Chapter 12
1002 Words
Just to make sure everyone sees this: I must take responsibility for what happened to Lily. There was a lot more in her form than what appeared in her POV. I focused on her Games plan because I thought I could establish her character and get a lot of exposition done so she had more free space later to be herself. I didn't even think about it being close to Rue because I'm absentminded. Now that I see where I went wrong, I'll focus on those other things that aren't like Rue.
Allecia Callison
Panem didn't work. The whole system was messed up. They tried to make it sound so wonderful in school, but the truth was right in front of us. It didn't matter if we had the best government system, or the best president, or the best anything. All that mattered was whether it worked. Results mattered, not theories. Just like communism. Sure, it would be great if we all shared everything equally. But start a factory and tell everyone they'd all get paid the same no matter how hard they worked, you were gonna get a lot of slackers and maybe one saint who did all the work because he actually cared.
That was why I didn't want to work in the mines. Nobody did, of course, since they were nasty and dark and turned your lungs black. I was going to do my best to get any other job possible, even if it paid less, because the mines weren't practical. Coal doesn't go on forever. There's only so much down there. Someday it was going to run out. An economy based entirely on coal was a terrible idea. When it ran out, everything would collapse. All those people whose only skill was mining were going to be even poorer and hungrier than before.
It wasn't impossible for someone from Twelve to not work in the mines. My mother was in politics and my father had a shop. I already had far more opportunities than most people from my District. I studied hard in school to give myself an even better chance, and I spent a lot of time thinking about what I was going to do after I grew up. I was lucky enough to live in the only District where kids didn't start working until they were eighteen. I had six more years to come up with a plan.
I didn't care about glamour or prestige. I wanted a job that was practical. I didn't want to go into politics or take over my dad's shop, since those were both superfluous in their own ways. The most important factor for me was that my job be indispensible. I wanted a tried-and-true profession that always had demand, something that would keep me fed even if there was another apocalypse. My current plan was either to distill moonshine or be a handyman. People always wanted alcohol, and they always needed houses.
I always had to keep my ideas to myself. The powers that be didn't like people thinking about ways to change things. Changes in ideas meant changes in power. If anyone knew about the sort of things I thought about, I'd be dead or an Avox. That was the biggest problem in Panem. People with ideas, whether or not they were right, were too afraid to speak them.
Grey Eamon Arden
It wasn't enough. We did everything we could, but it wasn't going to be enough.
Ella was fading away. She'd been sickly ever since she was born, and every winter we prepared ourselves. It was so cold in the house, and she was so little. I could see her ribs through the thin blanket draped over her. Her eyes looked so big in her shrunken face. She'd stopped asking for food. That was the worst thing. She was so quiet.
I'd done everything I could. I'd sold everything, down to my socks. I scoured the trees outside our house for any scrap of bark or shriveled berries that might help. Once, when I was home alone with Ella, I came back from my hunt and found her on the floor, scooping dirt into her mouth. I held in the emotion then, but it was getting to where I couldn't take much more.
We were all clustered around her bed. This time, we knew there wouldn't be a reprieve. Her breath cycled between heavy pants and barely visible puffs. She was cold as ice, even with our parents lying on either side of her, trying to keep her warm. Ella curled her emaciated hand and put it to her mouth. Her lips moved like she was chewing something that wasn't there. Mother stretched across her and started to weep. Dad put his arm on her back and brought them both in closer.
"You should have some, Mama," Ella said. She held her empty hand out to her mother. Mom squeezed her hand into her own shaky one. Ella smiled, and she was gone.
I left the house as my family reacted to Ella's death. I'd been putting on a brave face. Crying wouldn't help anyone. But as soon as I got far enough away from my house that they couldn't hear, everything came out. I curled my hands into fists and screamed at nothing. I kicked at the dirt and snow and punched a tree so hard my hand hurt. I knelt on the ground and pounded my fist into the dirt.
It didn't matter what anyone said. I knew what was right and what was wrong. Little girls dying in the cold, wasted away like skeletons, wasn't right. It wasn't right for rich, warm Capitolites to leave us out here like animals. They said everyone was happy in Panem. They were wrong. Everyone was happy in the Capitol. No one was happy here.
Allecia has bronze skin and curly black hair. Gray is six feet tall and has black hair, a lean muscular frame, and gray eyes.
- Writer
