✄ .・。.・゜✭・.
our tainted history, is
playing on repeat, but
we could change it
━━━
██ 002. / GENERATION UNAFRAID
█ ✄ ... / PAISLEY MUST HAVE visited the Tuft at least a dozen times already, and yet, every time it made her body feel weightless.
It was an entirely out of body experience, lulling her into the powerless paralysis of sleep, and though her mind had fallen into a complete standstill, her body found a way of moving entirely on its own. Indeed, the abandoned building always felt doused in some sort of haze, and she was certain she could feel the phantom stares of lost souls breathing down her neck, like the place was brimming wall-to-wall with ghosts.
No, something had always guided her there, but it wasn't from any volition of her own... Somebody had guided her, even if she wasn't sure it was a good idea, because he had always believed in abandoning sensibility, if it meant doing what was right.
Perhaps he was the spirit she could feel tugging at her limbs, always finding some way to crawl underneath the very depths of her skin. She could feel him burning through her blood like a rush of adrenaline, slowly injecting fire into her veins. There were some days when the contact felt like a warm hug. Other days, she just felt strangled. But either way, his presence was always there, watching. Prodding away at her every move...
Paisley had never been particularly fond of ghosts.
The room had fallen dead silent after Paylor's introduction. So quiet, even, that Paisley's strained ears could just about make out every scrape of heel on the concrete floors. There had been a roar of ovation at first, the raucous teens showering their leader with appreciation, but the thunder soon died down. Now, the crowd simply stood there, eagerly awaiting in their state of awe-filled silence.
Emory Paylor was majestic — only nineteen, yet already a natural-born leader, with a strong and a mighty aura that made her glow like a god. Her body was malnourished, her dark skin charred with black soot from her factory hours, just like the rest of them — and yet, something about her seemed to exude power. Even those who did not know her, trusted her words beyond belief.
Hundreds of them had gathered to listen to her speak, all lumped together in the barren warehouse like sardines, but none of them seemed to mind. They had all risked their lives to be there — passing along secret messages, travelling after curfew, littering their skin — because the reason they had gathered was so much more important to them than their lives.
Looking around, Paisley didn't recognise them all, but that was no surprise either. They had come from all over, with those from the farthest towns having to cross practically the entire district to be there. Some of them had even come from over the bridge.
Thank god that nowhere in the highly-condensed district required too great a trek.
After several more seconds of tantalising silence, the girl on the stage finally cleared her throat to speak. "Greetings, to you all. I'm overjoyed to see so many of you were able to get here tonight, but unfortunately, we didn't bring you here to exchange pleasantries. Tomorrow, at exactly twelve-thirty, we will be forced out of our homes so that they can herd us into the Square like cattle. They will count us, and they will feed our minds with propaganda, and then they will pluck our names like we are nothing but pawns for them to take. Freedom — is what they will say this new world of theirs holds. Freedom... Freedom for who?"
Paisley closed her fists, rubbing her fingers together until the calluses on her palms felt clammy and raw. Her gaze shifted to the back of the makeshift stage, where her eyes burned feverishly with the desperate need for familiar contact. There were several figures standing behind Emory — some that she recognised, others she did not, but her eyes only sought after one.
Gus's attention was elsewhere, his eyes focused intently on the back of the speaker's head, but the image of her restless jittering must have eventually crossed his peripheral. He averted his eyes to meet hers, responding to her plea with a playful wink, and the gentle contact of his familiar eyes eased Paisley's nerves almost instantaneously.
Satisfied, she turned her focus back to Paylor, whose expression was becoming more impassioned with every line of speech.
"Well, I say no", she spoke bluntly, the subdued tone of her voice growing significantly louder, "I say no to their laws and I say no to their rules. I say no to the 'freedom' that they force onto me whilst they keep my mind in shackles and my body in chains!"
The entire crowd erupted into another round of applause, this time amplified by chants and screams. If it wasn't for the soundproof walls of their far-out shell, Paisley was sure they would all be dead by morning. As her voice boomed, Emory's hands waved zealously to emphasise her point, gaining strength and momentum with every word. Slowly, her voice grew louder and more frantic, yet still, her composure remained entirely contained.
There was assurance in the words she spoke, and to those who listened, they were practically biblical.
"What is our so-called 'Freedom'? Could any of us really tell? Is it that which slavery has become known all too well — for the very name of it has grown to become nothing but an echo of our own?"
"Is it freedom, to work all day, and have such pay that you just about keep life running from day to day — trapped in your limbs as if in a cell... Whilst that tyrant up there uses us to dwell. It is for them that you are made — to loom and plough and sword and spade, and with or without your own will, you are bent, for their nourishment and their defence."
