Jano Karmichael {D7}

Jano Karmichael

The sky was blood red on that day, right? That's how I remember it. Red and horrible, like someone had dragged a corpse across it. The wind felt wrong too, it was so faint that it was barely a wind at all. Birds were flying overhead, all heading east, like they knew about the gunshots that would follow. I could sense it. All the signs were there, staring me in the face. Everything about that day just reeked of wrong, and yet I chose to go to market. I wanted to go to market. Maybe I couldn't stand being stuck at home with a Father who hates us. Maybe I wanted to get out. Well, we're certainly out now, and there's no going back. Not ever.

Food for the baby, that was why we ventured to the market. Truth is, we had plenty of food at home. We didn't even need to stock up, it was just something to do. I should have stopped the moment I saw the crowd. Not a crowd, no. An animal. So many bodies, all so individual and full of their own anger, but directed at the same place. Arm over arm, scream over scream, surging like a great wave of limb and resent.

I dived into that wave, thinking I could handle it, thinking it would be okay. No one wanted to hurt us, we were just kids trying to buy better food for our little sister. We weren't meant to get caught up in their demonstration. I was so naive to think that I was right. The more the Peacekeepers pushed back against the rioters, the more angry the beast became. Oppression only fuels rebellion. It grew and grew, with more people joining in with the violence every second. We were swept off our feet and into the whirlpool of bodies. We were trapped, not by our oppressors but by those rebelling.

I became seperated, quickly losing sight of Castor and baby Ellise. For a few minutes I was alone in that crowd. I have never felt fear like that moment. Knowing that my sisters were stuck inside this horrible cage of bodies. I had seen surges like this before, and they often led to crushes.

I like to sleep in.

Dad always called me a lazy shit, and that I'd never amount to anything in my entire life. He'd give me a kick in the ribs and tell me to make myself useful. It was so hypocritical of that old bastard, who spent his most of his days in a saggy armchair in our living room. We don't live there anymore. Ripred knows where he is, or how he's doing - Do I even care? I can sleep in all I want now, in our little treehouse so high in the forest, away from the Peacekeepers and the mercenaries. Away from anything that can hurt us. Castor knows not to wake me before eleven, else she risks putting up with the hideous, cranky version of myself that comes out with sleep deprivation. Castor says I should go to sleep earlier, but I don't sleep too well. I need to be physically exhausted to fall asleep.

Castor goes out in the mornings. Sometimes she'll fetch me some breakfast, usually a bag of granola, or a fresh loaf of bread if I'm really lucky (and she's feeling particularly daring). It's nice to wake up to Castor cooking us some brunch, or stocking up the cupboards. I feel bad most of the time - Like I can't provide for us because of my fucked up sleeping patterns. I suppose I contribute in other ways. I am working on trying to clear our names all day, every day. That does hold some merit.

I stir on my mattress, these thoughts of Castor and Dad are so vividly printed in my head. Did I dream of that day again? Stupid question, I always dream of that day. Not a day goes by when I don't close my eyes and see that red sky.

I roll out of my sleeping bag and pull on a pair of worn, tired pants.
"Castor?" I pause, buckling up my belt. No response. That's odd, she's usually back by now. Maybe the market is too quiet today, and she's having trouble being rogue. Maybe the market is too busy today, and she's having trouble moving about. To pull off a decent steal, the conditions need to be right. There's a good chance my twin sister will come back empty handed.

I lazily swipe a t-shirt that hangs from my armchair and shrug it over my head. It's a bland green color, contrasting from my caramel hair and prussian-blue eyes. My stout jaw clenches, my thick brows furrow. I have become so accustomed to the sound of woodland birds that I barely hear them anymore. It's like white noise. There are no sounds anymore. I suppose battening all the hatches down and then wondering why I can't hear anything is stupid, and self-influcted. There's no other choice though. We lock our doors and shut our windows and hope that the rest of the world goes away. What am I expecting?

The gunshots started, and I don't know what came over me, I guess I just panicked. I replay the moment again and again in my head, where I saw a man fall to the ground with a red hole in his head, his eyes vacant. I scrambled through the masses, screaming Castor's name, desperately hoping to catch a glimse of her dark, frizzy hair, and Ellise clutched to her chest. The minutes seemed to drag on and on, each passing like sand in an hourglass. Soon it would be empty, and it would be too late. Was I too late?

When I ducked through an opening in the crowd and saw my twin sister looming over a Peackeeper - His armor now red, plastered in his own blood - I knew I was. I saw the bundle of red blankets on the floor and crawled to it, tears already streaming down my face, my mouth agape in a silent scream. I got visual confirmation, and I knew I hadn't been quick enough.

There was no goodbye. No send-off. It was over so fast that I couldn't even react. I just stood and watched. My baby sister, dead. A freak accident. Was it an accident? They were shooting at the crowd, trying to kill protestors. Instead they shot an innocent baby. The thought of her vacant face makes me want to scream. I should have been faster. I should never have let them out of my sight. The repeatative squirting of blood rang in my ears as my sister rhythmically stabbed the Peacekeeper. The only thing about that day that I don't regret is how fast I acted then. I was on my feet and running to her, pulling her away from the man she had killed. I stopped her.

At a cost, of course. Castor had murdered a man, and she would have been locked up for the rest of her life. The man who murdered Ellise would have walked free, without judgement passing him. That's the way this corrupt system works. There is no charge for a Peacekeeper killing a citizen, but if a citizen kills a Peacekeeper... It makes me so angry. We're all people. In a way, I'm glad my twin sister killed him. I don't think I could go on knowing that he was still out there, walking free.

We ran into the woods, not even daring to return home. We ran for hours, until Castor couldn't run any more, and even then I carried her. We ran, because what else could we do? We stopped by a large oak, deep in the District Seven forest. We embraced each other, weeping and broken. There were no words that could be spoken, the wave of our grief too strong. I opened my mouth to speak but I didn't know what to say to her. She's my twin, and she always knows I'm here for her.

"It's okay," I eventually muttered, "It's going to be okay."

Things are okay. Castor goes out stealing food and supplies for us, whilst I spend most of the day looking through the documents we stole from the Justice Building, hoping that there will be some clause to clear our names. I just want our old lives back. I don't want my sister to live in fear and guilt for the rest of her life. I want her to feel free. Yet the more I dig, and the longer we stay out here in the woods, the more I notice how free Castor has become. Maybe she likes how we live now. I mean, I'm content with it - We do well for ourselves. But do we always want to be in a treehouse, hiding at every flash of white and grumble of a hovercraft? That's not freedom, that's oppression.

Castor still hasn't returned. My completely unidentical twin. She has dark skin, whilst mine is a pasty white. Genetically improbable, that's what the doctors had told our parents. A one in a hundred-thousand chance. Her hair is wild and frizzy, but mine is a bland dark-blonde, short and straight. Her eyes are burning coals on an open fire, dark and full of lust. Mine are calm and blue, but hide a tsunami of rage. The only similarities between us is the general shape of our faces. We have similar noses, mouths and cheeks. I can barely remember Castor's smile, but it's something like mine.

If I have to break into the Capitol itself and erase the records of our crime to see her smile again, that's what I'll do.