Aisley Merwin [[District 10]]

My first memory is fleeting and dark, as though my mind has done its best over the years to hide it away. Many people pity me for witnessing what I saw, but I do not see the events of that night as a curse. They are a blessing. I remember nothing from before that moment in time, despite the fact that I was almost twelve. They say that it is lucky that I do not remember the terrible things implanted into my head. Better that I believe in the truth. In the memory, I am standing there in the kitchen, watching the last rays of light disappearing and sinking into the fields. From what I see when I look back on the moment, I can not tell that I am, in fact, standing in the ground floor or the old book shop, in the kitchen behind the shop front. I have been told that since, as I have been told many many other things I did not know. Like how President Snow is a person of great honor. And how the tributes chosen every year for the games are very very lucky indeed. I believe these things. What fun it would be to travel to the Capitol and eat their fine foods. What great pleasure I would find in travelling into the arena and fighting gleefully with the others, painlessly letting the special effects delight viewers across Panem. And then, lying there and waiting to be beamed up again, my time over. Still grinning. Then living happily in the Capitol forever, knowing that all my fellow tributes and I could put the past behind us. It would be a great thing to be reaped, I think. A chance to play a game for my District and for Panem. What great fun it would be.

And the shadow grew longer. Back then I was afraid. Afraid of death and all sorts of things that aren't even real. Afraid of illusions, was I. It's okay, though. Now I understand how things work. Standing in the kitchen. Light over the hills. Shadows dancing around my feet. Silence. And then a rapping at the door with heavy-fisted hands. Knock, knock, knock. I froze, because I didn't know who was knock-knock-knocking so late at night and I was worried. Fear rose inside of me and footsteps hammered down the stairs so quickly I was quite sure that whoever they belonged to would tumble the rest of the way. Then I felt hands, cold hands tugging my body from it's frozen state and pulling my up the stairs as the knocking grew louder and more persistant. And then my mother was cupping my face in her hands. I look at her. I remember, still to this day every detail of her face in the darkness of the room. So like mine. She had the same wide, sparkling blue eyes as I do. The same slight wave in her honey-blonde hair. Her lips mirrors of my own heavy, arched ones. Short lashes, pale skin. I remember every detail of my mother from my only memory of her. I have no photos. No pictures. Just this one memory, of her holding my face in her long slender hands and looking right into my heart.

"I love you very much, Aisley. Me and Daddy will always love you, no matter what. You know that, right?"

I looked her in the eye, nodding fiercely. I was very, very afraid now. Father was shouting something from across the landing in his comforting, deep voice and mama was dragging me into her room and forcing me under the bed, pressing her finger to her lips in an urgent plea for silence. I obliged, drawing back under the bed and pressing the side of my head to the floor. My eyes wide, I watched my mothers bare feet cross the room. And then men entered the room, clad in heavy boots and armed with weapons I cannot identify. I wanted to cry out, to run to my mother and cry, however I couldn't. I was fixed to the spot, unable to do anything but watch as the Peacekeepers raised their guns and shot my mother down. She fell beside me, her honey-blonde hair swept over her face and I managed to cry in silence. I don't know why I was so sad. Back then, I thought it was a big deal. And my father came into the room, yelling and screaming my name. He asked where I was, what they had done with me. And then he was kicking and screaming as he was led away from the bedroom and down the stairs and out into the night. I never saw my father again.

They tell me he became an avox. To me, it sounds a little like being a tribute in the way that you get taken away to the Capitol to enjoy yourself. And mama, so so lucky. Falling down beside me so beautiful as an angel. But of course she didn't really die. Special effects can do magical things for a child's wild imagination. My parents where confused people. They where not bad people as the Peacekeepers told me, no no. They just didn't understand how noble President Snow was. Conspiracists, committing treason, planning terrible uprisings. They thought that that was right, because they didn't understand that everything happening is already right. Fun. A game. None of it is so real as anyone seems to think.

The games on the television, blaring. Another tribute dropping dead, blood pouring from their mouth. A speared heart. An axe to the head. An arrow to the eye. Fun, fun, fun. Wondrous images created by the Capitol. Just a game. A beautiful game.

A blur of color. A flash of fire. A shimmer of earth. A knife to the throat. Another tribute down on their knees, begging for mercy. Eyelids fluttering to a peaceful close. The seal of the Capitol in a deep, dark sky.
The tragic lies. The perfect reality.

The television screen flashes to static, and my eyes are drawn away from it. They flicker to the ceiling, as though I could look right through the second story and into the night. I can't, of course, but if I could I would see deep grey clouds in the sky. Thunder rolls far away, yet I don't stop to think about where it might be. I don't dream of escaping my perfect life, not at all. It's fun.

Not always fun, though. Not always. Once, I sat in the damp Justice Building, feeling like a criminal awaiting their sentence. Once, I was informed by a balding Peacekeeper that I was to live with the people who owned the horse-wares shop next doors. I always knew it was a profitable business - selling saddles and tacks to a District full of livestock. But I never knew the luxuries that would give me. Once, I tumbled from the window of my second story bedroom because I wanted to fly. I don't know why they crowded around me as though I was enduring some great suffering. I felt no pain. With my golden curls billowing around me head, and crimson blood trickling across my faintly freckled cheek, I only felt disappointment. Disappointment and pity.

I grew up with no siblings in either family. I was spoiled. Taken to many a doctor, too, was I. But I'm right, and anybody who believes in stupid, impossible things like death and pain in such a beautiful world are the ones who need to see a doctor.

There is no pain.




Credit to Lalia for le template idea. Face-claim is Marloes Horst.