When the train pulled in to the station I was tempted to pretend that I was still asleep. I'm not sure what I was hoping would come of it, but at least I would have had an excuse to stay in the marvelously soft bed. However no one could sleep through the sounds outside the window. Cautiously I uncurled and pushed my way out of my pillow fortress. Pushing a chair over to the window I carefully lifted the blind and peered out, the daylight spilling in. The response was immediate and violent. My eyes widened at the sheer amount of people pressed outside. They yelled and cheered, screamed and shouted, and I quickly let the blinds fall and lept away from the window.
Weft arrived at my door arrayed in purple silk, her lips painted carefully to match. Small purple flowers rested in her hair and her fingernails bore matching flowers made of porcelain on each tip.
"Ready?" Her question was simple but the answer wasn't. Not having much of a choice I simply nodded and followed her from the train car. "You really don't say much." Weft noted dryly as we departed. "We'll have to work on that." I just nodded again.
The crowd screamed as we left the train and I was glad for Weft's colorful skirt to hide behind as we entered the building. Glancing backwards I glimpsed a sea of shining faces and colors, some holding signs that bore letters I didn't understand. I wondered if any of them said my name.
We were greeted by three of the most terrifying women I had ever seen. The tallest greeted Weft as an old friend and they kissed the air above one another's cheeks. "Take good care of her!" Weft sang as she scuttled away, no doubt to check for hidden cameras or some other related item. Left alone with the three women I examined them each in turn.
The tallest one looked as if she bore some form of cotton candy for hair, and I would have believed it had it not been black as night in color. I liked her smile but she had a sharpness about her that scared me. I thought I could cut myself on the angles of her bones, even her eyebrows were deeply pointed. She introduced herself as my designer, Peony and I smiled because her name sounded soft, a contrast to her that somehow fit.
The two other women were both equally interesting in a visual sense. The second was named Star, and per her namesake she had tattoos of small stars on each lower eyelid. Her arms and legs were also speckled in the same tattoo, each freckle on her body had been transformed into a star, she almost appeared speckled until you realized what they were. The third and perhaps most terrifying woman was named Divine and she stared at me with eyes so bright and intense I thought that they couldn't be real. She never seemed to blink, and I found myself constantly staring at her face, not sure what made it so irresistible and strange.
While I was staring at Divine, the other girl, Star, had made her way behind me and was unbuttoning my dress. Shoving it to the floor she laughed at my horror. "What did ya' do that for?" I cried, snatching at the dress. Star grabbed it before I could, whisking it away, "Sorry!" She called in a voice that wasn't sorry in the slightest. I shivered and tried desperately to cover myself. "Come on! That's not funny!" I yelled, tears welling in my eyes.
"Oh babydoll!" It was Peony speaking, "You have nothing to fear! Come now! A nice bath!" She gestured to the waiting tub and I nearly lept straight in. The bubbles smelled like lavender and I ducked beneath the suds, soaking myself and gaining a moment of privacy underwater. Sadly I feel my hair being tugged on from above the tub and am forced back up. "Oy! Give me a minute!" I reach for the soap but am not allowed the luxury of washing myself as Star returns to help Divine scrub me raw.
"At least at this age they barely have any hair." Divine comments dryly as I'm removed from the tub, the water tinted with dirt. "Saves us the time of waxing." Star nods but is too busy being disgusted by the dirty water to comment. I shrug at it, I feel marvelously clean and have never had a bath quite so warm or thorough. Next is hair and makeup and I can barely sit still as Divine and Star pull, pluck, tug, primp, and preen. I sneeze quite a bit as all of the different lotions and potions smell so strongly, and while they find it amusing at first their patience runs out around the sixth sneeze or so.
Finally I'm deemed ready, and Peony returns, a garment bag in hand. "Babydoll!" she coos with delight, "They've turned you into an angel!" she claps her hands and Star and Divine glow with pride. "Now to dress you like one."