More chanting — this time louder.
"Is it 'freedom' to see our children weak? Or to watch our mothers struggle, pine and peak? Is it freedom when the winters fall too bleak, to see our people dying as we speak? To feel your body crumple to the ground..."
"And is it freedom to go hungry on our humble diet, whilst this rich man against whom we riot, casts our food away to those fat dogs that lie, selfishly surfeiting beneath his very eye?"
"To be a slave, and to hold no control over your own will, but to be nothing except all that others make of you? A tribute, or a martyr — a single name lost to a slip of paper. A worker, or a fighter? Try an agitator, an ignitor..."
The names danced around in her head. Agitator. Ignitor. But one word stuck with Paisley much deeper than the others.
Martyr. She had almost definitely heard that one before...
"And tell me this! When at length, you do complain, is it freedom to see this tyrant's crew, shoot down your brothers and your sisters - to shoot at you? Our children die, and yet our guts they spew. Blood is on our ground like dew."
At some point, the air in the room had grown hotter, thickening until Paisley felt like she could not breathe. Beneath the surface of her skin, she could feel her apprehension rising, the blood in her veins boiling, until she felt overcome with hatred. Her head felt like it was going to explode.
"Then I say what our freedom really is, is to seek revenge. To fiercely thirst for our exchange — of blood for blood, and wrong for wrong. Do not quiver when we are strong!"
Blood for blood.
Wrong for wrong.
Perhaps the only thing that Paisley didn't feel was strong...
"This is slavery, from savage men. For even wild beasts without a den would endure that 'freedom' which our parents do — even if such bonds they won't break through. Their mind-forged manacles have stuck like glue. Do not follow down their path... Freedom is for every village, hut and town; where those who live and suffer drown in agony. Fight back with anarchy - not just for others' misery, but for yourself. For the workhouse, like a prison — where pale as corpses newly risen, women and children both young and old, groan in pain and weep from cold. From those very haunts of our daily life, in which we are waged a daily strife... Four hours, everyday, they say. And yet, it is they who gluttonise, whilst we wither away. With our common wants and our common cares — those which sow the heart with tares... it is you who suffers. Why is it your freedom, still undiscovered?"
"What is freedom? Oh! Could slaves answer from their living graves? Listen here to me — you are not a shadow soon to pass. Freedom is supposed to be for all of us. It is for the labourer, the taste of bread; and at night a hefty table spread, so that after his daily hours he can find a tidy home and a happy mind. Freedom is clothes and fire and warmth and food. It is not to be forced onto the streets, in trampled multitude."
"To the rich we are nothing but another cheque — do you feel how brashly that tyrant's foot presses firmly on your neck? So that a show of us he can make... Well, I say we bite back their bullets, and we tread that snake!", she was yelling now, fury flooding out in waves with every word that left her throat, "See how idiot-like he stands? Fumbling and fiddling with palsied hands?"
"From us, he has stolen child after child. It is because of him, that our dust of death has piled. How many lives have we lost because of their shackles? They say we are too disobedient. Too loud. All because we are too intelligent to accept their shroud. They call us a sickness, and a plague... Well, I say that maybe all of those deaths have meaning! Do not let them die in vain!"
Paylor paused for a second, and the frantic tone in her voice came to a soft lull.
"And so, my friends, among us from what I can see... is an army of the fearless and the free. In choosing to step within these withered grounds today, you have chosen to shake yourself free from their control — even if this very battle they do not yet know. Do not let them lock you up in chains. Freedom is what we reclaim for ourselves, for our family, for our loved ones, for our health..."
"And if, even then, the tyrants dare — to shoot, and stab, and maim, and snare. Do not cower to their extortion. Look at them with folded arms and steady eyes... with little fear and less surprise. Look upon them as they slay, until their rage has died away. We shall never sink to their levels of violence and distrust. And their slaughter of our demonstration, shall then steam up like inspiration — a volcano heard from near and far. And these very words shall ring through every ear and heart and brain, heard again... and again... and again..."
"The old laws of Panem may have been fine for those whose withered heads are aged and gray. We are children of a wiser day! And so, I say we RISE! Like lions after years of slumber. In unvanquishable number. I say you shake those chains, which in idleness have fallen on you. We are many — they are few!"
What immediately followed Paylor's words could be described as nothing less than a battle cry. It was like a complete eruption — the entire room roistered in their newfound fire, chanting and cheering towards the end of the plight. Even in her own hesitancy, Paisley couldn't help but join them. The strength that Emory ignited in her made all of her anxieties feel trivial.
