a dark, dark world [open]
Apr 5, 2012 20:32:48 GMT -5
Post by { arietta on Apr 5, 2012 20:32:48 GMT -5
I shouldn't be awake yet, but the irresistible call of the outdoors undid me. The birds are jabbering outside, and it's the best time to listen to them. It's early morning, and a light breeze slaps my dark hair against my mouth. Floaty wisps of white clouds dot the sky. I turn to face the sun that's slowly ascending against a pale sky; blotches of orange and red and yellow bleed across the horizon in a sunrise full of spring. Tall fruit trees loom over my vision, obscuring some of the cerulean blue sky, green leaves just beginning to creep on their lonely branches. There's still a barbed, crisp edge to the air, but the worst of the winter is over, and I can't help but smile mockingly at the travesty of winter that nature produces with the remnants of harshness. An exuberant laugh bubbles inside of me, and I swallow it down with a large gulp. Call me crazy, but the air smells fresher already. The Capitolites, they don't understand the momentous breakthrough of spring every year; their gluttony and excess exists all year round. They don't know what the yellow prisms of light dancing across the water mean; they don't know the fresh green newness that blooms only in spring. We rely on the crops for food and survival; the timely arrival of spring is just what we need this year. It's fickle to rely on something so unpredictable, but District Eleven is entrusted with producing the food needed to fuel the Capitol. After all, we can't have Capitolites in need of food, right? I think sarcastically, nastily, bitter disgust making my mouth pucker. I should be more careful - but what is there to be careful about? Emaciated and hungry, that's what I am; that's what everyone in District Eleven is. Not a threat to the Capitol and the high-tech weapons that it snatches from Three. Not a threat to the "order" that Panem's government has established.
I can see the orchards from my perch, and I slump down, sighing. I hate working there; my paranoid brain always produces the constant fear of having my brain taken away from me, of becoming the pretty robot that the Capitol expects. The thought chills me. The Capitol really needs more cronies, I think ironically, pulling my knees up to my face. Wrapping my arms around my skinny body, I allow myself to shake slightly. The silly part of me longs for company, but I know I won't be able to sustain it. Other girls - they're learning how to charm, to seduce, to attract mates that will ensure their survival. The thought of that sort of thing disgusts me, and my dry, deprecating humor assures me that I'm going to have a hell of a time finding a partner. It's all in the far future, though, and I assure myself that I don't need friends now. My brown eyes dull as they stare unseeingly in the distance, the trees melding into one kaleidoscopic panorama. Sometimes I whisper words to myself, wondering what they mean and how to use them. I don't know where I picked them up; certainly not from the ratty old tomes in our school. There's so much to learn out there, and so much censored by the Capitol that it's crazy. Of course, the Capitol wants it that way - only it is allowed to poison our minds. New books. Real books without the propaganda of the Capitol, I think hazily, my long fingers stretching out as if to touch the beautiful picture in my mind's eye. It's just a dream, of course. The Capitol had to find some way to corrupt its inhabitants; controversy wasn't what it was aiming for. Complete obedience was.
Look at me, my mood ruined because of some Capitol crap, I think, my mouth opening in a humorless snort. Everything I do- everything I think and feel- is influenced by the Capitol. Its influence reaches out like the tentacles of a beast, suffocating everything that's in its way. Weakness and indecision flood me, and I think that I might as well forget everything and become what the Capitol wants. I know I'll never be brave enough to do anything but work and hide. Work and hide. Work and hide. I could lose myself in the work - the fruit-picking, the inventory counting, the conforming. I had never been branded a "rebel", but I didn't know how to take advantage of it. Leave the brave words and dramatic actions to those who were more capable than me... keep myself and my family safe... It's a beautiful thought, a wonderful dream, but I know it'll never work out in reality. I am many things, but I'm not soulless. And only a soulless person would not be bothered by the Capitol's antics; only a soulless person can achieve my dreams. I don't want to be known as the one who allowed her talents to go to waste - but the danger, the damned danger in everything that I may face. I want to bury my face in my patchwork clothes and beat my fists against the ground like a toddler during a temper tantrum. I can't do this. I can't. This thinking, this speculation - it's driving me mad. I need to find someone to talk it through with. Someone who understands.
A shuddering breath racks into me again, and somehow the morning suddenly doesn't seem as welcoming to me anymore.
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