Though now she lived in the districts, she was capitol born. She knew all of his hardships and never looked at him any differently. She handled him with such gentleness, and kindness. She was a rare bird, His Nightingale. Just like he had been for h...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Coriolanus leaned his head against the glass window, trying to absorb any bit of coolness it might have retained. The stifling train car had just cleared when a half dozen of his fellow recruits piled out at District 9. Alone at last. He'd been on the train for twenty-four hours without a moment of privacy. Forward motion was often interrupted by long, unexplained waits. With the fitful travel and the jabbering of the other enlistees, he hadn't slept a wink. Instead he'd feigned sleep in an attempt to dissuade anyone from talking to him. Perhaps he could nap now, then awake from this nightmare that seemed, by its tenacity, to actually be his real life. He rubbed his scabby cheek with the stiff, scratchy cuff of his new Peacekeeper shirt, only reinforcing his hopelessness.
What an ugly place, he thought dully as the train chugged its way through District 9. The concrete buildings, flaking paint and misery, baked in the relentless afternoon sun. And how much uglier District 12 had the likelihood of being, with its additional coat of coal dust. He'd never really seen much of it, just the grainy coverage of the square on reaping day. It didn't look fit for human habitation.
When he'd asked to be assigned there, the officer's eyebrows had lifted in surprise. "Don't hear that much," he'd said, but stamped it through without further discussion.
Apparently, not everyone had been following the Hunger Games, as he didn't seem to know who Coriolanus was or make mention of Juniper. All the better. At the moment, anonymity was a condition greatly to be desired. Much of the shame of his situation came from bearing his last name. He burned as he remembered his encounter with Dean Highbottom...
"Do you hear that, Coriolanus? It's the sound of Snow falling."
How he hated Dean Highbottom. His bloated face floating above the evidence. The tip of his pen poking at the items on the lab table.
"This napkin. Was confirmed with your DNA. Used to illegally smuggle food from the dining hall into the arena. We picked it up as evidence from the crime scene after the bombing. Ran a routine check, and there you were."
"Y-You..You were starving her to death!," Coriolanus had said, his voice cracking. "I had to do something!"
"Rather standard procedure in the Hunger Games. But it wasn't so much the feeding, which we overlooked for all the mentors, but the thieving from the Academy. Strictly forbidden," said Dean Highbottom. "I was all for exposing you then, presenting you with another demerit, and disqualifying you from the Games, but Dr. Gaul felt you were of more use as a martyr for the cause of the wounded Capitol. So instead we had your recording bellowing out the anthem while you recuperated in the hospital."
"Then why bring it up now?" Coriolanus asked.
"Only to establish a pattern of behavior." The pen tapped the silver rose next. "Now, this compact. How many times did I see your mother pull it from her handbag to check her face? Your pretty, vapid mother, who'd somehow convinced herself that your father would give her freedom and love. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say."
