Scrum O'Malley | District 11 | fin | Hunger Games: The RPG

Scrum O'Malley | District 11 | fin Jul 11, 2021 23:31:41 GMT -5

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Post by dovey on Jul 11, 2021 23:31:41 GMT -5

SCRUM O’MALLEY | 14 YEARS OLD | DISTRICT ELEVEN

“Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is Love and His gospel is Peace;
chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother…”

It wasn’t Six’s reaping that finally convinced Scrum. It was the dream he had that night.

He was in the arena of the Eighty-Seventh, in the field of spikes where Flynn fought Lenox at the end, only somehow Scrum knew it was also the Capitol, even though it didn’t look like it. It was full of tributes, but they weren’t fighting, just standing around like they were waiting for something. And Six was there, because he had been reaped. And he ran over to Scrum and said, “Come on, we have to go."

Scrum said, “Where?”

And Six said, “Heaven.”

Then a gold beam of light shone down from the sky. All the tributes started running toward it, and when they entered the beam it lifted them off the ground, like in stories about aliens, except in the dream Scrum knew it was God doing it and not aliens at all. Six said, “Come on, come on!” and grabbed Scrum’s hand and pulled him toward the beam, and Scrum followed him. When they got into the beam it lifted them up, and Scrum got a weird tingly feeling in his chest, and he knew it meant that he had died. But he looked at Six and Six was smiling, so he smiled back.

The beam carried them up and up, higher and higher, until it put them down on top of some clouds – like how Heaven looked in the pictures in the children’s Bible that Scrum had when he was little, except he doesn’t think it really looks like that because in the real Bible it says it’s like a city. He looked back down at the arena that was also the Capitol, and he saw that the whole thing was on fire. The flames got bigger and bigger until they covered everything that had been there before, and there was nothing but fire below the clouds they stood on, but Scrum wasn’t scared because he knew they were too high to reach. But he was confused, so he turned to Six and asked, “What happened? Where did the fire come from?”

And Six said, “It’s the lake of fire. God put it there because they wouldn’t stop killing me. I told you He’d punish them.”

And right then Scrum woke up, with the whole dream crystal-clear in his memory.

Six’s last sentence was confusing, because Scrum was pretty sure his brother never told him anything at all like that, but the dream’s meaning is obvious all the same. And really it just confirmed some things he’d been thinking about for a long time.

He wonders whether having a dream from God means he’s supposed to be a prophet. That’s a scary thought, if he’s honest. Prophets get killed – and even more frightening than that is the knowledge that his parents wouldn’t understand, would think he was a false prophet and a traitor to Panem. What if he got kicked out of the family? What if none of them ever talked to him again?

Well, all right, Four would talk to him. She’d probably even let him move in with her if he asked. But should a prophet live with an unbeliever, even if the unbeliever is his sister? He doesn’t know.

That’s the trouble – he doesn’t know anything about how to be a prophet. He’s never been a great talker, but it never really mattered before – there’s always been a sibling somewhere around to help him out if he needs it, and anyway his parents like that he doesn’t tend to speak out of turn. Until now he’s been happy to stick to what he’s good at. Which is working with his hands, mostly – fixing fiddly bits of machines and things around the farm, or whittling bits of wood into rough animal shapes with his pocket-knife.

He does the latter a lot while he’s reading the Bible. It’s one of the only times he gets to sit around the house without his mom or dad going after him for it, and what’s more, he genuinely enjoys it. Trying to figure out the meaning of this or that passage is satisfying in the same way as figuring out what’s wrong with a broken piece of farm equipment. It’s like a puzzle. And his mom and dad actively encourage it even though it’s not work, which is nice.

Of course, if he talked more to his parents about the thoughts he has on Scripture, they wouldn’t be so happy about the time he spends reading it. He’s heard enough from them about the ear-tickling lies of rebels to be sure of that. But he spent a long time trying to convince himself he was wrong, and he just couldn’t manage it. The Capitol doesn’t help the widows and orphans in the Districts, like the Bible says rich people should. Plus they always dress up in jewels and fancy clothes. And – the Games. Scrum’s parents say they’re not murder, but why wouldn’t they be? Just because the Capitol says so and they’re in charge? What if the Capitol is like Babylon or Rome, and God’s going to strike them down?

Now Scrum’s had his dream, that last seems a lot more likely.

But he still doesn’t know how to be a prophet. He doesn’t even think he looks like a prophet. Prophets should be bony and middle-aged, with big beards that are too tangled to get a comb through. (He’s not sure where he got this impression, but it’s very firm.) Whereas Scrum is teenaged and chubby and as smooth-faced as the day he was born. And he’s got freckles. He isn’t as clear on whether or not prophets can have freckles as he is on the other stuff, but it doesn’t seem ideal.

Of course, if God does want him to be a prophet, then Scrum is just going to have to deal with not looking like one. Or talking like one, or thinking like one, or having any idea at all how to act like one. He’s taken to memorizing bits of Scripture he thinks might come in handy, just so he has something to say if he needs it. “You brood of vipers” and whatnot. He knows it says someplace or other that God tells prophets what to say, so they don’t have to worry about it beforehand, but – well. Scrum’s not sure he’ll be all that great at hearing what he's being told.

Maybe God will fix that about him, though. If Scrum is meant to be a prophet at all. He still isn’t sure.

Although every day he sees Six all bloodied-up on TV, he gets a little bit surer.

“…and in His name all oppression shall cease.”

[lyrics from “O Holy Night” by Placide Cappeau]