Everything is a blur. I can't process what's happening to me. I'm speeding on a train at a speed that I didn't know possible. When we first began to accelerate I thought that my bones might be flung to one end of the room, the rest of my body left behind. I quickly learned not to look out the windows. It's not hard to remain focused on the interior of the train. The decorations are bright, the smells are strong, everything is an assault on the senses. Weft guides me to a chair and I sit next to her, overwhelmed, just trying to remind myself to breathe. My feet hurt and I wonder if anyone would mind if I slipped off my shoes. Something tells me that they would. Food is already being brought out and my eyes widen at every dish. I cannot identify a bite of it, foreign textures and colors overwhelm my palate before I can even take a bite. My appetite is gone and I have not even tasted the nourishment that I should have been begging for. Standing slowly I am reminded by my toes just how pinched they are. "Not hungry." Is all I manage. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my dress, suddenly self conscious of my poor attire. I don't wait for a response before I dive out the nearest door. I'll locate my room on my own. I just need to get away. It doesn't take me long to find the car serving as my suite. I dive for the bed and squirrel under the covers still fully dressed. I tug off my shoes and toss them away. Grabbing every available pillow I surround myself. The ample blankets and cushions make it easy to build myself a sort of nest-fort hybrid with one wall of the car as the back. I curl into a ball, safe in my warm and soft fortress. The rocking of the train is comforting, and soon I am asleep. I dream that birds are swooping down pecking out the eyes of peacekeepers who chase me endlessly through mazes of factory machines, rusting in the sun.
Wildflowers Don't Care Where They Grow :: Goodbye OS
After what seems like an eternity he carefully pulls me back to arms length. "I'm so sorry." He speaks and I can hear the pain pulling his words taught. "This is our fault." The tears in his eyes make them seem strangely cloudy and far away. "This is all our fault." His palms are shaking as he takes both of my hands in his. "But it was our only chance." I can't believe that my father is sobbing. I have never seen so strong a man broken to tears, and it hits me that I should be scared.
I'm not crying anymore. I don't know why, but I can't. It's like I simply can't bring myself to feel the emotions I know I'm supposed to be feeling. I'm stuck, stagnant in my inability to process my own thoughts. Physically I'm doing what I should. My heart is racing, my lips are trembling, and yet on the inside I'm strangely placid and calm. I only feel a strange sense of bitter acceptance. It's as if I expected that I would face some sort of terrible fate. Like deep down I knew that the world did not have good intentions for me. That if I had survived this far and made it through every trial so far, it was only a matter of time before things went downhill.
My father is sobbing, broken roars that break the silence as if it were a twig snapped in a giants palm. As he steps away, the tears finding their way into his beard, my Grandmother steps forwards. I'm surprised to find that she isn't crying. She looks much like I feel on the inside, strangely calm. She lowers herself to her knees. The process is slow and arduous and I can hear her old joints creaking in protest. Yet she lowers herself to my height and motions for me to come near.
"Little bird...." she coos softly and tucks my hair behind my ear. "Little bird, I'm so sorry your Mama isn't here." She presses her forehead to mine and I can smell her sweet breath. "She'll be alright. They didn't kill her." I swallow and nod silently, tucking this information away for later. I'll process my Mother's reaction another time. I can't right now.
"Little Bird, you kill them all. You peck out their eyes. Give them hell, hm?" Her voice is low and it scares me. I search her face for any sign that she's joking, but she looks deadly serious. "You come back home to us, Little Bird." She's almost whispering now. "Fly straight and true."
She always says that too me. "Fly straight and true." And I never know what that means, or even if I'm really supposed to fly. But tonight I know that it means to do whatever it takes. I nod silently.
The peacekeepers are returning, the door opens and my sobbing father is being led away, Grandmother is following him. She looks over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling and winks at me.
I shiver, I shudder, I roll my shoulders and grit my teeth. I haven't survived this much to give up now. I haven't been through hell to go down without a fight.I swallow hard, one more time. The world hasn't shown me any mercy, and I don't think I have any to show it. It's a hard knock life, so I'd better give it a good hell of a knock back.
"I just wish we could have gotten you a new dress." My mother fussed for the hundredth time that morning and I sighed and squirmed away from her attempts to straighten the pleats of the skirt. "I just feel awful..." she tittered on, "You should have your own dress, and I can't believe you're wearing the one I wore to my first reaping." She shook her head and placed hands on her hips.