Here, she didn't feel helpless. She felt empowered. A part of something bigger — a much greater cause...
"We can easily forgive our parents for being afraid of the dark, but it is a true crime to be afraid of the light", Emory finished calmly, and the rampant teens once again fell into a deeply-contemplative silence, "Thank you. And now, if you will... My good friend, Gusset Buckle, has a few words to say of his own."
Paisley watched in adoration as Gusset proudly moved to the front of the stage, but she felt blindsided — he hadn't told her he was intending to speak. Still, even before his mouth had opened, he looked natural — like it was his entire life purpose to spark fire in that crowd.
"Brothers, sisters, friends..." he started, "The bitter cup of our oppression has become full to the brim! The time for silence is over. Two years ago, I witnessed a neighbour of mine, hung — because he refused to leave his dying mother to complete his daily hours. One week ago, three Suits responded to the theft of one loaf of bread by flogging a young girl in the streets. She was nine years old..."
A bitter chill flooded over the room, sending a harsh shiver rushing down Paisley's spine. Beside her, she felt Meryl's own body tense. Gus may have been speaking vaguely, but both girls knew exactly who that poor girl was. Their eyes locked on Aidan, who was shuffling uncomfortably from the back of the stage. It was clear he was trying to remain composed, but his usually-pale skin instead burned in red flushes across his cheeks.
Paisley knew exactly how he felt. Responsible, yet powerless. At the thought alone, she gnawed on her own bottom lip so profusely that she began to draw blood.
"What good is a government, when it does not care about the very people it protects? When will their relentless tyranny end? They think that order, and routines, and controls are the answer to our plague. They think that if they lock us up, and count us like cattle, and keep us on a tight lease — then eventually we will bow down. One day they will understand, that the more they attempt to suppress us, the more we will fight back! How dimwitted must they be, to never notice how we scurry around like mice right under their nose..."
"We demand that our suffering seize! We demand that they free us from their fettering corruption, and let us start this world anew! No longer will the curdled screams of starving children echo through our streets. No longer will our blood, sweat and toil line the pockets of this avaricious aristocracy, whilst our own families are left to perish. What are our choices? To bow down to their tyrannical ways, or to refuse to heed to their control, and be shot down at the first sign of insurrection? Either you live like a slave, or you do not live at all..."
Gus paused for a moment, contemplating, before throwing his fist forcefully in the air to shout, "Well I say, give me my freedom, or let me die!"
That was it then — the turbulence only grew louder, and one by one, the members of the crowd managed to find their own voice.
"The odds are never in our favour!"
"Liberty or death!"
"I say we screw their odds!"
"Down with the Capitol!"
Since the very day the Treaty of Treason was written, the discontent in District Eight had been growing. Spreading like a plague. It had always been there, of course, but never quite as feverishly as it did now. What had started out as a few unchecked words, buried beneath machine noise had expanded, until it had manifested itself into the makings of an underground revolution. Hundreds of young delinquents — thousands, even — packed together regularly to rally in these secret meetings, but these generation-wide gatherings were not the only shape their unrest took.
There were other groups too — smaller organisations formed to fight their own battles against injustice. Societies for women's rights. Worker's unions. Or simply bands of derelicts that packed together to ignite their own plans of action. They hid themselves away, passing notes underneath tables or whispers across ears. But underneath these personal affiliations, they still all flocked together, allowing their anointed leader to take them underneath her wing.
That was what made Eight work, you see — unity. Nobody considered anybody else's cause less important than their own.
It was all talk though — for now, at least. It had to be, because without the support of their elders, the youth of District Eight did not have the numbers to succeed in any kind of action. But over time, they were gradually building up support for their cause. Eventually, they would help their parents break free from the chains of their harmful aversion.
What Emory said was the truth. They were children of a wiser day — a generation unafraid of the intimidation of their oppressors.
Someday soon, they would be the elders with the power to inspire a greater cause.
Someday...
Just not today.
"I can't get over this turnout", the soft sound of Meryl's voice interrupted Paisley from her thoughts, "I swear there's a hundred more people every meeting. Like we're really getting through."
"Yeah, seems like it..."
People had started to clear out now, filing out in smaller groups to avoid drawing unwanted attention, so the previously-overfilled building was beginning to feel a lot less confined.
"Seriously, I think everybody we know is here", Meryl dished, "Hell — even Ghost Boy bothered to show up."
Meryl liked to talk a lot of drivel, but even Paisley didn't have a clue who she was referring to this time. Her eyebrows knitted together, "Ghost Boy?"
"You know...", Meryl trained off, angling her body slightly sideways so that she could gesture her head towards the far right corner of the crowd.
