they'll know our names | i&b

[ᕦ( ˘ᴗ˘ )ᕤ]

〖    b r e n n a n    f i t z g e r a l d    〗

I was told that once I become a student of technology, after high school or whatever, things will certainly change. As people get older, they become more accepting of the people around them. Challenges presented by the everlasting battle of adolescent rivalry will just fade into the background when more important things come to mind. Adults do things differently.

Fast forward to today, where I'm dining around twenty-three other people who are in the same situation as me. We're the class of ninety-three, graduating from kids to grown-ups in a matter of two weeks, forced to grapple with our own lives and deaths rather than focusing on helping prevent others. Knowing that this could be among my last peanut butter and jelly sandwiches is not a comforting feeling. Do they know that by killing us, they're killing off people who have the potential to find cures for diseases or discover the fountain of youth that a million plastic surgeries in the Capitol couldn't even accomplish?

Instead, they put us in a playpen filled with quicksand, waiting for us to sink down and out of existence forever. I tap against the ceramic white plate, flicking the crumbs off of the table and onto the ground as I go to keep it spotless.

Kill twenty-three possible success stories and ruin number twenty-four. That's their plan, and it's a pretty shitty one. They've put an inexplicable amount of pressure on slowly maturing kids. We're adults here, riding on a couple of prayers and no other choice, yet I still sit alone, a kid forever still.

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

i t z a l

***

I can’t get a decent meal here.

If I wanted to eat my weight in processed shit then it would be fine. Take breakfast: the fluffy pancakes, donuts, or sugary oatmeal (everything here has about a pound more of sugar than it should have) are part of the breakfast buffet. Their savory options aren’t much better, griddlecakes and bacon with any type of egg you could ask for. It’s the same problem across all of the capitol, I think – they’ve commodified something without spirit.

It's not that it’s bad, per say. It just doesn’t know what it is, aside from being too rich.

I’d rather have been eating refried rice and beans with a runny egg and a bit of chopped up chorizo, though I’d venture a guess that any of us would be fine with a home meal at this point given the circumstances.

It’s early yet, both the start of another day of training and that they inevitable groups haven’t yet formed. Kids pairing off because of one reason or another, whether because they wanted to bone in the arena (now where was Haze sitting) or because they saw the raw power someone had (Mirage of course wasn’t here).

My tray clatters down across from a kid I can’t quite place from the reaping videos. He doesn’t have the vibes of a career, at least, not from the up and down of him. Brown hair and brown eyes (or were they green)? I tear open and sprinkle a pinch of salt over my eggs.

Wasn't this Haze’s district partner? For some reason I pictured him a little bit stringier. But that made sense, I mean, who else could he be?

“Hey bud!” I point a finger gun at him with a click and started shoveling some oatmeal into my mouth.

“Ya know, I don’t really know what it's like for you but I got to say, the one thing that’s kinda a let down here is the food.” I let a bit of oatmeal slide off my spoon into the bowl. “Not a whole lot of flavor. Then again if they were born and raised here they probably don’t understand what it is to love your food.”

“You know how it is. We just appreciate it more, some of these kids just don’t even know.” I chewed through my words and leaned a little closer. I cleared my throat with a grin, “People like us have to stick together, right, Karl?”

ELEGANT

[ᕦ( ˘ᴗ˘ )ᕤ]

〖    b r e n n a n    f i t z g e r a l d    〗

There's a dramatic thud on the table that brings me out of whatever daymaring state I was in. Aren't you a bit too animated and chipper given the circumstances? He's one of the boys from District Five, Itzal, and he's already acting as if we go way back. Hey, bud! I won't call him out here and now on it because I'm sure he doesn't mean any harm, but words like bud have always made me feel minimized. It's like kid or my guy. People say it when they're casual with someone. Even then, though, it just makes me feel small.

Itzal plays with the oatmeal in his bowl, tossing it around and, accurately so, critiquing the preparation. "They probably don't understand what it is to love your food." Surely he's not talking about District Three's food, right? The most creative thing my parents have made are some veggie omelets and waffles, which was a treat of course, but nothing inventive or full of culture. There's a lot more taste and flavor in some of the other districts, certainly. Maybe he's not talking about me specifically, and he's just making a point that the people of the Capitol are so detached from everything but themselves. Regardless, I keep chipping away at the sandwich while he talks, quick to swallow so I can smile and nod whenever he's expecting a reaction.

You know how it is.

Mhm. Totally.

We just appreciate it more, some of these kids just don’t even know.

He's losing me again, but my eyebrows raise as if I've had this exact conversation before with someone back home.

People like us have to stick together, right, Karl?

The next piece practically goes down whole in a choking disbelief and recognition that I have had this exact conversation before.

Right, Karl?

Because… Karl is my name! It's Karl, Skyler, Mason, Gerald Fitzbrennan, Brendan– (okay, I can actually excuse Brendan.) It's the look of certainty on Itzal's face that I'm Karl, a tribute from Eleven, that seems to hurt the most. I empty my glass of water trying to force the rest of the sandwich down.

I smile as if it doesn't hurt my feelings. It's okay. Well, no, it's not okay. People mix names up all the time. I don't, but I also have nothing better to do than memorize everyone's names as they move and shake around the Training Center.

Just… politely correct him! He seems like the type of person who will listen. And if he doesn't, I can grab a sword and chop his head off once we get into the arena.