I scooted out of everyone's reach, tugging at the rag curls that still held my hair atop my head. It was true that the dress was old, and it certainly looked nothing like the fashionable dresses the rich girls would wear, but it wasn't a factory uniform and that was enough to leave me feeling like a princess. "It's fine." I stamped a foot to punctuate my sentence and smiled. I wasn't going to complain one bit, I knew how expensive clothing was and I liked the color green anyway. The last few rags fell out of my hair and my blonde curls bounced around my shoulders. We didn't have a mirror, but I was certain that I looked as pretty as I ever had.
"Dear, let me comb those out a bit. You look like a frightened poodle." Grandmother was approaching me with her hairbrush and a bemused look. It only took a few moments before my hair fell in loose waves and I spun in a circle so that my skirt and curls swung out around me.
"No one told me we were expecting royalty!" My father exclaimed as he entered with a grin. Dropping into a low bow he winked at me, the twinkle in his eye making me laugh with glee. "Your highness. I would have done the dishes and trimmed my beard if I knew you were coming!" He grabbed my hand and kissed it gently. I laughed out loud and stuck out my tongue.
We walked to the square together, I held Grandmother's hand and Mom and Dad held one another's. Dad whistled the whole way there and Grandmother would occasionally hum along. Mom was the only one who didn't seem happy. She kept looking to Dad as if waiting for him to say something important, or perhaps for something heavy to fall from the sky and land atop his head. Then I'd catch her looking at me, almost looking guilty and sad.
The tone of the songs changed and the mood seemed to somber as we approached the square. I could tell that today wasn't the cheery occasion we were pretending it was. Mom hugged me, stroking my hair and telling me that she would see me soon, then Dad wrapped his arms around me and told me to be smart and safe, the same thing he said every morning before work, and then Grandmother kissed my cheek.
A finger prick and then I was standing with the others. It was fascinating, watching the other children pour in. We stood in rows and columns, tall and short, thin and stout, all shapes and sizes lining up one by one. It was only when I stood next to the other children that I could see just how skinny I was, and how dingy the colors of my dress were. Time passed surprisingly quickly, the sun moving through the sky as if it were on a mission, and soon, all too soon, Weft Caddow was at the mic and introducing the video.
I could just see the stage from where I was standing, but I was short enough I had to stand on tiptoe to even try to get a good view. I listened to the video more than I saw it, and as it ended I heard the usual applause for our district's one victor, Thread. His story made all the other girls cry. They said they wanted a love story like his, a real true love fairy tale, but honestly the idea of kissing boys still sounded a bit strange to me. I wasn't sure what was so great about the fact that he killed everyone in his games just so he could get married.
I hear Weft's soft voice purring into the microphone once more. "First, our lovely lady." She almost sounded as if she was mocking, her voice had such a lilt to it. A silence fell over the crowd that was so absolute I thought perhaps I had gone deaf. It was broken by the musical tones of Weft reading the name, "Bobbin Heddle."
I don't know what I expected. Of course it was my name. . I swallowed hard and stepped forwards. No one was going to volunteer for me, there would be no grand savior or second chance. The funny thing was that i knew that immediately. I knew, the instant my name rang out, that no one but me, my Mother, my Father, and my Grandmother, would even notice if I died any other way, but this way, they would all watch, even if they still didn't care.
A long time ago I learned that nobody will do things for you. Nobody will help you when you need it, just because they can, that's not how the world works. Nobody was going to do it for me, so I stepped into the aisle. I raised my hand, my way of saying, that's me. Peacekeepers stepped forwards and I began the walk to the stage. The rows of children seemed longer than ever, by the time I reached the front I thought I had been walking forever. It was six steps up to the platform, and there I was.
Weft was taller in person, much taller then on tv. Thread looked older up close but his wife, Penny, looked much younger. Weft was placing a gloved hand on my shoulder. She offered me the microphone and I spoke carefully into it, almost jumping at the sound of my own voice. "Bobbin Heddle, twelve years old." I blinked and she nodded at me.
I knew the boys came next. Weft was already reaching for the next bowl. That was when the screaming started. Pushing her way through the aisles of children, I saw a mad woman rushing towards us. My eyes widened as the terrifying woman clawed at the crowd, screaming and yelling, pushing and kicking. Peacekeepers were grabbing at her, trying to subdue her. She didn't even look like my Mom anymore. Her face was the unrecognizable mask of rage, terror, and pain. I saw a peacekeeper hit her on the head. She crumpled towards the ground.
