Alecks Glint
I sat alone, in my small room where I slept. Faint light seeped into the room through a small window at the top of the wall. To small and too high up for me to have had any chance of escaping. But it doesn't matter. I had little desire to escape.As much as I wanted the Capitol gone, there wasn't much I could do right then, so all there was to do was wait patiently, as I sat, staring at the wall in front of me. I heard a commotion outside the door, and I stood up, pushing my dark hair out of my face and peering at the door. Was this finally the punishment I had been awaiting? Suddenly, a peacekeeper broke through the door and grabbed me. I almost fell backwards in shock. He realized I was in shock for a second and used that split-second of weakness to begin pulling me through the door. But I wasn't giving in that easily. I fought back, pulling away with all my strength, managing to get out of his grip and I began running down the hallway. I felt a stinging pain in my back, and knew I had been hit with a dart from their guns. Something to paralyze me, no doubt, as I fell to the ground and couldn't do anything more than blink and breath. The peacekeeper walked over to me and dragged my across the floor until we got outside, and he through me into the vehicle he was driving and began leaving. Unable to move, I closed my eyes to wait until we got wherever we were going. One last thing crossed my mind as we drove off:Dammit I thought I was stronger than that.
Peter Mask
She lay in a pile of rubble, her body as broken as the splintered pieces of wood and cracked plaster around her. She lay still and silent, dark brown eyes open yet staring at nothing, a thick layer of dust and dirt smothering her pale cheeks.
Compared to the blazing fire that licked and burned at everything it touched, and the black smoke that the flames emitted, one might not have even noticed the still body of girl amongst the debris of what used to be an abundant town. It was only the shuddering and trembling form of a boy kneeling over the dead girl's body that caused the Peacekeepers to notice him when they thundered past in immaculate rows, their once pristine white uniforms now stained with dried blood and coated with a thick layer of dust from collapsed buildings.
The boy – by the name of Peter Mask – did not see them. He only saw the glassy irises of his dead lover, and they black tar that smeared her two front teeth when she had let go of his hand and crashed onto the road as an explosion ripped through several houses. Somehow, nothing had hit him, and he had escaped said explosion relatively unscathed except for a few bruises scattered here and there when he had hit the ground from the force of the eruption.
A heavy weight of guilt settled in Peter's heart, combining with the furious emotions of grief as his light blue eyes stared deep inside of her dark ones, silently pleading for her to take a breath of life. His wounds seemed like nothing compared to the dislocated shoulder of his girlfriend that arced upwards from her body, out of joint. Peter winced at the imagined pain of the injury, trying to keep himself together and not to break and fall apart completely – though that was precisely what he wanted to do. Melody Lovegrove – sweet, kind, beautiful Melody – looked so uncomfortable and awkward on the ground, and he couldn't leave her like that. Not exactly knowing what he was doing, Peter placed one trembling hand beneath her dislocated shoulder and tried to straighten it out, but it was locked rigid and he could feel the gap between the ball and the joint. A shudder ran through his body and down his spine as a ragged gasp escaped his lips, and Peter buried his head in his hands.
"My poor baby," he whispered, and as he was still dazed about the events that had just unfolded his voice had a kind of dream-like quality of it. "I hope you weren't in too much pain." He took her right hand and placed it on her stomach so that she appeared less twisted. Somehow, despite the flecks of smashed glass and chunks of earth tangled in her raven hair, it was still as soft as a pillow and still smelled faintly of the rose-scented shampoo that Melody had loved to use, and he stroked it. He ran his rough, calloused fingers through his girlfriend's hair, and then and only then does the heavy realization of death come crashing down onto Peter's body with the force of a freight train.
Like a river that had burst its banks, tears – thick, unstoppable, tears – began to leak from his eyes and slipped down his grazed, bloodied cheeks, where they dripped off of his chiseled chin and landed with a splat onto Melody's face. Then, the wails began. Horrible, terrible, animal-like wails that tore its way out of a man's throat and ripped through his lips, before escaping to the air where their sound of agony and heartbreak would echo for miles around.
Peter had heard others wail before in grief, but never his.
His mind became glazed, and his body numb. His hand released its grip on Melody's lifeless one, and at that exact same moment a Peacekeeper grabbed him by the arm and heaved him upwards like he was a rag doll. Peter didn't care. His eyes never left Melody's wan face, one last silent, desperate plead to awaken from the cold clutches of death, before a piercing pain was felt in the back of his neck. The world exploded into a plethora of colors right before his eyes, until suddenly darkness overtook him, and he fell into unconsciousness with the name of his one true love echoing in his mind on repeat.
Logan Hudson
"Logan! Not now!" Naomi giggled, and pushed Logan away, despite that her eyes closed in response.
He pressed his chest closer to hers. "It's not very often I'm on leave. I want to see you while I can." Kissing her lips, he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.
