towered, sporadically (tylerjames)
Jun 20, 2019 22:23:06 GMT -5
Post by mallen on Jun 20, 2019 22:23:06 GMT -5
lucy straub
Today is supposed to be a day off for the nation. Panem is watching the early beginnings of the Games. Lucy doesn't particularly enjoy the Games, especially when the violence begins. The only parts worth watching are the glimpses of footage of the other parts of Panem, especially the gleaming Capitol city. Not the people nor the culture, but the buildings themselves.
What does a city feel like? Buildings taller than the feed silos that towered, sporadically over Ten? The District was her home, no doubt, but a mind does wander when the body cannot. Dirty meadows full of dirtier animals. There is never a day off here. Lucy asks, do the other districts ever actually stop? The people in the industrial districts surely could. The factories and the minerals could wait. Fruit could probably handle another day on the branch. Livestock rely on the people of Ten; they can't exactly feed themselves. A day without water was not how living creatures usually work. Not even on the holidays is there really a day off. Someone is always scheduled and today is Lucy's day.
She is walking up a row between fences; the heavy, hard breaths of the cattle on either side of her registering, only faintly. The occasional cry did not startle her. The smell is more of dust than manure today; Lucy counted that as a victory. She carries a large metal pail; someone had left it near a post in the far corner of the lot; she is planning to take it back so that she wouldn't be the one blamed for it. Lucy let it hang low in front of her so that she could kick it with each step, to a steady rhythm like a tin drum. She strains her eyes to catch the exact impact of her toe, but the moment when the metal meets the thinning leather, it's over again.
She rounds the corner to the shed-yard where the pail will find its home. The door is open, and a few people are around, bumbling around the yard, going about their work. There is a Peacekeeper leaning on a post in the furthest corner; Lucy drops her eyes as not to look at him and stops kicking the pail. They make her nervous, though she's done nothing wrong.
The dusty smell is considerably worse in the shed. This shed always lacks the ventilation it needed, plus the floor doesn't help either. Lucy is willing to bet a coin or two that it has never been swept since it was built; the thing is probably nearing sixty or so now. There's another boy in there; stocky, dark featured, and unfamiliar. He's probably someone who works a different shift or a different farm, scheduled here for the Games day.
"Excuse me, sorry," Lucy mutters as she passes behind him to put the pail in its place with all the others. He looks a good half-foot taller than her, and twice as wide, bent over something, in focus. A bull-calf screeches in the distance somewhere, trying to show off how grown he is.