Writers Games; Alliances

D12 Female - Seaver Parish [AnonymousRice4] Task 1

District Twelve: North-eastern Quarter: the border: 09:00 AM:

     Some say that if we had never rebelled against the Capitol, the Games would've happened anyway; that no matter what we did, we were all already doomed to this fate. They plea that, it was not our fault nor our doing that brought the Capitol down so hard on us, that it was their doing and theirs alone; that if, on that fateful day, the rebels hadn't set a flag aflame and blatantly defied the president's rule, the president would have still found some excuse to begin the Hunger Games. That fate is not for us to decide, that it has already been written in stone. I say, that that is a lie. A complete and utter lie, generated to direct the blame away to anyone but our ancestors; people don't like to be oppressed, but they dislike on a much bigger scale to be blamed for their ancestor's shortcomings. True, the Capitol ruled with brute force; true, they could've lightened up a little, given the districts some slack; but the rebels had no idea what they were going up against. Whether a better battle plan should have been enacted, or the battle shouldn't have been fought at all, is not for me to determine. However, I can hate my ancestors for damming me and anyone else in the remaining twleve districts to such a fate; honestly, the Capitol had been so harsh even before the games, what gave anyone the right to believe they'd be any less cruel if the war was lost? How could the rebels, in their secret bases chatting about their secret things, assume that if they lost, the punishment wouldn't be that bad? They should have thought their actions all the way through. They should have been wiser, they should have done something to prevent today. Today is that day; the day of the Reaping. Everyone knows, and eveyone hates it, except of course the Career districts. Those sadistically-bred, horribly-raised, heathen children living in districts One, Two and Four. Honestly, the world could do with a whole lot more of those eager, self-absorbed hooligans to replace the rest of us who don't want our fates sealed. If only some of them would move to my neighborhood, then I'd have the great relief and assurance that I would never be entering the Games as tribute.

     Through the fence I stare at what remains of District Thirteen; living in the north-eastern quarter of District Twelve, we live right near the border which separates us from our fallen sister-district. Usually I go to spy on it through the fence, to look at the vast patches of black earth upon which fire once made its home, or to catch a few glimpses of the hovercrafts the rebels managed to shoot down before their home was obliterated -- or just to see how much the grass has poked through the ground, creating a new world over there. The place is condemned, but I wish I could somehow break through the barrier and explore it. I heard around once that the rebels had a whole series of tunnels underneath the district, and I'd sure love to see them. If only that Peacekeeper didn't stand fifty yards to my right, or that fence wasn't electrified. I'd channel the rebel in me and hop over in a heartbeat, and possibly never return.

        District Twelve: North-eastern Quarter: housing block: 10:23 AM:

     I entered the house about an hour later, to see Grandmother dusting the pictures which lined the shelf above the fire place, as usual. She turned to face me as I let the door slam behind me and entered our house, and smiled as I came closer. I pressed my lips together in a line which some might say resembled a smile, and pulled a chair out by the hand-carved table to sit. Granny finished her dusting without a word, and came shuffling across the room to sit by me.
    "And what have you been doing this morning, Seaver?" She questioned with that elderly tone I'd grown so fond of. I shrugged my bulky shoulders, one of my most prominent features and a feature which I quite liked, and flipped my dirty hair out of my way.
   "Just checking out the neighboring district, no biggy." She immediately knew I spoke of District Thirteen. The only other border within the North-eastern Quarter was that of Six, which was miles and miles away. No way I could walk that far and be back all in one morning. She frowned while I stood up and pulled my boots off, placing them by the door.
    "Seaver, you know how I feel about you visiting the border. That place is long since abandoned, it should stay that way."
    "Oh but Grams, I'm not crossing the fence, I'm only looking. What harm can looking do?" I argued insistantly, removing my torn and tattered jacket as well and tossing it on a nearby chair, also torn and tattered.
    "You never know dear, one day someone might come along who doesn't like your sniffing, and they'll chase you away. Or worse -- take you away from me to be a-- to be an--an avox." I never really understood why the Capitol felt the need to cut out people's tongues who wronged them, but I supposed they always went for the dramatic and sadistic angle in everything they did. It was just their way of life I guess.
    "Grams, don't be ridiculous." I scoffed, walking to my room in my bare, sweaty feet. "I'm not going anywhere, and you know I would never let anybody cut my tongue out. I'm too stubborn." I kissed her gently on the top of her head, on top of all of her grey hairs. She always liked long hair, always told me it was the most beautiful feature she had when she was younger. That's partially why I keep mine so long -- not for vanity or as a symbol of my femininity -- but as a symbol of her. To remind myself of who she is and who I should strive to be. I want nothing more than to stray from the long and darkened path my mother left for me; that vile woman left me behind when I needed her most. Dad had just left, she couldn't leave me too. Yet, she had. And I hate her now. Granny is the only family I need or want.