Emmery Johnson ~ District 5

i want your
r o m a n c e

~ ~ ~

Sometimes, when I look up into the sky at night, I can see stars shining brightly in the dark sky. I wonder if someday I could fly up and onto the stars, perched on the point at the top, flying away from the treacherous world we live in. But I cannot fly, for I have no wings. My aspiration is to grow wings, yet I know this isn’t possible. My childhood dreams of flying to the stars are all but a myth now. But there is still that one tiny glimmer of hope settled deep inside my heart, burrowed and drowning in my scarlet blood, that one day I can escape. But I know that, for now, I am stuck on the awful tainted world we now reside in, named Panem. I am unwanted here. If I flew up to the beautiful stars, I would be wanted, the angels flying up in Heaven would warmly welcome me to the spacious area above the Earth, and remove me from the awful planet below with brutal Capitolites with treacherous blood or the starving children in the districts. I am not a bit of Panem – I am in my own world.

Unique. Beautiful.

Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder – is there anywhere for me in this big wide world? The answer never bounces off the walls and come back into my ears. Instead the question echoes around the hollow room. I have never gotten answers to the questions I ask. My mother does not understand why I am such a strange child. But that is only because I want to know where I stand in this community. Am I just another poor teenager of the district, eligible for the dreaded reaping, another poor soul that may be lost? No, to me I am so much more, I am unique, different, beautiful, perfection, yet nobody’s perfect. I am even unsure of my own self…when I look in the mirror, I wonder – am I really that beautiful as I think? But that isn’t the point. It isn’t about being beautiful on the outside. I lack amazing beauty, but I am adequate. It’s about the beauty inside, under the depths of your skin.

I have black hair, mid-length. It isn’t that beautiful, but yet I am still ravishing on the inside. I have the sort of curves girls at my school envy, and the way that I can keep my weight balanced without shifting. 50% on each foot. That is what I have learned – my mother is strict on these things, therefore she had us balancing properly since we were old enough to stand. My mama. What would my mama do if I was reaped? If I was sent away to fight other tributes for my own survival. To kill mercilessly just to come home. If I win, I win. If I lose, I lose. I could join the angels if I went into the games, and go and reside in Heaven with God. Except I don’t believe in God. He would never let our world be turned into this outright chaos if he loved us all. He would save us, burn the Capitol to the ground, and we could re-build a nation, a nation that was not riddled with poverty or anything. A nation that was safe and sound.

I wish I lived in that nation now. A safe nation, one where the children were not tainted with worry that they would be the next victims. Where the people from the Career districts did not take pride in volunteering for the Games and killing people without any second thoughts. A world where everyone was happy, nobody was thriving in poverty, and the districts had healthy homes and happy families. Working electricity. District 12 would be turned into rich people like in District 1. All the districts would be brought together to form one big nation, that was perfect, absolute perfection.

My name? Emmery Johnson. Apparently I am a secretive type of girl, not liking to give out my emotions. I would bottle them up inside my head and keep them to myself. I don’t want to be the kind of person who is all like, “Everybody look! I’m so sad because someone just threatened me!” I’m more sly and subtle, and that is why people can trust me to keep secrets. Even if I discover a secret that any other person would be bursting to tell their friends, I wouldn’t feel the need. It’s one of my strange habits and traits. My mama says that I was bright and sprightly as a little toddler, when I was oblivious to the world around me. I was just a little weakling, but now I’m much more tough. I’m smarter than you think and there’s more to me than what meets the eye. I don’t tell people this; the smart ones can figure it out for themselves, the dumb ones? Well, they’re just not worth the trouble. You either know me or you don’t – I either like you or hate you. That’s the deal with me.

When I was eleven, I was almost happy. I had been cheered up by my mama’s kindness and I loved her to pieces. But my papa died when I was twelve, and it brought me into a state of depression that nobody could ever cease. I couldn’t face the world anymore; not after what had happened to me. I had suffered so much from that death, just in the blink of an eye, in the forest, when a harpoon shot him down. He had shielded me, so I was unseen. Trembling, I had risen from the rock I hid behind and ran home to get my mama. I didn’t want him to be discovered lying in an ugly way on his back, propped against the rock. I wanted him buried next to me, so I could sit by him and talk to him whenever I liked. I didn’t want the Capitol to take him in to clean up the forest and use his body to discover new scientific things. I wanted my papa to be buried somewhere he’d like to be buried – anywhere close to me and my mama. So that was in the garden. Mama sobbed when she saw his body, but worked up enough courage and energy to dig up a hole in the garden after she had picked him up and carried him home after I led her to the body.

I hit the woods and I collected dozens of flowers to surround around Papa’s grave. Then Mama ordered a gravestone from District 2, which mined stone, and it cost a lot of money but at least Papa had a decent grave. We didn’t want him to be placed in a pile in the house or back in the garden. We wanted him to have a peaceful and elegant burial area. We held a funeral then, inviting everybody in the district. I cried during my speech, but none of the girls from school, the ones who hated me and teased me, laughed at my weakness. Instead they gazed at me in respect. I had lost my father to the Capitol and yet I was still standing strong. Nothing and nobody could knock me down. Mama emerged from the crowd and said her speech, surprising everyone. She had hidden inside the house, definitely not enjoying her new status as a widow. And she had now come out of the house and presented her speech. The mayor gave us a speech too, and a medal. We were both honoured in the district from then on, and people actually admired us.

And that proves that if you lose someone, you can still be strong. And whenever I smile, it’s not because I’m happy. It’s simply because I’m a strong person.