tinfoil hats.— [dillwyn/peter | blitz]

d i l l w y n

The only reason why I’m even here is because Dad said the government would come to find us and rip us apart if I didn’t keep coming to school. He said that it wasn’t safe for me to hole up just yet, and even when I finished I’d need some sort of job anyway, so it was best that I got some schooling even if most of it was lies. Like them teaching us how the water system in the districts work as though they’re not full of fluoride which leaches into your brain and puts you under the command of the capitol. Or how district thirteen wasn’t really just buried underneath a pile of rubble and run by a collection of mutated mole people who were planning on taking over the world and forcing us to work in salt mines.

But that meant I had to be here, and to actually sit listening to all the stuff they shoveled down everyone’s throats like it was just plain normal. It was probably the hardest thing I had to do was to keep quiet, because every time I offered an answer in class the teacher would tell me how wrong I was by saying things like, Dillwyn I’m not going to tell you again that I’m not a lizard person or if you insist on invoking the treaty of treason on your neighbor you’re going to have to see the principal. At this point of the year, my teacher had managed to stop calling on me all together anyway.

So, I resigned myself to another lunch watching the lemmings lap up the water and processed food they were meant to eat. I bet they didn’t even know that they put something in the food to make sure everything came out okay. Rookies.

I was minding my own business, thinking about how we were going to get in touch with the mole people of district thirteen to make sure they at least brought down the government first when a voice called out over my shoulder.

“I am not obligated to give you any information that you don’t already know.” I pulled my lunch tray closer to myself. It had been taco Tuesday, which was one of the only acceptable meals edible from the cafeteria because it did not utilize a complex combination of preservatives that served as mind control substances as did most other lunches like grilled cheese or pizza bites. “I am not able to claim ownership of this property, but I will warn you that I am in possession of it. And possession is nine-tenths of martial law.”

I crunched through the hard shell of taco and spilled meat across the tray.

“What’s your angle? Did someone send you?”