"Oh."
The nickname may have been new, but the face most certainly was not.
Towards the outer-edge of the barren room stood a corpselike figure — a solid ten meters away from everybody else — with his back pressed firmly against the grey-bricked wall. His body was hunched over enough to close himself off, hands buried deep into his pockets, and his pale face wore a permanent frown. He stood out, because he was the only person in the room that hadn't immersed into immediate conversation. Instead, he stayed firmly out of everybody's way, so quiet that it was easy to not actually notice him there at all.
Ghost was apparently the right label.
Meryl let out a deep and dramatic sigh, "I guess it's no surprise, really... If anybody has a reason to want change in this place, it's him, right? I mean, no friends. No family... That'd drive anybody to insanity."
"Maybe he doesn't want to make any friends."
"Maybe... Or maybe nobody's ever tried."
Paisley let out a light chuckle, nudging her in the side, "Go on then, why don't you give it a go?"
"Hell no", Meryl's eyes widened, "He freaks me out — has anybody ever even heard him speak?"
"No", Paisley shrugged, "As far as anybody knows anyway, he's never said a word..."
"Weird... But that little boyfriend of yours apparently has plenty to say, doesn't he? He kept that one quiet. Did you know he was planning to speak today?"
"No, he never mentioned it... He sounded great, though."
"You're telling me — he was freaking fantastic! Hell, it was hot, even. If you're so adamant you don't have feelings for him, maybe I should give it a shot."
"What? Mer—"
Meryl broke out into a fit of giggles, "Kidding, oh my god totally kidding, gross — you should have seen your face though. You're so transparent!"
"And you're so not funny", Paisley responded with a shove, but her lips couldn't help twisting into a smile, "I'm gonna see if I can find the boys, I want to go home soon."
"Give Prince Charming a kiss from me!"
"Kiss my ass!"
The population of the room was gradually dwindling, but the crowd was still thick enough that Paisley struggled to weave through without the odd push or shove. Still, the constant movement of the front door was allowing the intrusion of a cold wind, and Paisley was beginning to shiver underneath the thin material of her shirt. It was a curious building — largely square in size, yet still filled with twists and turns. And enormous in size, but the teens tended to cluster themselves in the building's main body, completely ignoring what sat in the back few rooms.
The Tuft, as it had been christened, was an abandoned building just meters off the District's eastern border. Once upon a time, it had been a cotton factory — as busy and thriving as Paisley's own place of work — but the four walls had not seen the strain of work for decades. Instead, it was now nothing but an empty and forgotten shell, left to rot beneath the violence of the weather.
Over the years, the youth of District Eight had claimed it for themselves. Paisley wasn't sure how, or when — she had never heard the story. Somebody must have just stumbled upon it, somehow. But with its far out location, and sturdy, soundproof walls, the building made the perfect location for evading any watchful eyes.
As she pushed through groups of people, Paisley scanned the room, but she still could not set eyes on Gus. She couldn't leave without him, he would worry far too much, but her fingers were starting to tingle — she wanted to go home.
It wasn't until her sister's head appeared several feet into the crowd, that she began to panic. That was one more stimulation that she could not deal with right now.
In a desperate attempt to be anywhere else, Paisley pushed open the nearest door and bounded into the room without a second thought.
"Hello — can I help you?"
At the sudden sound of the familiar voice, Paisley just about leaped out of her skin. She hadn't noticed anybody was in the room.
"Mother of God!", she cursed, a dramatic hand clutched to her chest in an attempt to regulate her breathing, "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"No, not quite — but you are the one bursting into my office."
Emory was perching casually on the surface of an old desk, which had been placed unnaturally in the centre of the hollow room. It was clear the space had once been some kind of office, with the back wall covered head-to-toe in dust-covered shelves and rotting wood. Endless stacks of files piled up, most likely holding some sort of accounts, but the paper had long since withered away.
No, Emory had evidently claimed the space, but she couldn't begin to fathom why. The place was a complete and utter wreck.
"Right, I'm sorry, I was just looking for a place to hide", Paisley blathered, moving forward to hold out her hand, "I'm P—"
"—Paisley Fawn", Emory interrupted, "I know, I've seen you around. Gusset speaks very highly of you."
Paisley's cheeks flushed fuchsia, "...He does?"
She nodded, "Indeed. He wouldn't be what you're hiding from, would he? Because in that case, you won't have much luck here. He knocks on all the time."
"No, no — that's not it. Gus and I aren't—", Paisley cut herself off, shaking her head profusely, "It's my sister. She gets a little overprotective, so she didn't want me to be here... Even though when it comes to her own life, she's the first one through the door. I just don't want to deal with the confrontation."
