Under these Steel Wheels [Python - Train]

Ellexias Verisity

She had paced around the Justice Building for minutes on end, nerves vibrating at a hypervigilant frequency. Visitors were allowed entry to the premises, but her father could not consciously wheel himself to her. He would be left sitting there in the Square until someone – preferably Dr. Marx – noticed his helplessness and rolled him to safety. Everyone was required to attend the reaping, so Dr. Marx had to be there, right? And he wasn’t the type of man to abandon a patient, even if they weren’t his own. He knew family, work, and school was her world. He would come to her rescue. Perhaps not with a cure for death, but with some semblance of relief.

When they did show up, Ellexias visibly relaxed, her rigid spine falling somewhat slack and hunched. It felt like the weight of the world was sitting on her shoulders. Every ounce of her strength was spent focusing on her father’s conditions instead of her own. She would have weeks to address her own future. For now, he was top priority. ”Are you taking him to the center?” She asked rapidly, her hand cupping his cold knuckles over the arm of the wheelchair. His tremors were acting up again, a sign of distress. Did he know what was in store for her?

Did she want him to know?

”I was going to ask you about that,” Dr. Marx said, ”Would you prefer he stay in his house? “

”Yes.”

She had never wanted to move him anywhere else. Home was home, where mother once thrived and where their family was once together in harmony. She didn’t want to deprive him of nostalgia, whether he was capable of remembering the good times or not. It was in-humane, and she had enough of that poison in her conscience. ”I’ll send a day nurse to take care of him then,” Dr. Marx said promptly, always professional and genuine. If only people knew what he was capable of. The horrors committed behind closed doors for the sake of science. His patients wouldn’t think of him so warmly then.

”What about the night shift?” she asked. Her father could become lonely if the knowledge of her absence was capable of plaguing him. Also, what if he suffered a medical emergency in the dead of night? He was an aging man with many afflictions. Alone and hopeless was not how anybody deserved to die, not if there was anything she could do about it.

”I’ll schedule a nurse for the evening,” he reassured her.

With that, she could finally breathe, but the Peacekeepers intercepted them. She kissed her father goodbye and boarded the train.

Now she had her own life to worry about.

Her quarters aboard the steel vehicle were cozy, and unlike any space she had ever occupied. Pillows were fluffed to heavenly perfection, and the mattress itself felt like a cloud. It was ironic, the amount of comfort and luxury that accompanied her nightmare. There were dishes upon dishes of different snacks and treats strewn across a table, but she had only glanced at them with a vacant mask of disinterest before disappearing to her assigned bedroom. Her appetite was parched from the stress. How could she eat when the possibility of a premature death was dangling above her eyes like a stray hair?

She had not yet spoken to their sluggish escort or her district partner. This antisocial behavior would only last as long as she needed to process her change in fate, because she knew she couldn't sit in silence forever. That would ensure her downfall. She knew how these Games worked, somewhat. Friends were an advantage.

Her mind was running in circles. She thought of her father and his feelings, she thought of her deserving misfortune and how much she hated it, yet had no right to. She thought of what lay in store for her; Capitol propaganda, the content she never much paid attention to, and then the blood and gore. Sights she had been conditioned to face with a steely façade, but when laced with such malice she didn’t know how she would fare. Even in her experiments, her intent was not to harm or kill, but to cure. Murder was murder, of course, but this would be much harsher. It was murder for the sake of murder. “Survival” they called it. But what did the viewers want? Murder.

She walked out of her quarters and slid open the compartment door. Her escort and district partner were lounging by the tables of food. Marchello was devouring a cheeseburger. She would rather find vegetables on these platters, but settled instead for a vine of grapes. ”Do you mind if I turn this on?” she asked, gesturing to the television. The silence was overbearing, and she needed background noise. Not to mention it would be educational to watch the other Reapings.

Ellexias Verisity

She nodded and turned on the television. District Three’s Reaping illuminated the screen, a backdrop of greys and whites with a painted mass of colorful bodies in front of the stage. She absent-mindedly popped a grape into her mouth and stared at the movements onscreen, but didn’t register the names or the faces. She didn’t want to memorize twenty-three people if the majority of them would end up dead. Losing patients was always devastating because she knew their names and faces, sometimes their personalities. It would be easier not to think of competitors as anything but strangers. Marchello could be the exception; he was home, perhaps not yet a friend or a foe, but she knew within the next few weeks he would become more than a stranger. If they clashed well, they could become allies.

A stew of morbid thoughts settled in her brain. She sat down on the couch beside him and wondered which of them would die first. Six was a famously unsuccessful District, producing only a few worthy competitors in the last seven years. Galaxy had been the latest subject of admiration. So close yet so far, and it felt like their loss had been destiny. All of the excitement had been for naught. Before that, it had been the Keenis raising the interest of proud residents. All of them were brutally murdered, of course, but that didn’t stop her from remembering the hope. She had been eleven years old when the Keeni twins first impressed the District. Three years ago, Willis followed suit.

She couldn’t imagine outperforming them.

The television switched to District Four’s Reaping. She chewed on a grape and listened to Marchello, nodding slightly. ”Yeah,” she said, hardly registering the names announced on the stage. A girl was crying out “No!” No!” and creating a scene. Not a rare occurrence, but still unpleasant to watch. ”Of course, we’ll also get to know them in the Capitol.” It was more of a reminder to herself than anything. Facing these people and their lives was inevitable. Ignoring them as human beings would be impossible. ”I don’t really look forward to it.”

Ellexias Verisity

It feels wrong, he said. Everything felt wrong; her death sentence, Marchello’s death sentence, leaving her father behind, sitting inside of a compact train near an escort who probably didn’t comprehend the permanence of death. There was also the imminent visit to The Capitol – a stressor in itself, because despite watching clips on television she didn’t truly know what to expect in such a vast, foreign place. It was so highly praised, but what did it have to offer except death and a wrongful ticket to unwanted fame? Even sitting here plucking grapes from a vine felt wrong. She should’ve been home by now, slipping into her uniform for a long day’s work. Watching these tributes made her feel numb. It felt like nothing in comparison to the heart of the storm.

Their own Reaping was broadcast. She could see her own dazed expression, and wondered if the capitol would notice the flicker of fear in her eyes as she rigidly took her position on stage. Would they perceive her silence and obedience as strength, or would she become background noise because of how simplistic her actions were? She couldn’t begin to strategize about how she would present herself to an audience. What would they want from her?

One thing was for certain; she didn’t believe in ghosts. Death was death, and there was nothing afterward. At least that was how she perceived it, grim as it was. Yet she understood him anyway. It felt like she was watching the dead, and she was among them. He was among them. ”Most of us will be ghosts,” she murmured. She didn’t mean it literally, but it was only a matter of time before everyone on the television screen ended up dead. They could easily join them, both of them. District Six was notorious for the champions that weren’t quite good enough. What she felt inside of this train – what she felt in this boy – didn’t feel like anything special. It didn’t feel like a room graced by champions.

They were practically normal, and the normal ones died off first.