Of Victors and Tributes

Chapter 31: Meadow's District

We pull into the district early in the morning. I stick to the windows, mapping out the place. Yes, there's the fence that looks like it barely works. The surrounding forest that the hunter took Meadow's dad into. In the distance, a meadow filled with snow. I wish I could see it in the spring or summer, when the flowers grow. The houses are rundown, covered in graying slush from coal dust. The people look like they've tried their best to bundle up, but surely they don't have the money. If Meadow had come home instead of me, they would have food. More money. A reason to keep going.

They watch my train pull up to the station.

I climb into the car with my entourage, trying to stop the shaking and racking of my body. Cecelia gives me an extra coat, but the shaking isn't from the cold. This district wreaks of depression. There doesn't seem to be any happy people here at all, and no reason to be happy. Starving, descending into the dangerous mines every day, trying to find a way to keep yourself and your family alive. I thought District 8 was bad, but Twelve seems so much worse, and I've only been here five minutes.

I know deep down that I find this place so miserable because I'm miserable, and I'm without Meadow. There must be some good here, because Meadow could smile and laugh even after more than half her family died. I wish I could do more for these people than stand on a stage, thank them for their children, and have dinner with the mayor and their victor. If I could give them my money, if I could do something right.

Once we're in the Justice Building, I'm redressed into nice, Capitol-fashion clothing. A black coat, blue pants, gray boots, that kind of thing. I think it represents how all of us feel quite nicely. Absolutely and whole-heartedly depressed. Or maybe it's just me.

"Taylor, you'll have to give us a smile," Woof says with an attempt at humor. Cecelia gives him a look and he shrugs, walking off.

"You've been practicing reading from the cue cards, right?" Koi asks, pressing a few cards in my hands. I stare at them. No, I have not. "Taylor, how are you going to get a word out if you haven't practiced?!"

"Never mind the cards," Cecelia says, taking the cards from me. "You don't need them. Just speak from the heart."

"I don't want to get in trouble," I tell her quietly. Besides seeing Meadow's father, this is another worry of mine. Saying something out of line like I did when she died. Jean and her mother and Lacey are still at risk.

"You won't–"

"Taylor, you'll know what to say when you get out there," Farah says, cutting off Cecelia. She pats silver dust onto my cheek. I don't really like the whole 'winter' look.

"I hope so," I mumble.

The Anthem of Panem begins to play, and I'm launched through the heavy front doors.

Their faces are hard, dirty, lined with black coal dust. Most of them look similar to Meadow, very few have light hair or eyes. They tried hard to wear their best and their warmest, but much of the clothing doesn't fit or is riddled with holes. And there he is, Meadow's dad, standing on a raised platform with a picture of his daughter behind him. He looks just like her, blue eyes and dark hair, olive skin. I watch a tear drip down his face. I look away and see that Cole had more family than Meadow. An old man and woman, a boy older than me by a few years and a girl that looks around fifteen. I hate their sad, empty eyes.

The mayor, a man called Undersee, finishes his speech about how great I am and whatever. There's awkward silence for a moment where I stare at Meadow's picture, then realize that I'm supposed to start talking. I panic, my lips parted. What can I say? I wish it was her rather than me? That I didn't know Cole at all, except for he avoided me?