She finally sighed and gave in. "Fine, but really quick! I'm on duty!"
Grinning, he knew he'd won. The war had kept all the rebels busy, and with Logan being a well-trained warrior, he was often on the front lines. Naomi was a healer, so she was often back in district thirteen or the war-camps, tending the wounded. It wasn't often they had times to see each other, but when they did, they enjoyed it.
In Logan's case, he enjoyed it immensely.
"I'm so in love with you." Logan's voice was a husky murmur.
Naomi shivered, but kissed his cheek in response. "Ditto." It was something the two of them said often, whenever they didn't have time to fully respond. Logan had been the first to start it. At the time, his Commander had been around, and when Naomi had said it, all Logan could reply was "ditto" to keep his commander from thinking he messed around on-duty. Now, the one simple word meant more than an entire sentence to both of them.
"Logan, I should go. I have patients waiting."
Logan growled, deep in his chest, but it was a playful sound. "See you tonight?"
She nodded, pecked him on the lips and darted off. As soon as she disappeared from sight, Logan grabbed his sword and dashed through the city streets. It was busting with life and movement. To his right, a young child chased a dog around, who barked and yapped playfully. A baker on the left side of the street offered to sell Logan bread, but he politely declined.
"Soldier! Thank you for your service!" An older woman, probably in her thirties came up and inclined her head to Logan in respect.
He shook her hand. "You're welcome, ma'am. Thank you." She patted his shoulder and walked on down the street. Every time he was home, all the residents in district thirteen treated him that way. It wasn't just him that received the treatment; all the rebel soldiers did whenever they returned home on leave.
District thirteen was one that thrived, despite the war. It had taken its toll on the city and its people, but overall they'd survived. The buildings in the neighborhood Logan came to were all made of gray andesite. He found his home quickly. It was the only two story house on the entire block—the rest were all three or four stories high, with white picket fences and balconies up above.
The instant he stepped through the doorway, though, he felt at peace. His home had always provided that. There were times he grew restless—whether because of the war, or the battles and seeing action, Logan wasn't sure—but the first time he walked inside his family's home, for a short time, his restlessness was settled.
"Logan, is that you?" His mother, a brown-gray haired woman in her early-forties, was one full of compassion. She knew the war was necessary, but it didn't stop her from mourning all the lives lost. Logan knew she worried about him when he was away, so the relief in her eyes at seeing him home safe and sound was obvious. He embraced her, and his 6'1 frame towered over her 5'3 one.
"It's good to be home, Mom." Tears brimmed in Logan's eyes, but he pushed them away.
"Welcome home, son." His father emerged from the sitting room, where Logan suspected he'd been reading a paper. The two clasped arms, before his father pulled him in for a tight hug. This time, it was Logan who felt small, nestled inside his father's 6'3 height.
"Logan's back! Alright!" His younger brother, Grady, bounced down the stairs three at time and then tackled Logan to the ground.
Smoothly, Logan flipped him over and ruffled his hair. "Hey there, kid."
"Not in the house, you too!" their mother scolded.
Grady and Logan both smiled sheeplishly. "Sorry, Mom." They said together.
"Jinx on you!" Grady called.
Logan smacked his thighs and stood to his feet. "Yep. Looks like you got me."
Grady grinned. "You're getting slower, old man!"
Logan snatched him in a choke hold and ruffled his hair again. "What was that?"
"I said: not in the house!" Despite that he hadn't been speaking to her, Logan's mother answered anyway.
Logan released Grady. "Hey, I have something I wanted to show you." He sat down on the arm of one of the chairs in the lounge. Grady plopped down on a rocking chair across from him. Carefully, Logan unsheathed the sword and rested it on his lap.
"Whoa!" Grady's eyes widened as he stared at the blade.
"I'm going to start supper, then. How does chicken Alfredo sound?"
Logan and Grady both beamed. "Mom, you know it's my favorite."
Both of their parents walked down the hall and into the kitchen, while Logan continued showing Grady his sword.
***
After a long and filling supper, in which Logan, his parents and Grady caught up on a lot of missed conversation, Logan left them and walked to Naomi's house. Her parents were out for the night, leaving them alone.
"I was hoping you'd show up," Naomi murmured.
"Of course I would. I haven't seen you in two months." Logan grinned and lifted her up onto his hips. He easily held her weight, as she leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
Suddenly, the doors burst open and Peacekeepers stormed inside the house. Logan immediately dropped Naomi to the ground and pushed her behind him. He reached for his sword, and cursed.
He'd left it back at the house, with Grady.
"By order of the President you're under arrest for rebellion and treason. Surrender peacefully or you will be shot!" The leader aimed his weapon at them both.