"Well, sometimes it's difficult to extend the same standards to other people as we hold to ourselves, especially when our lives are on the line", Emory responded gracefully, "But if you ask me, it's a pretty good indication of how much your sister loves you."
Paisley shrugged, "I guess I've never thought of it like that."
It wasn't new information that Paisley placed the weight of her broken family onto her brittle shoulders — she always had. But she'd never considered that even though their personalities were so fundamentally different, perhaps Parker did too.
The Fawn family were like a body with a missing limb — each remaining part was battling desperately to compensate for what had been lost.
"Do you have any other siblings? Or is it just the two of you?"
Paisley knew she shouldn't dawdle — it was too great a risk. It made much more sense to find Gus, and leave for home as quickly as possible. But Emory was surprisingly easy to talk to, and suddenly, she wanted to stay.
"Three — Parker is two years older. But then there's Polly, she just turned fourteen. And my brother, Pr—", Paisley cut herself off, letting out a frightened gasp at her slip of words, "That's it — just two sisters, and me."
Emory nodded, standing up from her seat, but she didn't seem at all convinced.
"You have a brother?"
The skin on Paisley's knuckles started to turn white, and she slowly lost control of the nerves in her fingers. She didn't know where the slip had come from — she hadn't spoken about her brother in years, let alone said his name out loud. But the words had come out of her mouth so naturally, like an impulse she didn't know she still had. It was like time had not changed anything at all.
God — the spirits in this place really were making her go mad.
"Not anymore."
Part of her expected Paylor to keep asking questions, but instead, the young leader looked entirely resolute. She nodded, and a newfound tenderness welled in her stark blue eyes as she said softly, "Come with me — I have something to show you."
She had no idea what Emory Paylor could possibly have to show her, but Paisley found herself compelled to follow. She led her out of the office and back towards the main room, where the crowd was drawing thinner and thinner by the second.
"You know, I find it sad that they keep this building so barren and bare... It feels like such a waste", Paisley contemplated aloud as they walked, "It could make a great school building — or a homeless shelter, perhaps. Who knows, maybe even a hospital..."
"Yeah, you're right actually — that's a clever thought."
They turned a corner into a half-open corridor, where years of harsh weather had caused the fading brick to crumble. A couple of broken windows had been boarded up to avoid exposure, but it didn't seem to work. Emory stopped in front of an empty wall, which had been covered by a sheet of white plastic tarp.
"We keep it hidden — just in case the Suits or anybody else ever wanders down here, but it's always here", Emory informed her, tugging away at the sheet.
With the wall now on full display, Paisley could make out exactly what Emory had intended her to see. Hundreds of names had been written on the wall, carved vigorously into the concrete slabs, and the sea of words made Paisley's heartbeat race. As she scanned them up and down, her eyes glued themselves to one, and her throat gasped as she choked back a throttled sob. It was as if her lungs had suddenly been robbed of all oxygen — she felt like her entire body was about to cave in.
Preston Fawn.
Paisley reached up to trace her fingers along the chiselled lines, "How did you know?"
"This wall is where we carve all of the names of the people we've lost to this cause — every tribute that didn't return home, and any one of us shot down by their bullets. Our heroes, so that way their names are never forgotten or lost", Emory explained, "I already knew, I just thought it was better coming from you yourself. Your brother is a legend around these parts, Paisley — he's a big part of the reason we're all here today."
Paisley looked like she had seen a ghost, "I guess it makes sense. I always worshipped him, why wouldn't everybody else..."
"That's just the thing — legends never really die", Emory mused, "They all become a part of us, here. They lead us through."
"Sometimes I feel like I'm letting him down. Like I'm not this brave warrior he always wanted me to be, you know?"
"No — I've heard stories about you, too, Paisley Fawn...", she speculated, "You used to have plenty of guts. Too much, even. Something changed."
Paisley turned her head and shrugged, "I'm just not as angry as you are, I guess..."
"Oh no, it isn't the anger you're lacking, Paisley. You've got plenty of that, I can see it in your eyes", Emory locked their eyes together, "It's the fear that's getting in your way."
What to respond to that, Paisley wasn't sure. Maybe Emory was right, but Paisley had never been particularly good at allowing herself to feel fear. Fear was manageable so long as you suppressed it, and then eventually, it would reach a point where you couldn't feel anything at all.
After Paisley continued to say nothing, Emory spoke up again. "We want these people to be remembered — not to just be bodies reduced to shadows. This is a war, whether the people out there know that we're fighting them or not. These people are all still with us, Fawn. They didn't die for nothing. Preston would be proud of you, whatever you become — remember that."
