dennis babylon {d6 - fin}

☢ dennis babylon ☢

there's rolling hills legs freeing over winter winter winter
there's another me fifty years older struggling down a street
there's two more addicted to each other
new one's coming out of her mother's
two more who make each other's blood boil
dead one's rotting in the soil

xi. the appeal

Ten foot tall and arched, made of ancient stone, with cherubic faces frozen in glazed expressions. I walk through without looking up. No time. Black suits open double glass doors for me, but I'm not royalty, not by a long shot. I pass through on marble flooring, my step is quick, even though I have no desire to keep walking. Light bleeds through stained windows, casting technicolor onto velvet wallpaper. Hand crafted saints and legendary monarchs are printed into the glass, but they are from a forgotten age, and this place holds no religion.

The corridor opens up into a cavern of decor. Gold leaf flowers dance up the ceiling, and palestone statues adorned in white robes judge me from alcoves in the walls. It's all supposed to make me feel small, but my spine is straight and my eyes hover where the horizon should be. No one lives forever, and I'm not the type of person who claims to go out fighting. What I believe is that the things I have done have defined me, and led me to this fate. I am going to be reprimanded for my actions, but I should never betray my beliefs. Regret is an emotion I will not die with.

I look down at my wrists, handcuffed and sore. In the eyes of those with power, I have done something wrong. I have lost my freedom for that, at the very least. I am not shaken or afraid, more anxious to know what will happen to me. I glance around the room, my Peacekeeper escort has since left me alone in here. Limbo between Liberty and Justice. How apt.

What I did was against the law, but it didn't make a difference to society as a whole. The Capitol are no better or worse than before, and neither are my District. It was only for personal benefit. I did it to stop the people I care about having to suffer unnecessarily. It's as simple as that. No one's lives have chanced except for my family's, for the better. Even if I'm locked away, or even executed, I know that their lives will be so much better because of what I did.

I'm slowly drifting to the thought that today is my last day on this earth, and that's okay. Sacrifice is a word that's often thrown about without thought, but this truly is a sacrifice, and one that I have no regrets in making.

Large cinderwood doors part, and armorless Peacekeepers in white jackets take each of my arms and force me to walk into the courtroom. I'm greeted by a hive of upperclassmen, all jeering and hurling abuse at me. I feel a flicker of fear in my throat. I can't swallow, so I stare at the marble floor, placing one foot in front of the other. I know this is going to be okay, not for me but for my brothers. This is about them, not me. The thought of their faces calms me somewhat.

It's like I can't catch my breath. My chest is constricted, tight, and red hot. This is my sentencing.

"You stand here in front of the Supreme Court of District Six, accused of one count of theft and multiple counts of treason."

I look into the attending parties, those who have come to watch my testimony. The Sarcović twins, owners of the Golden Lion - Six's most extravagant and affluent casino. Half the people in this court are rich enough to be regular pundits there. Chancellor Reinwright and his three wives, rich enough to own ten buildings this size and still have enough money left to feed every citizen in this District for a whole year. The money is there, but it's never spent in the right places. Such is greed, a green monster.

Treason is a ghost of a word in Panem. By existing, you're committing treason. It's a throwaway word that prosecutors use when they have no other justifiable reason to punish you. I did something they didn't like, so therefore I committed treason? I don't think so. I reiterate, what I did had no effect on any of these people. No one is any worse off because I stole some chemotherapeutic drugs, or some samples or uranium.

Maybe they think I'm making a bomb with the latter, and that's why they're saying treason. Maybe not. A lot of the Peacekeepers around Six know me well, and have nothing but good things to say about me. They know I'm faithful to my family, and generally well behaved. My mother died giving birth to me, so me and my two brothers were brought up solely by our father, who himself was a Peacekeeper before he retired and settled down. Just your generic law abiding citizen, and yet here I am.