Naomi was in a corner, behind Logan. Twenty-seven Peacekeepers were in the lobby of the large mansion, and Logan could hear more from outside. He could easily hear growling from outside, which he knew were the Peacekeeper trucks.
They were surrounded.
He had no choice but to surrender. For his sake, and more importantly, for Naomi's. "I'll come with you peacefully, just leave her out of this. She's not a rebel."
Naomi's hands tensed around his waist, but he lightly pushed her back, hoping she understood: keep quiet.
Two Peacekeepers strolled up to him and threw him to the ground. Naomi called out for him, but he turned his head to try to look at her. "Naomi, I'll be okay. Just go back home and find my parents, okay?"
The Peacekeepers jerked his hands roughly behind his back and pressed a knee in the center of his spine. Logan grunted, but he was soon yanked to his feet. As they dragged him out of Naomi's house, she met his gaze. "Logan! I love you!"
"Ditto." It was the only word he had time to say, before they shoved him in the back of one of the trucks and slammed the doors shut behind them.
Waiting was something that Logan hated. He was used to it; before battle there was always the period of waiting, the lull that drove soldiers mad. In the waiting it was when your mind could wander, your thoughts could drift—drift to your possible death. A soldier's mind had to be clear, especially in battle. Logan had his own system for keeping his thoughts under control in that cruel, hard waiting time. He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling sharply. He would count each breath, and each one would be another second gone by. His thoughts would be completely focused on his breathing, on the sound of the truck rattling and groaning, on the feel of it as it turned and rode through his home district.
They had made several right turns, followed by a few lefts, before they just drove straight for a long time. Two hours or so had gone by, before the trucks stopped and the Peacekeepers threw Logan out of the truck. He landed on the ground, gasping from his breath being knocked out.
Squadrons upon squadrons of Peacekeepers were lined out, as far as his eyes could see. They were in a deserted field, except for the soldiers and one of the Capitol airships. The sun had already set and the moon was full, throwing the world in a silver hue. Fog had rolled in, making the night seem even eerily than before. Six Peacekeeper surrounded him—two in front, two behind and two tightly grasping his arms. They led him inside the airship and chained him to the wall. There was a tiny window on the wall across from him—just enough that he could see district thirteen on the horizon. The room itself just held boxes of cargo. Others males were all chained around him, each one cramped. A few had blood on their faces, probably from fighting the Peacekeepers, Logan guessed. Most of them he recognized as soldier's he had fought beside in battle many times before.
His stomach lurched as the airship took off. Higher and higher it rose, making district thirteen appear smaller and smaller below them.
Suddenly, a white flash of light so bright it made Logan wince exploded through his vision. By the time his vision cleared, all he could see was a cloud of smoke bellowing away from district thirteen. In the cloud, orange, red and yellow flames swirled together, looking like a twisted version of an evening sunset.
His stomach clenched so tight that he gagged and retched into the floor below him. Sorrow slammed into him, weighing him down, crushing his very soul. He felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, and he couldn't breathe.
District thirteen, his home, Naomi, Grady, his parents... was gone.
Grady Hudson
*DROPPED OUT*
Caste Morea
Caste Morea is nothing like District Thirteen.
He is not a boy of gray scale. Granted, he likes to think that he isn't. But, consequently, he would never compare himself to that discoloring, nor to a solid and standard black and white for that matter. He isn't muted walls without bright hues; empty corridors with originality coming from the way a person's eyes are shaped and colored. He isn't an ignorable mute, nor is he someone that can be passed by without being looked at one time per minimum.
There is something about him that must be reckoned with – even if this acknowledgment is to come through a quick second glance, a flutter of closing eyelids, and a blinding squint that becomes a glare.
He's drab, but not so. He's ignorable, but not quite. Tedious in tone, but loud enough. Simply put: he's there.
Had he known that his last moments in his beloved District Thirteen would have been spent comparing himself to the décor, he would have slapped himself upside the head. Had he known this, he would have tried to make the final day the most memorable of them all.
But Caste doesn't know; he's human and can only think about the outlined future as it is – an approaching silhouette that is the darkest shade possible before becoming the statement itself.
He continues on like this: analyzing the similarities and differences between himself, a seventeen year old boy with abundant ambitions, to structures that have been around for ages and only serve a mere purpose. To keep the building up and running as it has been demanded of them.
He looks down upon his wrist, down to the sticky, purple ink that becomes his schedule. He's far too young to be thinking about twenty years into the future, but he currently does this. If he were to somehow be elected president of District Thirteen – god, what a pretentious bastard Caste is. He loves politics and the science behind it, but he would never participate in it. Anyway... – his first order of business would be to shut the tattooing machines off. Almost everyone has their schedule memorized; it hardly ever changes. Sometimes, there will be a shift: a person moving classes or having their two training locations interchanged.
Other than that, the schedules and their efficiencies are useless.
