(Trigger warning: as you all know from last chapter, Trisha is going to be executed, it's not explicit- it's a bit like TBOSAS and The Hanging Tree- it mentions some actions which some readers may find upsetting. Skip to the end of this chapter, if you don't feel comfortable).
With my heart thumping in my throat, I pull on my peacekeeper helmet, or my mask, and watch the scene unfold in front of me.
The peacekeepers order the lumberjacks to step away from the trees and stop working. They place down their equipment and do so without question. It's clear that they are terrified but they don't dare to make a noise. They don't want to be next. Then, they form short orderly lines where they are escorted, in a grid formation out of the forest, out of sight.
The last peacekeeper drags Trisha's unconscious body by her ankle. I watch as her head juts painfully against rocks and branches which I'm sure that peacekeeper didn't make avoiding obstacles the top of his list of priorities. Already, her hair is coated in mud and leaves and bugs and a thin trail of red is running from her forehead. He wants to shed all her dignity before she dies.
I duck out from behind the bush, into the workplace and follow him out of the forest, mustering up a false sense of authority so no one suspects the intruder. He's too preoccupied with injuring Trisha to notice me or hear my footsteps.
Quickly, I hear the buzz and chatter emerging from the District. The smell of vehicles hits me as I step out of the forest, along with the sound of trucks and people yelling. People here all seem to have a purpose- the truck drivers load up their vehicles and drive off to their next destination, Peacekeepers look over the District, children learn and each worker helps to maintain society. I've forgotten what a District about ground is like.
"The public hanging will take place at noon!" a peacekeeper shouts.
Trisha is still dragged on the concrete and now, blood flows from various places from her scalp, painting the road red.
The District looks at me with loathing. It's clear that they want to hang me.
I have to remind myself that they don't know I'm high up in the hierarchy, they think I'm a heartless Peacekeeper, willing to torture their friends.
I follow the crowd through the square. I pretend I know where I'm going and what's going on and I'm marching them to a destination.
As I walk through town, I take in District 7. No matter how far I am from the forest, the smell of pine needles never leaves us. The houses, closely packed together are all tiny and but it's clear that they've been cared for. I'm quick to notice that each one has a wood furnishing. Whether it's a wooden windowsill or a doorframe, it's there. I bet they were made from wood too poor to go to the Capitol.
As we approach the town centre, the number of shops increases too, with giant lorries parked outside them, covered in a shower of wood shavings and filled with lengths and lengths and lengths of timber, as tall as tower, dwarfing the already tiny shops.
The square, when we get there after an hour or so walk, is already full of people. Over looking the crowd is District 7's Justice Building, adorned with the Capitol seal. It's the only part of 7 that really shines. And there, with a circle formed around it like a sacrifice, right in the middle of the square, menacingly lie the gallows.
I take one look at Trisha, slumped on the ground and I know that she's already dead. She's lost too much blood. Congealed blood covers her face and neck, fresh blood leaks from her body
But the peacekeepers persist.
Picking up her lifeless body, they take her to the gallows.
Holding her up, they put the rope around her neck.
Releasing the trapdoor, they kill her once more.
I didn't know Trisha for very long. I only knew her for two days. But throughout those two days, she showed me so much kindness, so much that many people fail to do in a lifetime. She helped me- a stranger without a single doubt. She gave me the items I required. She had faith in me. She trusted me enough to pick me up and bring me here. She became a friend. This woman, who had lost almost everything, gave me the one thing she had left.
She gave me her life for this cause.
And I didn't even know her last name.
And I will remember her. And I will make sure that Trisha's death was not in vain.
They leave her body dangling from the beam. Blood from her head continues to drip, drip, drip, through the trapdoor onto the hard concrete of the square.
Tears drip, drip, drip down my face onto my collar.
I'm grateful for my helmet. No one will suspect a thing.
The Peacekeepers give the order to clear the square and the crowd silently files out.
I stand guard until everyone, but the Peacekeepers are left. Two stay to guard Trisha's body, and I'm dismissed.
Heart thumping in my chest, I escape to gaze of the Peacekeepers.
I know exactly where to go. I just need to find it.
I backtrack through the District until I reach the lorries.
Here, do people express their emotions.
"I wish I didn't have to see that," mutters one woman.
"It's so cruel," sighs an older man.
Then they turn around and to catch a glimpse of me. The effect is immediate. Their eyes comically widen and the blood drains from their face. They hurry away without another word.
I target a lorry driver with ease. He tries not to look terrified as I approach him.
"You're heading to the station?" I ask.
"Yes," he gulps.
"I'm tired. Take me there," I command
"Yes," he nods frantically. "I'll open the door for you."
I want to laugh but I control myself.
The journey takes half and hour and the lorry driver sits rigid for the entirety of the journey. He grips the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turn white and sweat drips from his forehead. He's fixated, intensely fixated on the road ahead and it sounds like he's scared to breath.
He pulls up outside the basic station and open the door for me.
"It was my pleasure to drive you here, I wish you a pleasant journey ahead," he proclaims, bowing.
I stifle a laugh. "Thank you," I respond.
District 7's station is small, there's only a few platforms and I find the one I need quickly. Never-ending rusted cargo trains line the tracks, filled with timber. I feel tiny compared to them.
Near the front of the train is a miniscule compartment for workers and pull the door open and slip into it. It's dark, there's one window and no light. After I find a seat, I sit down and I lower my visor and the stuffy smell of mildew immediately hits me. Hastily, I slide my visor back up.
The whistle from the platform blows and no one else gets on the train apart from the driver.
The cargo train steadily rocks me back and forth and villages and forests and fields and lakes flash past the window on my journey to the Capitol.
I've been wanting to get to this part of the story for so long and we are finally here!!!
I'm so excited to share what's coming next and I hope you guys are excited to read it!
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