Paisley felt Emory place a comforting hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze, before she bid her a farewell and went on her way. Now — as she stood there alone with the ghosts of her past — Paisley let go of a deep breath, and finally allowed the tears to fall.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
"There you are!" Meryl exclaimed when Paisley eventually made her way back to the main room, "We were starting to get worried... Where have you been?"
"Oh, just... catching up with an old friend."
"Well, let's get out of here, pronto", Meryl nodded to the group, "If we plan on getting any sleep at all tonight, that is."
"Come on then", Gus practically leaped into the air, snaking an arm around Paisley's shoulders, "Let's get you home."
They all walked out together — Paisley, Meryl, Gus and the rest of the balers. It made sense, since they were all headed back to Bramhall Green. Now that they were in the early hours of the morning, the Peacekeepers had eased off, probably mistakenly assuming that their job was over now that everybody was locked away in bed. That was the main flaw of Eight's strictly organised system — it tended to make people a little naive.
As they poured out onto the streets, Paisley found herself slowly lingering behind. She didn't want to go home. For the first time in forever, the harrowing ache in her chest had somewhat eased, and her heart was starting to feel whole again. But that would all disappear as soon as she got home, and the sight of the empty cot would reignite the empty feeling all over again.
Still — Paisley knew that she could have it so much worse...
The group had just passed into Horton Heath, and as they trudged along the gravel path, Paisley couldn't help but feel slightly better about her situation. After all, she could have been from here.
Most of the towns in Eight were small, with every poorly-constructed building tightly pressed together, but Horton was practically the size of a peanut. It didn't hold much — just a few houses, the orphanage, and the neighbouring workhouse, but everything it did hold seemed to be falling apart. Every curtain had been drawn, but that didn't seem to make a difference. Paisley could still see plenty of people — littered around the street, sleeping on the floor, with a thick layer of dirt branding permanent stains into their skin.
In an attempt to take her mind off of it, Paisley moved her eyes upwards and tried to search for stars, but that did no good either — her eyes couldn't make out a single spark of light across the muddy night sky.
By this point, she had loitered long enough that she was trailing behind the others, who were laughing and bantering a good few yards ahead. The only person dragging at her speed was Gus, who had clearly slowed down just to make sure she wasn't left behind.
"I liked your speech", Paisley said after several moments of silence, "Would have been nice to know you were doing it, though..."
"Oh, don't give me that act, Paisley Ann", Gus's eyes rolled, but he threw back his head to laugh at her words, "You know that if I told you, you would have been there whether you wanted to or not. You needed to come for yourself, not for anybody else."
Paisley turned her head to face him slowly, throwing him a smile, "You make them feel empowered, you know. Hopeful and brave. If nothing else comes of any of this, at least there's that."
Gus looked up to meet her eyes, "Do I make you feel empowered?"
There was an elongated pause as Paisley contemplated what to say next, but their eyes remained locked the entire time — fixating on one another. The regular astuteness in his flaming brown eyes had diminished, replaced instead by the vulnerability of a small cub, begging to be touched.
"You definitely make me feel... something."
The expression on her face softened, and for a moment, he said nothing, instead moving his body in front of her and stopping still on the street.
"Alright — look up", he invited, using the back of his index finger to tilt her chin towards the sky, "What do you see?"
Paisley glanced upwards for a moment, scrunching her nose with confusion, "I see fog... Layers upon layers of fog."
"No, not that... Look closer", he chuckled, "There's a whole world out there, you see? Aim for it, P... Because a girl like you wasn't born to live and die in Bramhall Green."
"Oh, is that so?", Paisley jested, "And where do you suppose I should be then? With all the rich folk over the bridge?"
"Maybe — or maybe you should be somewhere else entirely."
"Well, as appealing as all that sounds, you won't catch me holding my brea—"
"Hey, Paisley!"
Oh good lord.
Paisley squeezed her eyes shut, "She's in my head right? Please — tell me the sound is just in my head."
Gusset shook his head, but before he could say anything, Paisley could make out the painful sound of footsteps edging closer and closer to where she stood. With a hostile breath, she willed herself to turn around, using every bit of might she had to twist her face into a smile.
"Hey..."
Feigning pleasantry was apparently not the way to go — Parker looked mad. Really mad.
"I thought I told you not to come", her sister seethed, stopping directly in front of Paisley's face, "If Mom and Dad notice that you're gone—"
Paisley's instincts immediately wanted to jump to her own defence, but Emory's words from earlier wouldn't leave her mind. It's a good indication of how much your sister loves you, she had said. She couldn't exactly punish Parker for that.