He asks himself: when did you get so pretentious and full of angst, Caste?
And in turn, he replies with, I have no clue. But I kind of like it...
He glances down to his schedule, his drab and constantly fixed schedule, and prepares to follow it for about the four thousand, three hundred, and eighty-third time.
-
At hour sixteen, standard military time, he has his secondary exercise period. Despite being mostly a recluse and preferring excess time to study for upcoming tests and other exams, Caste enjoys raising his heartrate the same way other guys and gals do. Granted, he seems to enjoy it less because he doesn't have any buddies to work out beside with, but he still takes fun out of it all the same.
There aren't any rules, but there are guidelines. The first, to stay within the safety of the vault ports. At any sign of danger – from the Capitol or otherwise – they are jump into said port or take cover in the squatted buildings. The second guideline is to never remove the tracker. And the final one is to keep from wandering.
Caste doesn't understand the third only because it correlates to the first, like rose does to pink. And even if he were to comprehend the structure of the rules, that wouldn't mean that he would necessarily follow them.
And he doesn't – he hasn't from the moment he turned thirteen, and he won't do it now at age seventeen.
Seriously! When did I get so pretentious and full of angst?
He falls to the back of the pack like he always does, beckons his partner to keep going, that he can catch his breath on his own, and once the coast is clear – or as close to clear as one can get in a heavily surveillanced area – he bends down to his legs. He lifts the cuff of his jeans and with steady and skilled hands, he strikes a rock down on the tracker.
The sound of rock on metal is one he has come to appreciate.
He quickly buries it and sprints to the small clearing provided in the District. No one is allowed to go there, but Caste doesn't really like following the rules when they involve withdrawing information from him.
Only when he gets to the gate – scaling and jumping over it – he senses that something is...off. There is no better word to describe the tension in the air than "off." He's too far away to scream for help – and that would include a lecture, too – and the desire to keep pushing forward and find this eccentric notion is far too great. So he walks forward to the clearing, deeper into the greenery.
And that is his second mistake of the day. The first was removing the tracker like an idiot.
Within seconds – uncountable seconds – a heavy mass has fallen over his back. Heavy arms hold him still, and a white colored cloth is tied around his eyes. "Hey! Let go of me," he exclaims. He even tries to fight back, but he realizes that he has no chance.
One of the thick pairs of arms lift him up as if he is a rag doll, and hoist him over their shoulders. He struggles during this time: punching, kicking, even biting. But it works with no avail. A short walk is taken and he feels himself being lowered into a room, ignorable in size. The grip of leather is heard, and the smell of burning rubber is wafting in the air.
The final thing he hears before he's knocked it is an explosion. And then, the many more that follow.
Christian Twain
*DID NOT HAND IN*
Caesar Theron
Right now, the only thing marking my existence is my heartbeat. I am, quite possibly, a prime example of one who will die to face oblivion. Floating here, with my limbs subject to the gently moving ripples in the water, my eyelids successfully blocking out my surroundings, I wonder if this life of mine is all that District Thirteen can offer. A petite, two-room home, a mother, and this body. Is that all, District Thirteen? Is that all I get? When I have heard stories of people in the Capitol, and what success they are awarded with just because they are Capitol citizens.
Oblivion doesn't scare me, what scares me is what I will leave behind. A corrupt world, blinded by the insanity of the annual Hunger Games, breaking bit by bit each year. Nothing in my power is capable of overpowering them, I am just a lost boy. A lost boy, living as I go, going as I live.
I live with my mother, Tia is her name. After the war, she's left with one leg, and is now housebound on a perch in front of the fire, fiddling with homemade jewelry that I sell for her. The rest of my work is purely physical, alongside a few acquaintances I've made in Thirteen. We exchange in a courteous 'hello' in the morning, and a 'goodbye' in the evening out of respect. That's all it takes to build a relationship with them. A simple greeting, a simple farewell. I've made many connections within the District, mostly for my own gain, some for my mother's gain. Suppose I'm kind of a jerk.
"Ah!"
My deep contemplation is interrupted by the muffled scream of, who I assume, a distressed woman. As curiosity would beg anybody to, I open my eyes to take a look around. Loud noises, let alone screams, are a common disturbance, which I'm somewhat intrigued to investigate. As I come up from under the water, I run my hands through my unkempt hair. Droplets of lake water collect at the bottom of each strand, falling down my face and rolling down my barely clothed body. Swimming is my escape. The lake is where I can empty my feelings, control my thoughts and get a hold of my mind. I can go with the flow, and be shapeless - like water.
Scanning over the grassy river bank, I look for anything out of the ordinary - which is grey. To my surprise, the peacekeepers are here, looking like white specs from this distance. Only on rare occasion do they visit us in District Thirteen, they abhor every one of us - their prisoners.