The crowd had begun to talk, whisper, and jeer. Cameras were pointed at the cluster of peacekeepers dragging the unconscious body away. Weft tapped the mic with a slender finger, the popping ringing through the square and bringing attention back to the stage. With a silent smile she shrugged and shook her head as if nothing more had happened then perhaps someone clapping a bit too enthusiastically. "On to the boys." she whispered.
I stood frozen like a statue. I couldn't cry. I wasn't even sure if I was breathing. I was fairly certain I was supposed to be crying. Instead all I could do was stare blankly at a point in space, my face emotionless, my limbs numb. The boy they reaped was much older, definitely not a factory worker either. I shook his hand and marveled at the texture of his skin. It was smooth like silk, mine felt like a small piece of sandpaper in his palm.
Then we were walking, the doors closing behind us, the crowd rumbling as the cameras each flickered off, and I felt dampness on my cheeks. The tears slowly starting to fall, one by one.
Thread Burton | 32 | District 8 Mentor | FC: Lee Pace
Thread winning the 22nd Games at the age of 18 was a huge deal in District 8, for a lot of people and especially for a young woman named Penny. His story was the age old tale of a young man with a girl waiting for him at home, a girl he had planned to marry before the reaping, the Capitol ate it up of course. They loved the love story, the danger of the arena meaning he might never see his girl again but they didn’t know that by taunting him with such things they only made him more determined, he was fighting to go home to the girl he loved.
Weft Caddow - Age 21 - Capitol Escort for District 8 - FC: Michelle Dockery
It's a story that you'll never see on Capitol TV, yet it plays out year after year in the upper districts. It's the story of the careers who didn't make the cut, who weren't given the honor of volunteering, who aged out of the system and were left to a life of survivor's guilt, feelings of inferiority, and no real place to go. These young adults often become trainers of new careers, the most violent of the peacekeepers, and others fade into oblivion, nameless faces living amongst the crowds of Panem.
None of these options suited Weft, so she forged her own path.
Born in District One, Weft was raised a Career from the day that she could lift her head and bat her tiny blue eyes. Bloodthirst and venom laced her bottles and violence was the only caress she was taught to give. Separated from her parents she knew them only as faces and names, the characters in her life were ever rotating, never giving her a chance to bond to any one person too closely. She was a prodigy, her name was whispered with fear by the time she stood knee high.
At the Academy Weft kept to herself, her style was subtle and silent. Barely a word was needed, her looks said it all, and she loved the fact that they trembled with fear when she so much as winked. As her 18th birthday and the games where she would volunteer approached, Weft's mind began to turn to new ideas. Surely she could compete and win in the games, but that's what everyone expected of her, and there was no fun at all in doing what was expected.
A week before the reaping Weft suffered a tragic accident in training, falling from the top of a rock wall to the cold floor below. While she was in no shape to volunteer, another career took her place, and she made a full recovery while aging out of the system. Her parents were bereft, her trainers were crest fallen, they declared it a tragedy and a waste of talent. Weft played along, acting distraught, but she was already putting her next plan into motion.
It didn't take Weft long to find her way into the position of Escort, only needing three years to smile, charm, trick, and occasionally threaten her way up the ladder. It was the next step and an easy one for her to take. With her intimate knowledge of the games she makes an excellent Escort for the lost little tributes, and this way, she gets to live her life just inside of the spotlight, but never on the wrong end of the knife.
Weft is known for being protective of her tributes, like a Mama Bear she watches over her cubs with a ferocity that any sane man would run from. Her silent smile is the most terrifying site outside of the arena, and most people are aware of the fact that she could kill them with her finely pointed stiletto.
No one really knows what Weft's next plan is, if she wants her tributes to win, if she wants to be something more then an Escort, or if perhaps this is all just some larger game to her. But they do know that they should stay on her good side, at least if they value their life.
Children Will Listen :: Pre-Reaping OS :: Mandatory Task 1
The methodic click and whirr of the machines set a pace to rival that of the setting sun. No words were exchanged and the lyrics to the rhythmic song of the factory were the grunts of the workers who littered the floor. There were no clocks on the wall, the passage of time was marked by the shadows and the lines in which they fell, the lengthening darkness was a sign that soon the weary hands would be allowed to rest and the gears slow to a stop.