"They won't find out", she said calmly, instead.
The rest of the group had stopped moving themselves now, and Gusset had left the two girls alone to join them. They weren't far — only a few meters down the road — but they were trying everything they could not to listen in. By this point, they must have been walking for at least half an hour, as they had just passed from Horton safely into the next town over — Marsden Vale.
"Do you realise how dangerous all of this is?" Parker continued to scold, seemingly with no intention of backing down, "You could get yourself in trouble, Paisley, or worse — killed. You aren't cut out for all of this, at least not yet. You're a child—"
Any patience that Paisley had possessed earlier was immediately thrown out of the window. Now, she was fighting back — yelling with enough force that she threw her older sister completely off balance.
"I am not a child! And I'm not sure how many times I have to tell you this, but you don't get to make my decisions for me. I get it, you're angry — hell, so are the rest of us, Parker! But you don't see me waltzing around, taking all of my shit out on you, do you?"
The two girls had been so absorbed in the disagreement that they hadn't even noticed when the engines started to whir.
All six of their fellow teens were yelling, but with their attention so fixated on one another, they couldn't be jolted back to the reality of the situation. But time was running out — the noises getting louder with every thumping beat —and in no time at all, the cars would come barrelling down the road to run them into the pavement.
It wasn't until the glaring brightness of the headlights came into her vision, that Paisley realised what was going on.
Time seemed to slow down then, and Paisley was just about preparing herself for their demise when she felt two strong arms grappling her body, pulling her aimlessly along the street. With seconds to spare, Gus dragged Paisley towards the nearest alley, Parker following shortly behind, and they nestled themselves behind an oversized fabric bin just as the vehicle came ploughing down the street.
"Shh..."
Paisley could feel her heart beating — Gus's hands still twisted desperately around her waist — when the engine came to a stop. Her eyes shifted towards their left, where the rest of their group had crouched behind the identical set of bins on the opposite side. Meryl was quietly sobbing, body burrowed under Aidan's limbs, and he had pressed a hand against her mouth to avoid her crying out. There was a brief halt, before one of the car doors opened, and all of their bodies began to shake.
A sharp spot of light — the flashing of a torch, but it skirted around them and landed on the opposite wall, instead.
Almost instinctively, Parker reached over to make a grab for Paisley's hand, and the sisters clutched onto one another so tightly that it was hard to believe a moment ago they hadn't been friends.
But then the street fell dark again, and the gradual fading of the engine signified that the teens were once again alone.
"I think they're gone...", Turner whispered, and all eight of their bodies began to shift.
"How do you know that?"
"The noise faded out, it doesn't sound like there's any others. Probably just a loner passing by at the end of his shift."
"Well, what if you're wrong?", Meryl hissed underneath hushed breath.
As the group argued, Aidan removed himself from Meryl's clutch and slowly started to stand, "Alright, alright — I'll check, okay?"
"Aidan, get down!"
It was too late — Aidan was already on his feet, but after a few seconds of agonising silence, his shoulders relaxed as he breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. "They're gone."
"Thank fuck for that — let's just get home, quickly. I've had enough for tonight."
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From the ticking of the clock, Paisley guessed that it must have been a little after three when the two sisters finally reached home. As they gently slipped inside, as expected, they were met with nothing but pitch-black darkness. Darkness, and the monotonous ticking of the clock.
There was something ominous about the way the regulated ticks were ruminating in the silence — like it was warning them that time was wearing thin.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Like the ticking of a bomb.
They were right though, of course. If the two girls intended to get any sleep before the Reaping, they had about four hours to spare before they had to wake up.
Finally feeling unthreatened in the safe nest of the Fawns' four walls, Paisley took a moment to sit down, finally allowing herself to breathe. The tattered sofa did nothing for Paisley's back, the cushions so sparse that she practically fell to the floor, but there was something comforting about the feeling of the threadbare fabric brushing against her skin. She needed another moment— just a second longer, before she had to go to bed — to take it all in.
"Paisley", Parker whispered under stifled breath, "What are you doing?"
Paisley had already allowed her eyes to close, "I just need a minute..."
"We don't have a minute... We need to go to bed, before—"
"—Before one of your parents realises you've been gone?"
The lone dim lamp that lit the dismal apartment flickered on, and the feeble image of their father came flashing into view. Beneath the pale glow of the light, Burton's face looked almost unearthly, with the ghastly look of his sunken eyes piercing holes into his daughters' skin. Paisley wasn't sure she had ever seen him look so tense.
