when love is what we hate [pika]
May 22, 2012 15:00:30 GMT -5
Post by chaseee on May 22, 2012 15:00:30 GMT -5
and you don't have to make a sound
cause they got what you need
I wake to the sound of singing birds. It’s an odd sensation – there aren’t many birds around the Capitol and even those that do manage to land on a rooftop or sewage drain don’t rest there for very long. On any other give day I’d wake to my radio alarm, belting another tune on a prerecorded broadcast. But this isn’t a normal day.
Just two days ago I was told I’d be heading out of the Capitol -- packin’ on up and movin’ on out – and into the wild, where I would spend the next few weeks hunting down the rebel camps and extinguishing them. They gave me a large pack and two smaller ones (to hook on my belt) full of food, water and other necessities. No toilet paper. Along with that, I was wearing a donated hiking outfit completed a dagger in my boot and a machete at my waist. In theory, I am ready for anything. Anything but these damned bugs. As if on cue, a red bump swells on my arm and a full mosquito buzzes away.
Minding my aches and sores, I begin to pack up last night's camp. The sleeping bag is folded and tucked into the large bag first. Then comes the dinnerware -- the plastic bowl and fork set. Finally my water canteen, only half full. I'll need to find a river or something soon. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven't eaten anything since lunch yesterday. Nestling myself at the trunk of a large tree, I withdraw two packs of dried jerky. I devour the strips eagerly, my stomach thanking me with the ceasing of its ramble. Hopefully District Twelve has better food than this.---
The gated community of District Twelve reminds me of the prison my father was taken to after he attempted to murder me. It has that shabby gray feel to it, as if the depression and heartache locked behind the electrified fences were a tangible force. Or is that your own fear you're tasting, little Natty? There are Peacekeepers scattered about the broken roads. Even these white-clad authority figures look beaten and despondent. So it's even worse here than the rumors say.
My boots beat a new trail on the worn out path leading to the Jurisdiction Office. With traffic here so low, I wonder if punishment is delivered as it should be. Maybe the Peacekeepers think this place is depressing enough without the added beating and jailing.
"Now that I think about it, District 12 probably isn't the best stay for me.," I mumble under my breath. Fixing the straps of my pack so that they rest right on the curve of my shoulder, I turn from the eggshell-colored building and make my way toward the outskirts. Maybe another night in the woods will do you some good, Natty. I walk until the fence is back in my sight and then stop.
I spread my little makeshift camp out on the grassy field. It's beautiful here -- the only vibrant attribute District 12 has, I'm sure. There are dozens of flowers in different colors and shapes, bent by the relentless wind. Somewhere along I catch a glimpse of what I think to be a butterfly. The sun is slowly sinking back beneath the horizon and the weather has taken a turn for the better. Cool enough that I can actually pull myself under the covers instead of kicking them away in a sweaty temper. I turn myself over so as to better see the brilliant stars in the darkening sky.
