reluctant, always going on about the possible risks of being seen, dangerous waste and potential hazards. I think he just didn't want the Capitol hovercrafts to come again and bomb everyone on the surface. Didn't want to loose his son, Edel like he lost his wife during the Dark Days.

Seeing daylight has transformed the people of 13. What once were the  pale, walking dead has become bright, glowing people, radiating life. Even Edel's skin has lost the translucent look about it.

In District 13's compound, not much has changed. Same facilities, practices, routines, although a man who escaped from District 3 called  Fuser has set up a radar system to detect aircraft from the Capitol incase there is an attack.

On the surface however, it's a different story. Nature has taken over the rubble. Green vines and shoots have bloomed from the ashes, forever trapping the rocks in its splendor. A bit like one of the pictures in some of the old fairytale books my mama used to read when I was little. Beauty in the battlefield.

And us. We have changed too. I hate to admit it but I'm hardened with hate for the Capitol. For imprisoning us like this. They are the vines and we are the rocks. Pieces in their system. No matter what we do, we can't escape their grasp. Not really. To them, our imprisonment is something to be admired, loved, treasured. A pretty picture. Just like the Hunger Games and how it's seen as the ultimate form of entertainment.

Fuser, who came to 13 in the depths of winter last year told us about the growing success of the Games. People watch it now. With the Capitol growing richer and more powerful, some households have been provided with a television screen to watch the Hunger Games. Luckily, he didn't recognise me. He told us the victors are treated as celebrities- they arrive in a real train, not a cattle truck, get mandatory interviewes and if they win, they live in a mansion in a place in the district called "victor's village."

I can't help thinking if anyone else from 12 has won.

This morning, I did exercises to strengthen my muscles. A five mile run which was always the death of me. Now, I can manage six.

"Soldier Coin, Soldier Ashgrove. Report to the shooting range!" yells our group leader and trainer, Soldier  Taliss.

I've lost track of time. Lunch is over. I cram the pita bread down my mouth and walk over to our next training exercise. Shooting.

"Hey Alma, I've been meaning to ask you. Where does your name come from?" whispers Fennel.

"Alma. It means soul and loving and kind in languages spoken once upon a time. My mama told me. I thought of a coin. A coin has two faces. Just like Lucy Gray Baird."

"That's clever."

"What about yours?"

He chuckles. "That's easy. Fennel is a seed and we used to eat it back in 9 Grove is a group of trees. Originally, I wanted to call myself Fennel Grove. But then I saw all the ash when we first saw 13. Ashgrove sounded perfect."