Iris Bartlett | District Five

District Five
Female
Seventeen

Lovable rogue
Secret and filled with dreams

Desaturated
make less saturated; cause to become unsaturated.

Saturation
the intensity of color in an image. In technical terms, it is the expression of the bandwidth of light from a source. The term hue refers to the color of the image itself, while saturation describes the intensity (purity) of that hue. When color is fully saturated, the color is considered in purest (truest) version. Primary colors red, blue and yellow are considered truest version color as they are fully saturated.

As the saturation increases, the colors appear to be more pure. As the saturation decreases, the colors appear to be more washed-out or pale.

The world desaturates around her. The slow creep of the night pulls every last shade of colour from the world until she lives in a black-and-white photo. She stays in her seat, lounging next to her parents' shabby little house. The shadows of the buildings that tower above her stretch in long dark arcs. Some people find fear in these inky fingers, but she found solace. The only light around her is the small glow of embers at the end of her cigarette. The light breathes as she does, growing brighter each time she draws the poison into her lungs.

She knows she's addicted but it doesn't bother her. The dependence is a comfort in a life where she has had to fend for herself. Her mind drifts to the knowledge that she only has a couple smokes left, making a mental note to pick up some more when she goes out. If she was lucky she might find the ones she actually likes rather than these rancid ones. They served her fine, but her taste was sensitive enough that she had a preference for the more expensive brands. Thankfully, she wasn't the only one.

The final drag from her cigarette is a last wink of orange in a grey world. As the light fades to a faint red glow, she drops the butt and grinds it lazily into the dirt with one booted heel. Yet another smear of ash streaks the ground, grey on grey. The evidence of her habit surrounds her, left there by a girl that didn't care, and parents that didn't want to know. They didn't want to know much about what she did anymore, and she was perfectly happy with that. As soon as she was old enough to have her name drawn for the Games her parents had all but turned their backs on her. She wasn't sure it would do any of them much good were she reaped, but it might make it easier to walk away if her name was drawn.

With the last wisp of smoke leaving her lungs she stood. The night was only just beginning and she had things to do. She pulled her gloves on and dragged the edge of her scarf up over her face. While it wasn't particularly cold out, she wanted to prevent her skin from being too exposed. Between the watching eyes on both sides, a little skin could cause a lot of problems. The less anyone saw of her, the better. Maybe her parents had it right, after all.

Like a ghost, is the curtain
In the white light of the morning.
Dancing, in the morning
Are you there? Are you there?

She had never had any intention of ending up on the path she was on. Yet, just because she hadn't chosen this path didn't mean she wasn't content with it. Simple as it was, low as she might stoop, she lived relatively easily. Besides, there were times when her wits were tested and that kept things interesting enough to keep her coming back. A pat on the back here, a grip of the wrist, a quick shuffle past a stranger, and suddenly she could continue her habit or have food for a night. She would never starve, between her subtle ways of maintaining an income and the fact that her parents - for all their apparent apathy - were still her caretakers.

She would us her hair like a screen, hiding what little of her face could be seen above the scarf. Her self-cut long bangs shielded grey eyes behind shabby ends, an umber curtain between herself and the world. The small knife in her pocket, clenched in one fist, is her insurance were she in a sticky spot. She would not win a full-on fight, but she would hope her speed and the surprise would give her enough of an edge to escape. That plan hadn't failed her yet.

And a shadow, like a sadness
Falling all across the garden
Dancing, in the garden
Are you there? Are you there?

A night's work constituted in a pack of expensive cigarettes, a watch, and a good number of coins. The watch she would pawn off to her fence, even though she knew they always undercut her. Still, she knew they would never tattle on her and that was worth the extra fee. She was careful not to take too much at once or from any one person. That was how you get noticed, and the last thing she wished to do was draw attention to herself.

With the watch sold, she returned to her room. In a small box she had stuffed into the broken part of her wall she placed the coins. The cigarettes stayed in her pocket, as did the knife. Sorting through her savings, enough to support her for a week or so, she took a deep breath. This wasn't as much as she hoped. She might have to get a bit more insistent on receiving a reasonable payout from her fence, much as she didn't want to push their agreement.

And the leaves at my feet
Whisper sounds so familiar
Whisper, so familiar
Are you there? Are you there?

Once she had dreamed of being someone important, someone in the spotlight. She thought of those dreams with scorn now, knowing them to be folly. Now she only hoped to keep going as she was and stay as far out of view as possible. Though this wasn't quite true. If she were being honest with herself she might let herself dream of exploring the world, of seeing something besides power plants and smog clouds. Somewhere out there was a place where she wouldn't have to hide, as there simply wouldn't be anyone to hide from. She would need more money before she could do that, though, and unless she got very good at sneaking around she would have to show her face to the Capitol.

She would just have to get very good at sneaking around.

Where the clouds pull apart
Where the moon changes faces
In the quiet secret places
Are you there? Are you there?

She folds her clothes carefully, a pile of shadows made of cloth, a dark spot on her bedroom floor. The knife goes under her pillow, the cigarettes remain in their pocket. Boots rest at the end of her bed, ready to grab them should she need. She sleeps in shorts and a tank-top, unwilling to be without some form of clothing in case someone surprised her as she slept. Her parents aren't her worry - they never came into her room - but in her profession there were a number of shady individuals she crossed paths with. Careful as she was, these were the type of people you couldn't afford to underestimate. Her possessions, while meager, would be more than enough to attract scoundrels. Too bad for them that the chain of stealing ended with her.

As she lays back on her pillow the light of the moon touches her face. How would it and the stars look when they weren't so hidden by the pollution and glow of the district? She thought of looking up at the sky from the middle of a forest or on the edge of the ocean. One day, she would know what that would be like.

But not today. Today she closed her eyes against the greyscale world and fell into dreams of a life saturated in colour.

Shine on friend. Goodnight
Why, then, the darkening of the light?

^{Lyrics from Darkening Of The Light by Concrete Blonde
Definitions from Techopedia and Google}