mysterious stranger ; zori/speedy ; white elephant

The Mysterious

Stranger

Names are never on the list for no reason.

The capitol, in case you haven’t figured out by now, has its own reasons for the people it seeks in the districts. Whether it’s someone who’s heading a resistance, or just a family that’s grown too powerful, or—perhaps they just want to destroy something for the sake of it being destroyed, they have a reason. Mine’s not to question whether or not something is right. Doesn’t do any good to stumble over reasons as to why things shouldn’t be done. This whole world was built upon unfair reasons, on stones turned over and buildings burned for arbitrary reasons. I’ve seen enough to know that if you want to figure out why anything is done, it’s easier to proscribe it to someone being human than there being a higher purpose.

My brother would have disagreed with me. He would have said that, there’s something watching over us. Oh but—what you would’ve known, had you lived. There was something hopelessly naïve about all of it, the things that he said about some non-existent higher power. I think it’s how he got over not being like the rest of us. Believing in fate is intoxicating; makes you think you can be protected even when the whole world has gone to shit. And when things don’t work out the way you want them to, it’s out of your control because of the universe making it so. No need to choose, no need to think that your actions have more consequences. There’s a thread you’re treading, and you’ll ride it until your life has been cut short.

What he failed to understand and what people fail to understand is that fate is fluid. There’s a whole number of endings, but we decide on destiny. Cockamamie sounding bullshit, isn’t it? I try to stay away from philosophy all that I can but, sometimes I have to speak in terms you’ll understand. Well I’ve got to be smart if I’m the one that’s still alive after all these years, don’t I? You probably want to say that my idea doesn’t sound much different from my brother’s, that if I believe in fate, then how can there be any unarranged destiny? Well I’m so glad that you asked—it’s that you’ve got to know when your choice makes a difference for just you, or for someone else. That whole idea of ripples on the water, that’s the sort of stuff that makes your choices more than just your own. You can be the one that gives your whole heart to live, or to live well.

It’s morning and I’ve got my papers all arranged for getting around this district. Slept along the fence, found the hole just where it was supposed to be. Olivia tells me where to go—because she would know, the whole f—king capitol government has maps about where you’re supposed to go in and out if you don’t want to be found. There’s resistance that thinks they’re so smart, like no one knows who gets in and out. Your whole life is on camera, folks. I gave a big grin to the sky when I pulled the broken tangled mess of wire open, and then the middle finger. If I’m ever going to die, I want them at least to know how much of a s—t I give for their rules. Not that my body would ever be found. They’ve got some mass graves just outside of district ten, don’t you know.

But today is about fate, about the choice someone has—better or worse. A scrap of paper is my guide, with names written loop-de-loop in bubble letters on the page. Who they are, what they want, doesn’t make much difference. For me, it’s about what’s in the whites of their eyes. The questions they answer, their voice, the rasps they give trying to sound out what should be done. There’s always the fools that think they can outsmart me, that it’ll make any difference if they strike me down. You think I’m the only one that could come for you? I’m just a reaper, not the one and only. Blessed better than you to know, with thin bony fingers and yellow teeth, I will strike you down with my knife until your blood is the only thing wetting the ground.

Market’s empty, save an older woman. And she knows the name, they always know the name. She doesn’t ask mine and f—k all if I’m asking hers. This business is easier when I don’t have to know any of them. They’ll always be miserable, serving the way that they do. When she sees the paper, she can tell me where to find you, where you’ll be waking and walking, when the world can come crashing down. Today the sun’s just coming up and you’ll be setting out for work. By yourself, with friends—I’ll follow you until you don’t have anywhere to hide.

So I press my back against the tin of the wall on the corner, and light a cigarette. My trench coat hangs off my body, my cowboy hat dipped to hide the mess of blond hair on my head. I never liked winter mornings. Too fresh and brisk, too much chance for something new. Give me a summer morning when people long for things to be the same, when there’s a rhythm to life. And I breathe deep the tar and nicotine until I have to light another cigarette. I spy a little shadow, and look through the smoke.

And that’s when I hope you believe in fate because—you’ll need it.

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