My mind whirls like a cyclone as I watch the events unfolding before me. Children and parents are screaming, it's inaudible, but the people are terrified. Peacekeepers are getting off of their vehicles, grabbing the closest child and strapping them in. They aren't just here to visit us, they're here to take us. Treading water to keep me upright, I watch from afar, and to my horror, witness the panic continue.
One of the peacekeepers snatches a young girl right from her mother's protective hold. She can only be twelve or thirteen. Her mouth opens to howl in protest, but is silenced instantly with his hand smacking over her face. Tackling her all the way to the vehicle, Capitol provided, he throws her inside. The mother collapses to her knees and dissolves into part of the grey scenery, sobbing into her palms. She's too weak to chase after her, probably only, child.
After watching three more young citizens being snatched, I hate to think of what the Capitol could possibly want with them. Why only the children? Peacekeepers begin to scour the grounds, breaking into our little, brittle homes. It's all we have, all we've built.
Mother, I think, eyes widening in terror. Could they want her, as well? She's fragile, an innocent soul - the only person I have in my life. The thought trickles through me, cold like ice, making my hairs stand rigid. Propelling myself forward, I use all my strength to smash through the water surface, stroke after stroke, swimming towards the river bank.
Once I reach land, I puff out harsh, ragged breaths. After clambering to my feet, I start sprinting towards our house. If anything were to happen to her... I slam my feet against the ground with every push, racing as fast as I can to get to the only person who matters to me. On land, I'm part of the chaos, hearing the words 'Oh, my God!' echoing from every single person caught in the mayhem. The water was peaceful, no panic, no danger. Now I'm risking it all for the one person I love. Our house is only a short sprint away. Bare foot, it's a little sore. I run past three Capitol vehicles, weighted down with bullet proof panels, completely shielded from anything we might attack them with. The people of Thirteen are innocent, we are the downfall of this country's idiocy. We have nothing, yet the Capitol block us out in every means possible.
As I'm running, somebody grabs onto my arm. A strong grip, and as I turn around I see that it's Junior. He's a friend of my mother's, we work together from time to time. His body is tensed, wincing in pain. "Help," he whispers hoarsely, lifting his vest to reveal the open slash wound across his stomach. It's bleeding fast, seeping into the fabric of his trousers. "I was protecting Al, they tried to take him, too." Junior tells me in a hurry as I usher him to the side of the walkway. Al is the young messenger boy in Thirteen, quick on his feet and agile. It's not surprising that Junior wanted to protect him, Al is one of the most respected kids around, people love him.
"Go to Marc's." I tell him clearly, pulling his vest over the wound and carefully putting his hand on it, applying pressure. Junior nods, eyeing me thankfully and hobbling down the gravel path in the right direction. A peacekeeper runs straight past me as I turn around, heading towards the house closest. Mother, I'm reminded, and dart across the street.
"Tia!" I growl as I break through our front door. With no response, I anxiously grit my teeth, storming into the next room, feeling the desperation flood my being.
There she is. I exhale in relief. Perched on a stump, eyes glazed over with fear, her hands trembling over the fire. "Caesar, you should run." She tells me, taking my hands into her small, bony ones. I shake my head. Mother only has the one leg, she can't walk. If I were to run, I would have to leave her here. If I lose all that I have, I lose myself. Her eyes gaze into mine, a tear balancing precariously on her waterline, threatening to spill onto her pale cheeks.
Silence falls in the house. We just listen, tuned in with our surroundings. The peacekeepers aren't far off, perhaps only two houses from ours. Not long now, I think, until they'll bust through our door. Although, in this moment, that doesn't matter. It's just mother and I. Our bond is tightly woven, nothing but death could tear us apart. She's all I have, and I am all she has.
Suddenly we hear a thud.
Mother and I look at each other. Her dark grey eyes, sharp and piercing. Mine a lighter shade, the same secrets hidden behind them. We have the same eyes, a trait I'm proud to of taken.
Thud.
"Must be the cat." She murmurs, both of us knowing it definitely was not the cat who made that noise. Muffled by thin walls are the voices of the peacekeepers, conversing in low voices. They're trying to break in. Another thud. "Please, get out of here." Mother whimpers into my ear, pulling me closer to her. Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I hear her sigh, stroking the back of my head comfortingly. I'm not leaving her.
Suddenly, one of the peacekeepers burst through the door, knocking it straight off the hinges. With a grunt, he charges into our room, calling for the others to join him. Pulling away from mother, I rise defensively in front of her. "Leave!" She bawls helplessly, breaking down into tears behind me.
Without a word, the man dressed in white grabs me by the shoulders. I grunt in defiance, punching him in the gut in my struggle. My efforts are useless, though. He's in a full-body protective suit, and I'm in a pair of wet basketball shorts. I'm shoved to the ground, straddled, and held down by the wrists. More peacekeepers start flooding into our house, each grabbing a limb and dragging me out of the door, leaving mother on her perch.