I'm not smart enough to make a bomb, or abuse the substances I took. These people know that. This isn't District Three. What's more, the amount I stole was so small, that it really wouldn't have done any harm to anyone. On the contrary, my brother was able to receive treatment because of what I did. It's too soon to know if either the radiotherapy or the chemotherapy has had any remissve effects to my brother's cancer or not, but his chances of living a healthy life are significantly better now. That's something he wouldn't have if I didn't steal what I did.

Stuff like that's reserved for rich people, but that's fucked up. People shouldn't profit off other people's health. We should all strive to make each other healthy, as equals, together, the human race. Each life is precious. Why should some treatments be reserved for the more fortunate? It's like we're punished for being born less fortunate.

"How do you plead?" The magistrate commands, and the courtroom falls silent.
"Guilty." I say without hesitation.

This world is toxic, and this government is corrupt. We live in a tiered system where each class of society holds up the next. We're at the bottom of this ten-ton pyramid, supporting the crippling weight of those above us. It's not right but there's nothing I or anyone can do about it. This is the world and we have to live in it as best we can. Me taking a small amount of uranium and some drugs does not effect any of the people in this courtroom, or out of it, or the Capitol, or the District. It simply means my brother has a better chance of surviving. It means that I'll be put away or even executed so that the debt is paid. Blood ties. Like sacrificing your queen in chess.


xvii. the desolation

Scattered rain sweeps across the rooftops, washing away the fallen autumn leaves that cling so keenly to tile and concrete. I am dry inside a stranger's house, grateful for their charity. A hot cup of sunblush tomato soup sits in my hands, the steam condensates onto my glasses, rendering me half blind until I rub the lens against my green sweater.

It's about half past three in the afternoon. I'm tired. I haven't slept in about thirty hours, but I can't afford to rest today. I've been chasing a lead for a few months and today could be too important to allow my concentration to lapse. It only takes a split second for someone to come and go. Blink and that window is gone. Luckily, I'm pretty switched-on, despite my lack of sleep and/or energy.

I lean against the open door frame, looking out into the maelstrom. A lot has changed in such a short space of time. I still hate the Capitol, and this twisted upside down pyramid where those on the top layer have so much, whilst the rest of us struggle to hold them up. My back is aching, but I don't groan about it - I have no one to complain to. I sip at the soup and watch for movement. People running from shelter to shelter, trying to get by in their daily lives despite the bad turn of weather.

It was raining when Jason died. Turns out everything I did wasn't enough to save him. I broke into a damn hospital and stole from one of the District's most secure and protected buildings. I scouted the security systems for months. Followed leads, pickpocketed keycards from staff, watched the shifts, found the camera blind-spots. Ripred, I was caught on camera and prosecuted, but it still wasn't enough to save him. Some people are just destined to die young. I should have died with him. I should have been executed for what I did. You don't steal from the Capitol and live to see another day.

Unless you're me.

I'm still breathing, but it doesn't feel like I own this lungfull of air. My life is borrowed. I got out. Cheated death, etc. I made a deal with the devil. The high court put me on house arrest whilst my case was debated and looked over. It took weeks, nearly months.

Eventually I was approached by someone from the Capitol. They offered me a deal, and I accepted, because it's better than the alternative. Apprently someone with my level of skill is valuable to them.

So, I'm a mole.

My brother is dead and I get to live the rest of my life spying on the good people of this District, reporting them for crimes and/or framing them if I'm told to do so. It's a dirty life, but it's the only life I've got. I threw away what I had when I decided to take my brother's treatment into my own hands. It's weird because, when I made the decision to try and save him, I was so sure that I was ready to give up my life - That I would die so he could have a chance of surviving. I made a sacrifice. But I got to survive, and that's worse. I have to live knowing I failed to save him, and although I got a good deal and can keep living, it's not the same life.

I place the empty mug on the wooden table next to me, and press my spectacles further up my nose. I spot the man I'm supposed to be marking, and slip closer into the shadows.

there's enough love to go around around around
there's enough hate to keep you around around around
there are pretty witches you wish you never met
a man who finds it all too much you just forget
you fought him in the 21st century
forcing smiles for his fake old dynasty
does it reflect a hallucination