I hissed in pain, the air whistling slowly through my teeth as my callused fingers turned the knob tighter once more. The metal was hot by the end of the day and you could only stand to grab it for seconds at a time before it seared through your skin. As the knob turned the strings responded and the giant loom creaked in protest, the thread winding its way through the great metal claws to appear on the other side as fabric.
It was just another day on the floor, just another day at work, but at least the end of today came with the promise of a day off tomorrow. Reaping day was coming, and I welcomed it wholeheartedly. A full day where the factories closed down, it was one of the few days a year that my family spent together. Mom would take the time to cook something, Dad might laugh a little, and Gramma would be there whistling, singing, and humming, through it all.
I knew this year would be different, it was my first reaping, but that didn't mean that much would change. It simply meant that I would stand in the square with the other children instead of with my parents. When it was over, things would be like any other reaping day. A holiday that we waited for all year round.
I could tell that my parents weren't as excited about it this year as they had been before. But I wasn't scared, and I knew they would be fine as soon as the reaping had passed. There were so many children in eight, girls especially, and my name was in the bowl but once. I had nothing to fear and I knew it because my Grandmother told me so.
The sun had slipped ever lower in the sky as my thoughts consumed me, and I was now squinting to make sure the threads didn't tangle as they fed into the machine. This was the most dangerous time, it was the time when girls lost fingers because they couldn't see, or they were too tired to focus properly after a long day. I kept myself alert by hiding rocks in my shoes. A particularly large rock kept above your toe can be slid down and used to stab yourself awake.
I bit my tongue and focused harder on my work, the darkness growing ever denser. Just as I thought i might go blind from staring, the bells began to clang and the machines whirred to a stop. I straightened and counted carefully. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Ten tolls meant ten hours worked, which meant we'd probably been working eleven, but would see pay for ten. I was proud of my ability to count, it meant they couldn't cheat me on payday. I couldn't read or write the numbers, but I knew them all the same and could number out the amount of coins I was handed at the window.
The walk home felt short, the openness of tomorrow lying ahead of me. Maybe Dad would get lucky and a have a permit to catch a fish. Then we'd really eat well. I daydreamed about reaping day food all the way home, each step seeming to draw me closer to the freedom that was promised with the morning.
I was usually the last one home and tonight was no different. Short legs meant slower walking, but it was nice to be greeted by everyone. I swung through the door and doffed my straw hat to my waiting family. Mouth half open, already questioning where and what dinner was, I paused at the look on my Mother's face. "What's up, Ma?" I quickly rearranged my manners and gently placed my hat on the hook. Everyone was looking at me with a strange sort of sadness, and no one was eating their dinner. "Didja burn supper?" I scooted myself over to the table, trepidation growing.
"No." My mother's voice was quiet and she placed the customary bowl of beans in front of me. "Sometimes I just realize how old you're getting." Her voice was trembling and she turned away as she spoke. I reached for my spoon, looking between my father and grandmother with much confusion.
"Eat darling." My Grandmother waved a hand at me and shook her head.
The rest of the night passed in a strangely stilted manner, all normalcy seemed an act, and although no one did or said anything out of the ordinary, it all felt slightly wrong.
I crept into bed with Gramma, her thin arms pressing around me tightly. Soon her breathing slowed and I felt her muscles relax. I was growing drowsy, the aches and pains of the day flooding my body in a familiar way. I could hear my parents whispering from their bed and I strained to listen. My Mother was crying, her words barely intelligible. My father sounded strained, and I wasn't sure I had heard him speak in such a way before. As my ears adjusted the words floated up to me and my heart sunk.
"We should have told her."
"There's no sense worrying the child! And to think what that would do to her...She'd think we didn't love her!"
"We did it because we love her!"
"Exactly."
"She ought to know!"
"We agreed on this! Calm down! It's not like there aren't some names in there hundreds of times. We had to take the risk. Either her name went in a few extra times, or she starved this winter. We didn't have a choice."
