abigail fonsa | district eight | fin [cb]

”It doesn’t matter how big a difference it is; a life is still improved. A revolution for a small world, there are so many that are seeking a change. A change to the food they eat. A change to the clothes they wear. A change to their welfare entirely. It can be a small feat but a proud one.” The group of tiny little faces glare up at me, young warriors of the future, destined to modify the world. Not even one has an idea on what I am rambling on about. It is easy to forget they are not the same faces I see on a night. I am trusted with their lives as their parents are at work, a small creche for the many factory workers that endure long hours. The mayor promised to cut their hours and he did, another little revolution in the confines of District Eight.

”Now, if any of you could be mayor. What would you do?” The usual childish imaginations of painting the District pink and giving free cake to all. They are too young to be terrified; nobody has told them the horrors that will shadow their lives for six years. I am eighteen, on the brink of being set free.

Well, I will be free from one prison cell, but the jail doors have me barred to the underworld. As soon as dusk strikes the faces of toddlers are replaced by the real revolutionaries. A group that want to see change, plans stringed together and knocked down by the peacekeepers that foil them.

My number one rule of being a member – not to harm a single soul. Change can be brought on without violence, not many agree with my idea of a peaceful protest, but I will prove it to them.

So many years of suffering. So many souls that are begging for a difference. It is time to dare and change the world.