The Ballad of Lucy Gray

Chapter 9

Grey. Grey. A sea of grey. Could a place be any more dull?

The hospital bed is soft under my body and the warmth of the duvet envelopes me. It's a blessing from the constant chill and dampness of the wilderness. I've been in hospital for three days. My leg is the main concern. The doctors say I've done a good job from warding off infection, considering my state since I was shot. They've managed to stitch up my wound and bandage it up although I'll have these scars forever. I don't mind though, I'm lucky to be alive.

It's boring being up here to say the least. I don't know what to do, there isn't anything to interest me. I'm the only one up here unless I call my doctor, Dr. Fenda. She's a strict middle-aged woman with greying hair and with no sense of humor. She is also depressing pessimistic, always expecting the worse although she is very skilled at her job. If I call her for some company, she'll probably scold me and stomp off, muttering about time wasters. Like she anything better to do. So instead, I stare at the sickly yellow lights that are faintly buzzing and listen to the beeping of machines that are hooked up to me until I doze off.

***

Dr. Fenda marches into the room. Her footsteps echoing on the cold, stone floor wakes me up.

"Well today is your lucky day Soldier Coin," she says briskly while unhooking me from the machines. They address everyone over the age of 14 "soldier." Join the ranks. Join our military. "You're being discharged."

"Finally."

She fixes me with a cold stare. Then she runs some mobility tests on me, hands me a pair of proper crutches and some clothes (you guessed it- grey!) and sends me on my way.

I have an hour to kill before lunch so I limp with my crutches around the District 13 compound. It's pretty basic. There's a canteen, some large meeting rooms, armoury and living quarters. There's also a place deep underground incase there are air raids. It's a bit claustrophobic really. No sunlight, space. Just the same musty air and perpetual darkness. No wonder all the doctors seem depressed.

So far, I've not met anyone apart from the doctors. That's another thing about 13. Everything is smooth, efficient and everyone plays a role in the system. They have a strict timetable we have to follow. I'm still recovering so I'll be getting mine tomorrow. I wonder what I'll do. School? There are children here. There must be.

At 12 p.m. I limp into the canteen, bracing myself for the stares and whispers. Strangely, I get none. Do they not recognise me? Are escapees common here?

"Turnip stew. Eat all of it because it's all you're getting," cackles the old cook, interrupting my thoughts.

I think about how I'm going to carry my stew over to the tables.

"Here, let me, your hands are full," says a familiar voice. Sarrel, or should I say Fennel is standing beside me, grinning. He looks better than he did the last time I saw him. Shaven, clean and wounds plastered up. New clothes too. 

"Thanks."

"You look great. Much better."

"Same to you. What have you done here?"

"We'll I'm too old to be in school but they've given me things I need to learn so I do that all day. Rulebooks of 13. Army books. Army commands. History of 13. You'll probably do that too. Or you might be in school. They leave at 18 here."

"Are they training you to be a soilder? You mentioned lots of army stuff."

"Yeah. They train everyone here the basics. But some people move on higher in the ranks. There are other jobs here though. Growers, technicians, weapon designs, cleaners, builders."