I shut my eyes, wishing I couldn't hear them again. My Mother's quiet sobs eventually overtook the words. Hundreds of times. I couldn't count that high, but I knew it was a number. I wondered just how many times my name had gone in? Ten? Eleven? Twelve? Did it really matter? It's not like I could count that high anyway.
Nothing Left To Lose : A Soundtrack for Bobbin Heddle
Pre-Reaping - At Home:
I Am A Rock - Simon and Garfunkel
I See Fire - Ed Sheeran
The Kid - Peter Paul and Mary
Wildflowers - Trio
I'll Fly Away - Aaron Pelsue
We Shall Overcome - Pete Seeger
This Train - Peter Paul and Mary
Which Side Are You On - Pete Seeger
Leatherwing Bat - Peter Paul and Mary
Post-Reaping - In the Capitol:
The Finale - In the Arena:
"My Grandmother. I love my Mom and Dad, but I don't get to see them much. I suppose I don't get to see my family too much at all. But it's Gramma who always has time for me. It's not Mom and Dad's fault that they don't have time. And it would be silly for them to waste any extra energy when there is so much to do. So it's nice that Gramma is always there. She sings to me sometimes and once in a while we'll even have the time to watch birds together. That's my favorite time. Gramma knows all of the names for the different birds and she's going to teach them all to me. I love my Gramma, she's the best part about everything."
Do you have any sort of nickname? How did you get it? "No, 'course I don't. My name's Bobbin and it's the one me Mom and Dad gave to me. I s'pose some girls tried to call me Bobby when I first started at the factory. I punched the biggest gals nose in and got docked two days pay."
What does your bedroom look like? "I sleep with me Mom and Dad in the main room on the big matress. Gramma sleeps in the bedroom. Well, it was the closet till she moved in. Now it's the bedroom."
How do you do in school? What is your favorite subject? "You one of those fancy types that went to school? That figures. Where else would you get all these silly questions. I stopped goin' ta school and you can't make me go back. It was an awful place and I wasn't any good at it anyway. Mom's often all sad when she remembers I can't read or write, but Dad agrees with me that I don't need none of that stuff so long as I can work and fight."
If you could kill any one person, and get away with it, would you do it? Who would you kill? "Oh now that's a good one, isn't it? I s'pose I'd have to think a bit to pick the best answer. Probably that Foreman who runs the 4th floor. He's the one I really hate, he is. Doesn't even belong where I work and he's still down there starin' at all of us with his squinty eyes and grabbin at the girls when they walk by. I'd bash his head in with that old club he carries. I once saw him hit a little girl with it, I'd do the same right back.....Maybe not kill him, mind....but make sure he'd never work again."
Do you have any daily rituals? "You mean besides goin' to work every day? I work from five to noon and then I get my lunch. I'm back on the floor at one and then I work till whenever the sun goes down. Winter's shifts are shorter, and summer's shifts are longer. It's cause it costs so much to heat the factory. If there's food for dinner, we eat, and then it's off to bed. Sunday's are off but there's always things to do o'course like the washing and the cooking for the week. My Mom always tells me, there's no rest for the wicked. So I know that I'm awfully bad."
Bobbin is bitter, distrusting, lonely, loyal, steadfast, and prudent.
Her prefered weapons are daggers and knives.
Growing up Bobbin barely saw her parents, only knowing they were working as well. Not much was said as they sat around the dining room table, sharing what food their was, no one had the energy to spare words for conversation. The only bright spot was her grandmother who lived in the spare room, or rather, closet. A slightly senile old woman, she kept the family together through some sort of silent presence, and no matter what, rocked her granddaughter to sleep with a quiet lullabye. Bobbin is the poster child of the average life in District 8, never attending school in favor of begging in the streets, she began work in the factory at age 9, lying about her age because no one cared enough to stop her. The few pennies extra she brought in weren’t enough to make a difference, but they were enough to satisfy the young girl’s pride.
Working among scores of other children her age or younger, Bobbin did the work her small hands could, carefully working at a loom day after day she bent the threads to their places, untangling and weaving as she went. Eyes strained and back bent she knew little other than the dusty floor of the factory. Eventually she graduated to a sewing machine, pushing out yards upon yards of fabric for the more skilled seamstresses to piece together. Bobbin had no interest in the final product, only caring that she was paid at the end of the day.