"Where in the hell have the two of you been?", he interrogated, stepping forward into the light, "Do you realise how reckless it is, to sneak out after curfew on any night, let alone tonight? Your mother has been worried sick! How could you be so foolish?"
"I'm sorry Dad", Paisley stuttered, pushing herself up from her seat, "We weren't thinking, we didn't mean to scare you..."
"Don't apologise to me, Paisley Ann — apologise to your mother. You know these things are difficult for her."
Lisle appeared sheepishly behind her husband, her body looking limp and thin. Paisley could see she had been having an episode again, the telltale signs of distress were evident on her face. The greying skin, the quivering lips, and the glassy strain of absence glossing over eyes that had once held tears.
"Mom..."
"I'm not apologising for anything — I'm going to bed."
Paisley sighed. Parker had never been particularly sympathetic to their mother's condition, but then again, it was clear that the eldest Fawn was troubled enough on her own. She didn't mean to be difficult — that seemed obvious now — but still, all she ever seemed to do was act out.
Parker attempted to push past them, but her father's body blocked her path. "You're not going anywhere, young lady. I've had enough of this selfish, suicidal behaviour of yours. It's time you considered that there are other people in this family as well, that your mother—"
"That my mother what, Dad? Maybe she should tell me for herself, if she feels so strongly! What is it you're going through Mom? Come on, what did they do to make you like this? Say it out loud, I dare you."
Lisle's face dropped, like her eldest daughter had sent a bullet colliding straight through her skin.
But Parker wasn't finished. "You want me to just sit here quietly and obediently like a slave, whilst those fat leeches bleed us all dry? Is that what you guys want? Why have you let them make you so spineless?"
"Parker —"
"What? What are you so afraid of Mom?", she was yelling now, "That somebody's going to hear me? That they're going to come and shoot me down in the street — like my brother?"
Polly appeared in the hallway, timidly peering out from behind the bedroom door. She didn't just look astounded, she looked scared, and Paisley knew that it was time to shut the situation down.
It didn't matter if the way that Parker felt was valid. It didn't even matter that most of what she said was true. This time, she had taken it too far.
"Parker, please", Paisley desperately tried to cut in, "Just, quieten down. Be reasonable—"
"No, Paisley! In case you forgot, we had a brother", Parker turned to her, making sure to elongate the final word, "I'm sick and tired of everybody acting like he didn't even exist."
With that, both of their parents appeared completely floored, and Parker was able to gain enough momentum to shove past them towards her room. As she approached, Polly immediately jumped out of her sister's way, allowing Parker to strop into the Fawn's second bedroom without a second glance.
"I'm sorry, guys. You know she doesn't mean it. She's just...struggling. This time of year, it's always difficult. She doesn't mean to act out", Paisley spoke gently, moving to grab her sister's hand, "Come on Pol — let's go to bed. We've only got a couple of hours before we have to wake up."
As they entered the room, their sister's back was turned, and neither of them bothered to say anything before they put themselves to bed.
Paisley wasn't sure what else she could say. Parker seemed to be bordering on the brink of detonation, and the last time a Fawn had found themselves so close to the edge, well...That was how all of this had started, wasn't it?
In all of the unbridled chaos, Paisley's mind hadn't found the time to worry about tomorrow's Reaping at all.
But still, the odds were never in their favour — that much was becoming unequivocally clear.
❛ when i was younger i was
named a generation unafraid,
for the heirs to come...
be brave ❜
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AUTHOR'S NOTE... whew, what a big ole chaotic mess. this chapter was *a lot*, so i'm sorry for that, i hope you've all made it through in one piece — a post-chapter mental break is encouraged. we're going to see some of the brighter side of eight soon, I promise!
paylor's speech is something that has been on my mind for a while, so i want to tell you a bit more about where it came from, as the words aren't entirely my own! there's an absolutely stunning poem written by percy shelley — called 'the masque of anarchy' — that influenced the main bulk of the speech. the poem was written about a political massacre that took place in my hometown in the 1800s, in which a peaceful protest about famine was charged by calvary. sounding very panem.. right? *yikes* the poem is very personal to me, but i also think it really capsulated eight's situation! so if you really enjoyed paylor's words and wanted to see where they came from, i would highly recommend giving it a read!!
i thought i'd drop in some pictures of how i imagine
some of the other central characters (other than our main two of course!)
this chapter was very preston heavy, but next chapter we'll be moving to the reaping, so there'll be quite a shift in focus, and we'll meet some new characters! very very exciting!
anyways, all my love! dani x
p.s. not sure if you caught it, but there was a
cheeky sneak peak of our best boy in this chapter ;)