petre till // d5 // fin.
Oct 23, 2023 15:26:21 GMT -5
Post by rosymarvels on Oct 23, 2023 15:26:21 GMT -5
Petre Till
31 YEARS OLD · DISTRICT 5 · ESFJ
"Shockley's not going to be happy about this."
He won't be. But he's never happy with our work. If our work doesn't end with us giving a go ahead to whichever energy firm or Capitolite developer wants to develop, he's not happy. But while he complains, he'd never override our decision on whether a site is safe to develop. It's better to listen to us now than to ignore us and pay for it in blood and wasted resources.
I lean back, twisting my pencil in my hands. "If we bolt the cliff, maybe we could approve it. But we'd have to do another appraisal after, and—"
There's a quiet knock at the door, quiet enough that I almost don't notice.
"Daddy?"
The voice is muffled, but I can tell it's Selena. Reaching up, I hover a finger over the mute button on my headset. "I'll be right back," I assure, pressing it without waiting for anyone on the other end of the line to respond.
I slip the headset around my neck as I stand, limping to the door on a foot that fell asleep sometime during the call. When I throw it open, I find that I was right — it's my middle girl on the other side of the door, hair tussled, her blanket dragging on the ground behind her.
I'm quick to stoop down and lift her up onto my hip, closing the office door behind me. She shouldn't be up so late, and if it weren't for work, I wouldn't be, either. "Why are you up so late?" I ask, keeping my voice low.
She doesn't answer at first, choosing instead to fidget with her blanket as I start towards her bedroom. She only answers once we're at the door.
"Will Gala' be picked next year?"
It's a question I figured would be asked eventually, but it's not one I'm prepared to answer. Galena's twelve, now. Of course it's possible. It could be her, and there's nothing that I could do to prevent it.
"No. She won't be," I assure.
It's on impulse that I do, and once I've spoken, I can't take it back. Not without worrying her more. Because Selena's seven, my words are a promise, albeit one that's not in my power to keep. But my reassurance seems to soothe her, and that's all that matters for now.
Honesty can come later.
It'll be Selena in five years, and it'll be Mica in nine. It'll be another sixteen before the threat of the Reaping stops hanging over our heads. I'll have more opportunities to have this conversation, and be truthful.
I accepted the Reapings when I was the one who could be reaped. It felt like an honor, like I was doing what had to be done. Our suffering felt like it had meaning. Purpose. It was atonement for the sins of the Districts.
But I see now that there would be no purpose for my daughters' deaths. Galena was born, and the veil was lifted. It's not our penitence, but the bloodlust of the Capitol that keeps the Games running. The girl in my arms, the children in the Games, none of them have a higher purpose than being entertainment. Than to be played with until they break.
As I've gotten older, the tributes all seem to get younger. Even the oldest, the eighteen year olds, don't seem much older than my eldest girl.
"To bed with you now," I mumble into her hair, laying her down.
Selena is still little. Still too little for the Games, though no tribute is ever truly old enough for them. But she's old enough now to be scared for her sister. To be scared for their futures. To be scared of the Capitol.
And the Capitol is the one thing I can't protect them from.
He won't be. But he's never happy with our work. If our work doesn't end with us giving a go ahead to whichever energy firm or Capitolite developer wants to develop, he's not happy. But while he complains, he'd never override our decision on whether a site is safe to develop. It's better to listen to us now than to ignore us and pay for it in blood and wasted resources.
I lean back, twisting my pencil in my hands. "If we bolt the cliff, maybe we could approve it. But we'd have to do another appraisal after, and—"
There's a quiet knock at the door, quiet enough that I almost don't notice.
"Daddy?"
The voice is muffled, but I can tell it's Selena. Reaching up, I hover a finger over the mute button on my headset. "I'll be right back," I assure, pressing it without waiting for anyone on the other end of the line to respond.
I slip the headset around my neck as I stand, limping to the door on a foot that fell asleep sometime during the call. When I throw it open, I find that I was right — it's my middle girl on the other side of the door, hair tussled, her blanket dragging on the ground behind her.
I'm quick to stoop down and lift her up onto my hip, closing the office door behind me. She shouldn't be up so late, and if it weren't for work, I wouldn't be, either. "Why are you up so late?" I ask, keeping my voice low.
She doesn't answer at first, choosing instead to fidget with her blanket as I start towards her bedroom. She only answers once we're at the door.
"Will Gala' be picked next year?"
It's a question I figured would be asked eventually, but it's not one I'm prepared to answer. Galena's twelve, now. Of course it's possible. It could be her, and there's nothing that I could do to prevent it.
"No. She won't be," I assure.
It's on impulse that I do, and once I've spoken, I can't take it back. Not without worrying her more. Because Selena's seven, my words are a promise, albeit one that's not in my power to keep. But my reassurance seems to soothe her, and that's all that matters for now.
Honesty can come later.
It'll be Selena in five years, and it'll be Mica in nine. It'll be another sixteen before the threat of the Reaping stops hanging over our heads. I'll have more opportunities to have this conversation, and be truthful.
I accepted the Reapings when I was the one who could be reaped. It felt like an honor, like I was doing what had to be done. Our suffering felt like it had meaning. Purpose. It was atonement for the sins of the Districts.
But I see now that there would be no purpose for my daughters' deaths. Galena was born, and the veil was lifted. It's not our penitence, but the bloodlust of the Capitol that keeps the Games running. The girl in my arms, the children in the Games, none of them have a higher purpose than being entertainment. Than to be played with until they break.
As I've gotten older, the tributes all seem to get younger. Even the oldest, the eighteen year olds, don't seem much older than my eldest girl.
"To bed with you now," I mumble into her hair, laying her down.
Selena is still little. Still too little for the Games, though no tribute is ever truly old enough for them. But she's old enough now to be scared for her sister. To be scared for their futures. To be scared of the Capitol.
And the Capitol is the one thing I can't protect them from.
