raw red hands (frankel)

Zita Van Tuyl

Running my hand through the tall vegetation, it was nearly above my height. All this food, planted by my father and his team, left alone to grow. Soon enough this long grain plant would be created into a variety of foods, bread, cakes, pastries, all for the capital of course. Picking away a leaf, I’d skip out of the field, not wanting to damage the natural creation. Prancing up the bank, I’d leave the planting fields and head off into the heart of the district, I am sure my mother will be wondering where I am.

It is the early hours and my usual morning ritual is to check on the crops, even if they weren’t planted by my father. They are spectacular, every day they are different, a few inches taller from the last time. I cannot wait for the harvest, it is a bit late this year and it will likely be after the games. My father promised I could watch them, or even help…if I wore my shoes.

Begging myself so often to place those leather things on my feet, I can’t. They’re more of a health risk than not wearing them. My father refuses that I work out in the field, unless I put them on, he says I may injure my feet. The skin on my soles are as hard as metal now, so many calluses, old cuts hardened up, they might as well already have a rubber sole on them. What is the use for a shoe anyway? They just make your feet smelly and sweaty.

Planting my feet onto the pavement, I couldn’t feel the rough edges of the gravel; I had become immune to it. Even in the winter, I rarely wore shoes, they never felt the cold. My mother thought they may be paralyzed but the doctor said otherwise. They’re just trained to withstand all the weather, cold or hot.

Waking up the world, the sun was slowly raising above the sky. A bustle of noise would echo from the District, workers were beginning their shift, saying hello to another day. Everything in the District is so repetitive; everyone gets up, goes to work, goes home and goes to bed. Even on occasion my own life is on a timetable but I try to do different things every day. Today I may make a detour on the way home, maybe go into a shop and buy flowers for myself or my mother.

Sitting on the windowsill in my bedroom are a collection of purple flowers but I need to change a theme. They are slowly dying and this month I have decided to go for an orange theme, I usually collect them but I haven’t found many orange flowers lying around the District, I am sure maybe the market may be selling some.

Approaching an alley way, I’d dodge pieces of glass scattered across the floor. My feet are tough but they cannot with stand sharp objects like glass. Barely visible, the sun was not bright enough for me to see much ahead of me. Shadows moved about in the alley way, everything was silent. A dreary atmosphere filled the air, a hint of fear filled by body as I approached the shadow ahead.

540 Words