Gold rush

Not All News Is Good News (1)

I tried to smile at those who passed me as I approached the bustling market, in the heart of district 10, but nobody could bring themselves to met my eyes. Not too surprising on a day like today when everybody is reminded of just who I am.

Many wooden stalls lined the narrow streets and shouts of salesmanship all blended into one sweet chorus. Markets may not be legal, as the Capitol tried to control what is brought into each district, but nobody seemed to care about what we got up to in district 10. Peacekeepers act more like a reminder of what lies beyond our domain, and even they cannot muster a smile at me as I walk past a group of them arguing over the price of a joint of meat. I'm not here to waste any time or even so much as buy from these vendors and the old man stood behind the fish stall knows this all too well.

"Good luck today," Currio croaked as he passed a small brown paper bag to me, and discreetly took the envelope scrunched up in the sleeves of my jacket, "is three cod enough?"

"Why would I need luck? And three seems to be the magic number today," I forced myself to chuckle at my own joke, "I'd save your well wishes to whichever poor soul ends up getting reaped this year. Or perhaps souls. Haymitches game was the last quarter quell and everyone knows what happened there..."

"The mean drunk from 12? If that's one of ours future then perhaps it would be better for them to just-" he quickly stopped himself from finishing his thought.

"Just what?" I asked.

"Die in the bloodbath." He looked down at his hands seemingly regretting his choice of words.
With a small smile I handed over a purse of coins to the vendor, " they should be so lucky."

With that I turned away from the sympathetic look that had fallen over the man's face, an expression too similar to that of a father's concern. Clutching the paper bag close to my chest I headed back to my house that I could see looming upon the hill in the distance. Seemingly a step above the small village that was surrounded by fields where the districts famous livestock grazed. Clearly a conscious design choice. Yet one more way to separate me and the other victors from the rest of the community we were once apart of, now banished to our lavish houses forced to be content with warming our lounges in the mornings and beds at night, no glimmer of purpose in our lives until the train arrived to transport us to back to the Capitol to train the newly reaped for their slaughter.

District 10 don't win. Plain and simple. There are only three victors out of 75 games that have grown up in this village and went on to win that Capitol pleasing game show. Unfortunately I am 1/3 of that statistic.
"Another three." I mumble to myself as I suddenly become aware of a small commotion that had started just ahead of me. Quickening my pace I recognised the young boy from around town, his mouth agape with horror, cradling a duck with its neck bent at an unnatural angle. A slightly older boy stood in the centre of this scene, clearly the culprit of this act of violence towards the animal, and I could of sworn that I saw red as he tilted his head to spit on the younger boy.

"Get away from him," I shouted as I pushed my way through the group of onlookers, "why did you do that?"

Clearly unaware that he would be called up on his actions the boy stared blankly at me before whispering, "I'm sorry ma'am".

"I'm not asking for you to apologise to me, I'm asking you why you killed that duck," I continued.

"He didn't pay for all of the eggs that he took from my stall the other day."

"Hey I didn't mean to fall short of a few coins," the younger boy piped up, wiping his running nose on his shirt sleeves, "Quarney was my best duck and you came out of nowhere to kill her!"

Just as I opened my mouth to reply, with goodness knows what, a peacekeeper appeared  and after a few questions, sent the two boys off in separate directions to diffuse the situation. I quickly followed the younger boy into the crowd and pressed the leftover coins into his free hand, making sure to not meet his teary eyes or pay attention to the affection in which he held the ducks limp dead body. The smell of death heavy in the air, I vowed to not leave my house again until the reaping ceremony.
"Please ma'am don't vote for me. I'll do anything. I'll work on your land, I'll send you all the meat you need, I'll-" he began to babble the tears now falling from his cheeks at a rapid rate.