Marlboro's Speech // True Grit

As I look out at the crowd, I shuffle the notes I’ve been given on the other candidates. Of course, you’d have to be living under the rock for the last twenty years not to know who Kieran Emberstatt is. Then there’s Arthur Sartorius. Man’s lived a hard life. Veterinarian. Taking care of three children on his own after his wife died in childbirth. It’s rumored that he had a drinking problem, might still do. Now, I don’t rightly know much about Ms. Melora Vang, haven’t seen her anywhere as of yet, but I expect I’ll at least see a speech.

I suppose I’m expected to say something about the games as well, promise to help our victors get more kids home. I aim to find out which member of my PR team got that idea into their fool head and give them a stern talking to. Our victors ain’t caused the Capitol any trouble, not like the folks in eleven, or Arbor Halt, God bless him. It ain’t our way, to put that burden on them like they was careers or something either.

I crumple the papers up into a ball and set it to the side of the podium, taking a draught from my glass of water. What folks need now is reassurance. Unity. Divisive words and inflammatory speech have never been my hat anyway. The hot ticket issue seems to be education, but you know what? I didn’t prepare anything for that. Today I’m just going to be speaking from the heart. It’s easy to quote statistics and percentages. Harder to just lay yourself bare for the world to see.

“Afternoon folks,” I begin, tipping my hat.

A fair shake, that’s all most people want. To know that the sweat of their brow means something. That they ain’t just working their fingers to the bone because they have to. “Some of you might know me as Mayor Mcfadden, though that was a good ten years ago now.” Why’d I decide to come out of retirement is a question a lot of people have asked me. The answer is simple.

“I've left retirement because times have changed. I think I can do some good. I can remember a time when people trusted their neighbors. When people weren’t afraid to leave their back doors unlocked. A time before the fear that seems to pervade every level of our society. A time when folks remembered who the real enemy was.”

I’m quiet for a moment, slowly walking across the stage and searching the faces closest to it. It ain’t the most Capitol friendly speech, but hell as I get on in years I find that I’m getting mighty ornery. “We’ve weathered this year fairly well. But there are districts who didn’t. Districts that we have the opportunity to help, now that inter-district travel is no longer a pipe dream but a soon to be reality. We ain’t got much, but as the saying goes, when all you’ve got is nothing, you’ve got plenty to share. But before we get carried away with the new and impressive, we can’t forget those who need us. Whether that be the children, or those with mental, physical or financial issues.” I think of Miss Ayres and young Olorin.

“District ten has long been a place of good, simple living. I’d go as far to say that we are one half of the breadbasket of this country.” I take my demonstration piece out of my jacket. A horseshoe. I hold it up to the light and then set in on the podium.

“But, I ask you, is the nail on this side any more important than the one on the other? Naw. You need ‘em both to keep the shoe stable and keep the horse from breaking a leg. Panem is the horseshoe here. We’re a solid nail. But maybe our neighbors are feeling a little loose. Maybe here in ten, some of us are more stable than others. If I’m elected Mayor, my first priority will be getting help to those who need it, whoever that might be. and when things here are squared away, see what can be done to help our neighbors. We’re a community among other communities after all. That’s it. Thank y’all for your time.” I wave as the crowd claps and I wonder if I’ve done enough.

I hope so. In my mind, I’m just getting started.