My body, weak from swimming and running, is chucked carelessly inside their vehicle. Others around my age are restrained on chairs, gagged and strapped down with strong, wiry rope. I stare into each of their dreadful eyes. The van's engine ignites, and we're driven off out of District Thirteen, leaving mother behind.
Some of the others are silent, some are thrashing about in their restraints. I recognize a few of them, one I think is from the bakery, and one of the girls is friends with mother. The boy with short hair looks familiar, but I can't put names to any of them. I suppose we're all the same, really, in the Capitol's eyes. Twenty four kids, aged roughly twelve to twenty, stolen from their district and driven off by strangers. Our president is blinded by his own ego if he can't see how wrong this is.
The kids who were struggling have stopped. They've come to the same conclusion as the rest of us - there's no getting out of this vehicle until we stop. And we could stop anywhere, at any time.
Ten or so minutes go by, and after watching each of the other people for a bit, I've concluded that the only thing we have in common is our age and our district. We are all completely different. One of the older boys, he's shy and timid, keeps looking at the ground. Then there's one of the younger boys, he's got his hands together, mumbling something under his breath, he's praying. There are the girls, most of whom are fierce looking, some are still crying. We are all completely different. I am a lost boy, living as I go, going as I live.
After about an hour of silence, the ground shakes beneath the van, and we hear a sudden bang. An explosion. Everybody violently writhes to look out the window - when we do, we see District Thirteen engulfed in a plume of thick, black smoke.
It takes me a moment to realize.
My mother is dead. And right now, the only thing that marks my existence is my compulsion to avenge her murder.
Oliver Gray
I sit atop a small ledge, not saying anything.
My wavy blond hair blows in the cool breeze as it sweeps the leaves across the pavement.
"Is it always gonna be like this, Oliver? Always peaceful?"
That was what my little sister said, sitting beside me, poking an ant with a stick. I threw a glance towards her and responded with,
"Yes. Nothing's ever going to change. Not on my watch."
Of course, I said that, but I didnt know how wrong I was, for that was the moment my mother rushed around the building's corner, her medium length red hair trailing in the wind behind her.
"Oliver! Ainsley! You need to run! Now! Get out! They're coming!"
I jumped off of the ledge on which I sat.
"What is it mom? Who's coming?"
She looked at me, a look I had never seen before. A look filled with fear, with worry.
"The peacekeepers Oliver. They're coming."
It was all I could do not to scream. Instead I grabbed my little sister and heaved her onto my back. I began to run, with my mother following close behind.
We didn't get very far.
I continued running, running as fast and as far as I can. I passed citizens I knew, being attacked by peacekeepers. This shot a wave of fear through my body and my pupils dilated as I continued running.
Only to hear my mother's scream.
"Oliver!!!"
I spun around to see a peacekeeper grab her and pull her away from me. I let out a scream, before I felt my little sister get pulled off my back. I spun to face her, only to see another peacekeeper holding her as she kicked and screamed.
"Mom! Ainsley!"
"Hush boy. You're coming with us."
The icy voice struck me and I froze, slowly turning around and coming face to face with a peacekeeper. I held in a scream, instead staring them down. They didn't even react, instead grabbing me and tying my hands together. I watched one of the others force my mother to the ground, and another tie up Ainsley's hands and pull her along. I let out a pathetic,"No!"
I had no time to react as I saw Ainsley get thrown into a truck screaming. I yelled in her direction before being forced into a truck of my own with a bunch of other kids staring at me in fright. A peacekeeper climbed into the truck and slammed the door shut. He handed each child a pill. I reluctantly took mine.
I began to feel a bit drowsy, until I slowly drifted off to sleep.
-------------
I woke up in a dark room with a bunch of other kids. There was panicked whispers passed around and then a screen lit up.
All the kids directed their attention to the screen nervously. A video started playing. It was of district 13. Of home.
It was chaos. Children running around and being caught, adults being thrown to the ground, fires, riots, it was crazy.
I saw tons of kids forced into trucks, and then I saw something that shocked me. I saw myself carrying Ainsley and then mom being forced away and Ainsley being pulled off my back. The kids around me looked at me. I saw Ainsley thrown into a truck with kids her age, and me thrown into the truck with the kids from earlier.
Suddenly the video cut to another scene. All the trucks drove away, and then the real terror happened.
Planes swooped in from overhead dropping bombs on everything. All I could see was explosions and death. I heard gasps and squeals from around me.
Then the video cut to another scene. Everything was gone, and there were bodies everywhere. The camera zoomed in on one particular body.
Mom.
I heard a long shrill scream
Ainsley
She was a few rows back.
Then I heard another scream.
