Mason Marcatto || District 11

Listen, please.


Here he sat, perched precariously on the tallest branch of the highest pine tree he could find, at least four stories high in the air. His hands clenched the branch below his bottom, chocolate gaze flitting across the gently wafting tops of other trees. Yes, this definately was the tallest he could find. It stood out among its companions- here, he could watch the sun rise, as he did almost every morning. Currently, the sky held a bloodred tint, a few clouds drifting across the golden circle rising from the mountains beyond. What lies over there? he thought to himself, feeling the tree's weight shift below him, his legs moving ever so slightly as they dangled off the thin branch. Somewhere better, no doubt. I wish I could get there... His fifteen year old self had no confidence, though he longed to get away. He would do anything, anything if only he could leave the ever watchful eye of the capitol.

He shrugged his shoulders, off-white, stained shirt resembling a flag of surrender from below. Already, he had surrendered. Fifteen years of sorrow, fifteen years of hardship that all brought him to this moment. Fifteen years of loosing friends to a peacekeeper who hit them one too many times, who beat them to within an inch of their life, causing them to withdraw inside themselves. You were never the same once you were whipped- he was a living testament to that. Across his back zig-zagged a flurry of angry, raised slash marks, all from when he attempted to feed himself and his family.

Today. Today that would all end. In the gentle morning light, his copper brown gaze lifted to stare out at the open world, the gentle curvature of the world around him making him ever so giddy. Today would be the last day of Mason Marcatto. He mulled over the little things he might miss about this life- his age hardened parents, the smell of cooking eggs from their chicken, the sounds of Mocking Jays in the morning.

Oh, the Jays. Today, the last day, the last time he would sing with them. He could hear the first stirs of the day, the first families of the birds stretching their wings, flapping, echoing short songs back and forth to one another to alert them to the others presence- 'No, we weren't eaten last night. Everything is fine!' They sang about their freedom, the thing Mason craved most, the thing he loved most about the creatures. He sighed, and offered a stupid crooked smile, his tanned features stretching into an expression he rarely showed. His full lips parted and pursed, and he released a six note tune to the winds. Any more, and the birds below would butcher and forget the melody.

He preferred the company of the animals to his fellow humans- with others of his species, it was... Difficult to forget about the oppression shoved onto them every day of their miserable lives by the oh-so-caring capitol. These birds... They flew free every day, they were not bound by the laws, rules, and regulations he, his friends, his family were forced to live under, forced to bend below. The birds were carefree, flighty. He envied everything about them- but now, he was one of them. Their song, the tune he heard all of them echo, a loud swell, would be his final mark upon the world.

"I can fly too..." he whispered, his tenor voice echoing through the forest, a low murmur. "I can fly... I can fly..! I can fly! I CAN FLY!" the words ripped through his throat, shattering the serenity around him, his weight shifting as his eyes closed and he released the branch. A rogue wind swept him free of the branch the boy's stocky form pitching and tilting forward as he came careening down the pine, pale blonde hair shimmering in the light.

An alarm call sounded by one of the birds, and a small flock of them took off from the branches just as his heavy form collided with a million evergreen needles, scattering them all around him as he continued to fall. A pained expression passed over the teen's countenance as his skull smacked violently into a branch, his form growing limp as he continued down the path to his demise, eventually collapsing within the soft earth.




'A miricle' they'd said. 'Some damned miracle. He swallowed as he finagled his way out of bed, throwing the tattered sheets away from his body. Cringing, his features distorted in an ugly way, he moved out of bed, falling on his good leg, completely hunched over. His Adams apple bobbed as he managed to wander to the restroom down the run-down shanty's hall, pulling himself into the small room. The door would not fully shut, and he gave up attempting to close it as he did almost every morning.

Seventeen. Two years gaped the distance between the accident and today. Two years of anger, of rage, of unease. He could not understand why, why why... Why had he survived? He was so ready to be carried away into the winds- but the winds rejected him. Was he not good enough to be taken away yet? Or did the universe hate him as much as he hated it? Karma, he thought as he lowered himself into the bath, cringing as he glared down at his mangled leg, twisted sideways now that his metal braces slipped off. She must hate me so. He settled in the warm water, staring up at the rotting wood above his head, frowning grumpily upwards. His large hands rose, splashing sprinkles of water onto his face, feeling the pale stubble starting to form on his jaws, cheeks, and neck. He would have to shave soon.

He never understood why the healers did not simply cut his leg off. He felt like it would have been better if they would have either let him die, or just chop off the useless appendage. Surprisingly, during the collision course with the earth, his left leg took most of the damage. His ankle completely shattered, the knee popped out of the socket, broke, and shattered, while the femur splintered into three pieces, at least.

Still, it hurt to sleep on that side.

Now, it twisted sideways when he walked, even with the metal braces sometimes, and he needed a crutch to hobble back and forth. The only job he could really do anymore was take measurements, so long as someone else moved the grain back and forth. It was miserable. He missed the outdoors, he missed the Jays and their song. He never whistled or hummed anymore, never smiled or laughed like he used to.

Heaving his form out of the bath, he glared down at his leg, running a hand through his crew cut, short blonde hair. Inhale, exhale.

He seemed to be getting angrier than usual these days, especially when he had to deal with his parents- though she should have thanked them for everything... Mostly, keeping his attempted suicide secret from the Peacekeepers. If they would have known, well... He might not be allowed to remain in the eleventh district.

He pulled himself down the hall to his bedroom, hearing the echoes of his younger siblings racing about outside, himself glaring down at the tattered dark blue shirt and pale denim jeans he squeezed himself into. Today would be different, he decided. Today I'll go play with them. He made his way to the top of the stairs, glaring down at his mortal enemy, clinging to his crutch with one hand, leaning into the wall with his back.

Slowly, carefully, over the course of what felt like an eternity, Mason made his way down the steps. Sharp, shooting pain coursed up his leg into his hip, and he had to stop every second step. But he progressively made his way down the stairs, until his feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor below him. A giddy happiness built inside his chest, and he found himself hobbling faster than usual, excited to plant himself out in the tiny patch of grass where his sisters and brother sat together, playing patty cake. "...Hey." he announced, slithering to the ground, creating a box with the three children who looked up at him with admiration and wonder shining in their eyes. the oldest brother hadn't been outside just to be outside in... Such a long time. Longer than any of their memories could place.