Ivy(District 7) WIP
Oct 21, 2017 23:25:27 GMT -5
Post by ivygilligan1121 on Oct 21, 2017 23:25:27 GMT -5
I have sawdust in my veins. Being surrounded by towering evergreens, hearing the crunch of leaves under my boots, and inhaling the pungent mixture of pine and fresh earth, stirs my blood. Something only someone from District 7 would understand. Yet before dawn everyday, I venture into the woods with younger sister,Sage, and other men and women, armed with axes and long saws to cut down those beautiful trees.
Dressed in a shirt and jacket, pants and leather boots, with my long black hair in a braid down my back, I was the subject of stares and crude jokes of the boys who work with me. Over time I learned to ignore them. Chopping and hauling wood in a dress is too cumbersome. Besides this job is dangerous enough with the possibility of being crushed if a log rolls onto you. Or being impaled through the neck or chest by a falling tree branch. Why add skirts to the mix? There's something so freeing about wearing pants! In fact, I wear them all the time except in school where all students adhere to a strict dress code.
If we're not on the job my sister and I are in school. We learn about how the lumber and paper we produce benefits the Capitol and our country Panem. In lessons on the history of District 7, stories of gruesome deaths and injuries are omitted. Anything to avoid lighting the slightest spark of rebellion, even though everyone knows that's a lie. As an apprentice to my mother, our local healer, some of the injuries I've seen are enough to churn your stomach. Axe wounds to the head, severed hands, nasty gashes oozing pus with red lines crawling up the limb. Can't get worse than that right? It does when something tragic effects you personally.
My father used to come with Sage and me every morning of years. Until he was seriously injured and almost killed. I remember that day exactly. Sage and I were at home, splitting wood to add to the pile at the side of the house when I noticed a boy running towards us. He looked near my age( I was fourteen at the time), maybe a year younger. His cheeks were flushed. Once he caught his breath he said,
"Your father has been in an accident, Ivy. He was helping another worker load logs onto the barge, when slipped from its binding. Your father couldn't get away in time. The log rolled onto his leg."
I dropped the axe; it landed in the dirt. I looked over my shoulder.
There was a rebellion against the Capitol which was mercilessly put down. Now there's the Hunger Games, where one girl and one boy from each district are sent to fight to death.
More coming soon.
Dressed in a shirt and jacket, pants and leather boots, with my long black hair in a braid down my back, I was the subject of stares and crude jokes of the boys who work with me. Over time I learned to ignore them. Chopping and hauling wood in a dress is too cumbersome. Besides this job is dangerous enough with the possibility of being crushed if a log rolls onto you. Or being impaled through the neck or chest by a falling tree branch. Why add skirts to the mix? There's something so freeing about wearing pants! In fact, I wear them all the time except in school where all students adhere to a strict dress code.
If we're not on the job my sister and I are in school. We learn about how the lumber and paper we produce benefits the Capitol and our country Panem. In lessons on the history of District 7, stories of gruesome deaths and injuries are omitted. Anything to avoid lighting the slightest spark of rebellion, even though everyone knows that's a lie. As an apprentice to my mother, our local healer, some of the injuries I've seen are enough to churn your stomach. Axe wounds to the head, severed hands, nasty gashes oozing pus with red lines crawling up the limb. Can't get worse than that right? It does when something tragic effects you personally.
My father used to come with Sage and me every morning of years. Until he was seriously injured and almost killed. I remember that day exactly. Sage and I were at home, splitting wood to add to the pile at the side of the house when I noticed a boy running towards us. He looked near my age( I was fourteen at the time), maybe a year younger. His cheeks were flushed. Once he caught his breath he said,
"Your father has been in an accident, Ivy. He was helping another worker load logs onto the barge, when slipped from its binding. Your father couldn't get away in time. The log rolled onto his leg."
I dropped the axe; it landed in the dirt. I looked over my shoulder.
There was a rebellion against the Capitol which was mercilessly put down. Now there's the Hunger Games, where one girl and one boy from each district are sent to fight to death.
More coming soon.