Then I realized something.
It was my own.
Jay Rowan
I stared at the brilliant, golden sunrise. Bright rays streaked through the trees of the forest, illuminating the woods and flowers. I faced the sun, or east, perched in a Rowan tree as jays, robins, and chickadees sang joyously in the limbs above. Nature never ceases to amaze me. Rare beauties, like the sunrise, are what I enjoy the most.
Ever since my parents decided to run away and hide from the rebellious war, I had never seen a sunrise and been relaxed. We had constantly been on the run, moving from cave to cave and destroying and evidence that showed we had been camped there.
There was a time, oh yes, that I would've played with the other little boys in the orchards of District Eleven, but those days are long gone. My home District forgot about us and quit searching, deeming us dead. But I never forgot about them.
"Hey," Someone hissed behind me. I spun around quickly, prepared to fight hordes of peacekeepers if need be. But if was only my little sister. Her long, black hair was in two braids that hung limply at her back and a pack was settled on her shoulders.
"Here, Jay," she tossed me a similar pack. A typical moving day. I sighed. Ever since we got separated from our parents somewhere around District Nine, Jessie hadn't really smiled. It was always forced or pained.
I shouldered the pack on and we headed out, traveling towards Thirteen, the meeting place out parents set up if we ever got separated.
The larks on the thinning woods whistled a sweet morning song, and animals' snuffling could be heard as they woke up to a nice spring day. Jessie and I passed several foxes, badgers, birds and even a few cats. We jumped steams and passed ponds, we weaved through forests and ran across clearings. The scenery was truly amazing.
But after awhile, we climbed a long hill that opened up into a large valley. A mountain range called the Rockies circled the opposite side of the valley. I glanced up at the sun to check for direction. It was slightly to the right from midday, meaning the Rockies headed north and south.
"What'd you suppose we do now?" My sister asked calmly to my left. I shrugged and said, "Thirteen will be to the left side, uh, our left, if we face and follow the mountains," I said simply. She nodded and led the way down the slope.
Wildflowers were blooming and bees buzzed. Butterflies fluttered around our legs as we trudged through the valley. Small rabbits would pop their heads above ground and then scurry right back down when they heard our thumping footfalls. I wasn't trying to conceal my footfalls so neither did Jessie.
We trekked northward through the valley until the sun was setting. We climbed another hill and were about to find a cave in the mountainside.
"Lets find a cave to spend the night, Jessie," I said, turning towards the mountains and grabbing Jessie's hand. She didn't budge. "Now, come on! This is no time to admire the view," I tugged her arm again, she still didn't move. I whirled on my heel to face her, but her face was watching beyond the slope. I copied her and gasped.
A District was sparkling far to our left. At first glance, for a normal person, you would t notice anything different than hills and valleys and woods and a few steams. But for me and Jessie, our senses being much sharper than a normal human's, we picked up many lights in the distance, marking the presence of District Thirteen.
I lowered my gaze to Jessie who beamed at me. "We're gonna see Mama and Dad again," she whispered. I nodded happily. "That we are," I smiled.
And it was at that exact moment an army of planes raced away from the Rockies' other side, the Capitol side.
The wind rushed around us wildly and the droning of bees and birdsong was drowned by the roaring of the flying machines. A symbol flashed in the sunlight, and I recognized them as Capitol bombing planes.
I pulled Jessie protectively closer to me. She buried her head in my chest and we huddled closer to the ground.
Boom!
The forceful blast set my teeth jittering in my mouth, and I raised my head, dreading what saw. Planes had dropped thousands of toxic explosives on Thirteen. Smoke rose heavily from the District site and the bombers retreated, heading in our direction.
My eyes widened and panic filled my brain. Thousands of horrible scenarios raced through my mind as the bombers approached, closing the gap between us quickly.
"Jessie, we have to go! Head toward that cave," I gripped my sister by the shoulders and pointed to a hole in the mountainside. She nodded understanding, leaping up and racing towards where I pointed. I wasn't far behind.
The bombers were nearly upon us and we still had many more yards to cover. Jessie looked back and stumbled, nearly tripping. The cave was only three yards away, but the planes were over our heads. I twisted my head upwards, as a silver metal claw snaked towards us. I caught up with Jessie and gripped her waist before lifting her above my head and throwing her into the cave in desperation as the claw wrapped around my own waist. I struggled against it's grip but the metal didn't yield.
"Jay!" My sister cried. I waved my arms screaming at her, "Hide!" I watched her reluctantly dive into the cave. That's the last thing I saw before I was pulled up into a plane, where someone hit me 'round the head, and everything turned black.
Juniper Fall
My nose was in a book. I was purposely ignoring my family.