"It's Brennan, by the way. Karl is from District Eleven, and I'm from District Three." I speak matter-of-factly, which certainly wasn't the intention. Play it off, play it off. "I was getting a bit confused, there. District Three's not really known for our… tastes."

It's just a harmless mistake. It wasn't his intention to hurt you. It's not his fault, he's not to blame.

Intentions. Fault. Blame. Give people too much runway and they'll start walking all over you.

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

i t z a l

***

This kid knows what I’m talking about, right? The raised eyebrow, a nod, I think, well we could be friends, I just know it! And if he’s in with Haze maybe he could put in a good word for me, too.

'… Brennan, by the way,' He drops while I’m mid-bite, and I let out a cough, '… from district three.'

Well fuck.

Don’t get me wrong. He could’ve torn me a new one for confusing him with the kid from eleven – you know, people get touchy when you can’t tell two people who look kind of similar, but not, apart – and here he is gently explaining I’ve got the whole thing wrong.

But damn if he wasn’t right that district three was the absolute worst.

Look – I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. Like – if you had a choice, would three even be in your top ten?

Let’s put it in perspective.

Carve out the fact they haven’t had a victor in like, forever, which to me doesn’t matter quite so much, he was absolutely right that they had to be the blandest of the upper districts. The kids who were more interested in what – circuits than fresh air? Wasn’t that the stereotype? As opposed to four who got the beach, which, rad, and one and two who (up until a year ago) led the pack when it came to cold blooded killers.

“I hear that Brendan. I mean you guys aren’t really known for being the most adventurous right? Like - if district three were a drink, it’d be water. Or if it were a spice, flour. Oh! If it were a ride at an amusement park, it’d be a line. You get what I’m trying to say.” I shoveled another spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth before waving my spoon at him.

“Not that you’re all like that, I don’t want you to think that I’ve got something against you all.” I gave a shrug. “You didn’t ask to be born there just as sure as I didn’t ask to get born in five.”

ELEGANT

[ᕦ( ˘ᴗ˘ )ᕤ]

〖    b r e n n a n    f i t z g e r a l d    〗

I almost feel guilty when he coughs up some of his oatmeal after my correction. Itzal sits there, thinking for a moment. I don't want to be that guy; the one who has to resist the urge to comment on something that's truly no big deal.

"I hear that, Brendan."

Okay… is he listening to what I'm saying or is he just pretending to care? I curl my legs up onto the seat and wrap my arms down by the ankles as he continues going on. Thankfully, he seems to just be making generalizations about District Three being so lame for an "Upper" district. We're not adventurous, we're not stylish, and we're certainly not existing with the intention of standing out from anyone else. It's interesting to see how people outside of my district see us. What's even more satisfying is that from the looks of Itzal's opinions, he believes we're all indistinguishable. When push comes to shove and the prideful bullies in District Three zoom out into the world around them, they're nothing special.

Perhaps what's most interesting about Itzal's observation is the last thing that he says. You didn't ask to be born there. I stare at him for a little bit too long, hand moving up as a pedestal for my jaw to land on. How can someone speak so obliviously yet so astutely at the same time? I nod along actively now. It's the first time someone in this experience has gotten me to think critically about my place in this world.

"I like how you think. People don't normally choose the environment they're put into. I'm from Three, involuntarily, and you're from Five, involuntarily"

I pick at the stitch of my district's number on the uniform. "But you're still Itzal, and I'm still Brennan." The emphasis I put on that n is as well-defined as an encyclopedia on Three's tech. To prove my impeccable social skills, I throw a jab back to him. "We're more than just the general themes of our districts. I couldn't tell you the first thing about District Five. Like… if someone put a knife to my throat and told me to say what you guys did, it was nice knowing me!"

I smile. "But I can tell you're a nice guy after talking to you for a minute."

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

i t z a l

***

It’s not like I meant to hurt his feelings or anything about district three. Just a matter of how we were raised. You get all your district history as a kid and they have all those jingles to help you remember who does what where – did the other districts have that? They made us do a rap in the third grade about what the main export of every district was, which was lame as hell and only had us make fun of everyone else.

I mean, the ones that probably had it worse than us.

Five wasn’t, at least for me, the greatest place on earth or else I probably would still be there. Not to shit on my mother or my sister, but you have to admit volunteering to find out about your possibly dead dad from the scraps of capitol records might rank up there with weakest reasons to volunteer ever. But I did it and now I’m here, and Bryan is waxing about how the whole world only sees bits and pieces of each other so of course we miss who a person might really be.

“Petrochemicals, mostly. They like to jazz us up as clean, green energy but the shit we’ve been pumping into the atmosphere hasn’t really changed too much since I was born.” Sure, they’d put up some damns and solar panels but the real meat and potatoes of everything were the refineries. You really think that all of those things were just suddenly going away because we could power a few lightbulbs with a giant metal rectangle in a field? They sure as shit pumped out load after load of noxious gas into the sky all while giving us the middle finger and saying the air was safe to breathe.

But at least we weren’t three.

“Nice?” I cocked my head at Bren and smiled. “Yeah, I am pretty freaking fantastic when it comes down to it I guess. You’re not so bad yourself, Brennan. You talk a lot, but you got the spirit.”

“And don’t worry, if I put a knife to your throat I’m not gonna ask you what my district does.” I took up my spoon and angled over my tray. “I’d probably just make you beg for your life, you know. Good tv and all that.”

ELEGANT