"Juniper," My dad was saying. "Listen to me!" His voice rose. I still didn't look up at him. Nothing they ever did would make me forgive them. I remember the day clearly. The day my family betrayed me. The day my family sold me. The day I stopped being my parents' son. I shuddered slightly as the memory rushed back to me.
I had just turned ten and in the kitchen, helping Mom roll out the rough bread dough and Dad was stirring stew. A knock sounded from the door and Mom said, "Harriet must be here," Mom left swiftly to open the door. We waited patiently.
"Hello, Har-. Uh, Mr. Clevens! What a surprise!" My mother's startled voice reached my ears.
"Yes, yes, well. I have a deal to make with you. Why don't you bring your husband and son here. It concerns them as well." A make voice I recognized as Head Peacekeeper Julius Clevens suggested.
I looked at Dad, unsure. He shrugged and ushered me to the door. My mother hugged me and faced Clevens again.
Julius Clevens is a stocky man, with piercing green eyes, slightly tanner than fair skin, and neatly groomed chocolate hair and beard. He wore a simple white uniform and black combat boots.
"Ah, yes. Juniper, is it?" Clevens gazed down his nose at me. I nodded timidly. "Yes, sir," I squeaked. I was never good with people, but dang did I have a way with words on paper. Poems, stories, even fanfictions. I wrote them all.
"Well, lets get to the point," Clevens hurriedly said. "I will offer you, Mr. and Mrs. Fall, food and comfort for the rest of your life if you let us take Juniper with us for an experiment. The choice is totally yours. We won't punish if you refuse," Clevens' words hung in the air, filled up my brain and threatened to explode.
I glanced up at me parents who were in deep conversation. I was scared, to be honest. But a small part of my mind said, "It'll be ok. It always is,"
How wrong I was.
My dad looked at me once, his eyes brimming with regret, and I knew his decision.
"Alright," the person I called my mother shook hands with Clevens hand that sealed the deal.
"NO!" I shrieked, as peacekeepers rushed into the house and grabbed me by my wrists and waist. The twisted my wrists behind my back and pulled me outside towards a shiny white limo. "HOW COULD YOU!" I screamed at my former parents who stood stock still while I thrashing against the grips of five peacekeepers and digging my heels in the dirt ground, desperately trying to break free. "WHAT KIND OF PARENTS ARE YOU!!" The 'keepers threw me into the car and slammed it shut behind me. I pressed my face to the glass, watching my parents' poker faces.
I made a rude hand gesture and flipped back around, slipping into my seat. And that was the last I ever saw of the people who raised me for three of the worst, long, horrible, terrible, no good, very bad years.
"Juniper, look at me," my mom grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her. Her eyes were filled with sorrow, but she would never be forgiven. I broke out of her grip and slammed my book shut, standing up quickly and walking calmly upstairs.
"Juni," my former parents called, "What's wrong?" They asked, obliviously.
I halted mid step, anger shaking my figure. I whirled around and just barely held back the hate I felt for three years.
"Oh, you know what's wrong, mother and father dears," I spat, slowly turning to face them again. Their faces held confusion. It enraged me further. "For three years I waited for you to come for me and say, 'We want our son back.' Did you ever come? NO! Because your parenting skills suck
SO much, you just HAD to ship me away. And did you think for one second, it didn't hurt me?" I paused waiting for them to answer. "They used tracker jacker venom on me," I continued when the stayed silent. "It gives you hallucinations and pain and you lose your sanity after a while. It'll kill you, too. Several young kids did. A friend of mine just recently died when traveling from lab to lab was to much for her. I watched kids die, left and right. How do you think that mad a young eleven-year-old feel? I SHOULD NEVER HAVE SEEN SO MANY DEATHS!!" I snapped, torrents of hate spilled out of my mouth, "I WAITED FOR YOU! Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. How does it feel right now, to know you abandoned your only son, your only child, and he waited with false hope that his parents would come to save him?" I glared daggers at the adults I used to know.
"I'm pregnant," My birth mother said. My glare intensified so much, she took a step back. "Well, whoopty-do. Maybe I should call the peacekeepers to take it away, too." I snarl-whispered.
I tilted my head back and climbed upstairs where I grabbed a backpack settled on my bed, shoving the book I was reading in it. I jogged back downstairs and out the kitchen to the front door, throwing it open and calling one last time to my birth parents. "Goodbye," I said simply, but the word held all the pain an abandoned child could feel.
And that's where things went wrong. A huge screen suddenly loomed above the district and the TV inside my house crackled to life.
"You have lost the war, rebels." President Cummings said triumphantly on the screen. I stared up at the screen. We lost?
But looking up was my ultimate mistake that changed my wretched life forever. I didn't see the vehicle until it was upon me, but once the peacekeepers grabbed me, there was no going back.
"District Thirteen... Has been destroyed."
That was the last thing I heard before knock-out gas filled my compartment and I blacked out.