..::toCONDEMNtheonewho (h e a r s) it // [KATIE]

[ALEX!atthedisco]

{ this will be my last confession : : . . . }
 
[[whispering like it's a ( s e c r e t )
who is the betrayer, | who's the killer in the crowd? | i was a heavy heart to carry ::
: : heavy, heavy in your arms //

img_credit::line@caution.
song_credit::florence+themachine//heavyinyourarms.
temp_credit::meee.

     i jerk violently awake as my calf muscle in my lame leg gives an almighty heave, contracting involuntarily. the pain of it is so sudden and so piercing that it actually have to keep myself from exclaiming, even impulsively biting down on my pillow for a minute while i squeeze my eyes shut as hard as i can. my leg is screaming in pain, like knives are slicing at my achilles' tendon, like the muscle in my thigh has literally been set aflame as it tightens itself into the smallest ball it can manage.

     "i wonder if this is what having a baby's like," i mutter aloud in a sudden, morbid thought, a grin becoming a grimace as my calf gives another almighty squeeze. between still being half-asleep and it being 7am, as the cracked plastic clock on the wall tells me, i half-realize i'm still kind of out of it, which is probably why i thought saying something weird like that--i moan lowly as some deep muscle in my leg heaves--was funny. fortunately for me, my mind's getting less fuzzy with each contraction--

     my heart absolutely freezes when i flip over to get a better glance at that ratty old clock on my ratty old wall. my leg has cleared up my mind enough to process its meaning. it's seven in the morning. seven. in. the morning.

     growing up at my house--you know, once i got over the screaming fits--there were two things that my parents made sure i learned. first, that i stop sticking my elbows on the table when i eat. second, that i always hold to my obligations, even if i think my part in it completely sucks (which may or may not be slightly paraphrased). the first, which i never tried or cared to try to keep, was probably to make sure future girlfriends' parents liked me, which honestly isn't a concern of mine right now. if a girl's parents are going to judge me based on my elbows, i'm pretty sure it's only going to be because they haven't seen me below the waist. the second, however, i find myself keeping religiously, because i'm pretty sure it's so people will think i'm honest and hardworking. or at least that's the use i find in it.

     my shift at clemson's field begins at six thirty every day except for sunday, when my half-shift starts seven hours later than normal, and for saturday, when my half-shift ends seven hours earlier. i don't know why this is. but still--unfortunately for me, it's not sunday. it's thursday. and clemson himself starts the efficiency rounds through his seven fields at precisely ten minutes past seven, starting with my field. on a good day, one where my leg isn't trying to kill me, i can make the walk to clemson's field in about seven minutes. today? well, to be honest, my leg--which again throws itself into another throbbing contraction as if on cue, causing me to clench my teeth to avoid groaning--hasn't hurt this bad in years. which means, when you add it all up, that i am almost definitely so incredibly freaking screwed.

     i launch myself out of bed, landing firmly on my right leg and bracing myself against the wall. my left leg, as if angry with me for considering transferring weight onto it, sent my hamstrings into arguably the strongest, most blindingly painful cramp yet. instantaneously, i feel my cheeks and ears blaze as i'm instantly ticked. "of all the days!" i loudly growl through clenched teeth, seething but lightly appreciative that i hadn't thought to change out of my plain brown work clothes before collapsing onto my bed last night. my left leg is roaring at me with stabbing pain, but i have no choice than to make what use of it that i can as i make my way out of my house, heading for clemson's.

     the whole way there, i have to brace myself against houses, fences--whatever i can keep a hand on so i don't fall. but i still do since i'm not being careful. twice. but i have to get there, and i try to maintain through my blazing anger some sort of hope that i won't be late, that i won't get caught, that clemson will have gotten sick and died or something and won't turn me over to some whip-wielding peacekeeper.

     deep down, i know i'm just telling myself this so i won't cause more trouble than is already awaiting me. i keep moving.

     panting heavily, the sight of clemson's orchard--my workspace--is an intensely bittersweet sight as i clear the last row of houses before the field. the sweet, i realize, is just some self-satisfying reaction that the hopeful side of me has provided now that i haven't seen clemson himself, even though i know it's been longer than ten minutes. the bitter kicks when, just as my hand finds the first tree, clemson rounds the row of trees in front of me, the other workers following behind as if he's dictating instructions to them as he walks through the orchard. which is likely, seeing as how he announced yesterday that he was going to do it.

     i'm frozen, and for the second time today, i'm momentarily not breathing. but clemson simply narrows his eyes as keeps walking, his pace faster than i could manage right now. i could only just keep his pace on a good day. and he knows that, which tells me that my trouble's just begun. my pulse hammers in my ears now: i tell myself it's out of anger, but i honestly don't know if fear isn't somehow at play as i watch the other works avoid eye contact with me as they trail clemson like a gaggle of gooslings following their mother.

     i don't know what else to do but keep going with what i was doing yesterday. my hands shake--and this i know is out of anger; it's the only time they shake--as i attempt to pick up the bag of fertilizer leaning against the nearby tree. i lose my balance as my leg throbs angrily, and my shoulder catches the tree. i won't be caught not working, even if clemson knows i'm late to work. he's seen me and knows i'm late, but i idly hope i can somehow avoid judgment if he sees i'm working.

     then i remember this is district eleven. hell will freeze over before political forgiveness is earned. and clemson's supposed to have connections to the peacekeepers, supposedly--his daughter was supposed to have married into some high-ranking circle of peacekeepers. i can only sigh... and uselessly hope.

     i've been working for i don't know how long when a thick fist catches the back of my shirt and yanks me back from the tree i'm working on. it's close enough to the row of houses i'd hobbled by this morning that, when he releases me, my back catches the ragged, fractured asphault and gravel of the road nearby. my attacker's identity, i quickly realize just before i hit the ground, is nothing unexpected--the six-foot-two-inches, hulking figure, and cruel smile of a peacekeeper who's enjoying the possibilities of my injuries looks back at me. what does catch me by surprise is the coiled whip at his white belt--a punishment usually reserved for the real criminals, like the people who steal peaches to feed their starving children.

     as i hit the ground, my back catches the jagged edges of the asphault, and i'm suddenly rolling heels over head, my stiff leg catching the side of a house mid-cramp. i can't help it when i actually do make some instinctive noise this time--i can't process the pain quickly enough to keep quiet. and i swear i actually hear the peacekeeper chuckle when i make it. he's figured out i'm different, i'm sure--who knows how long he watched me work before attacking?

     using my arms, i roll myself over, aware from the throbs and stings on my back that skin has been broken. i don't have time to figure or even estimate how badly i'm hurt--i am so incredibly ticked that i can't pay attention, and before i can even realize that much, the peacekeeper is above me, bringing his leg back as if to kick. which he does, his white steel-toed shoe finding my stomach before i realize it's going to happen.

     "what's the problem, cripple?!"

[/b][/i] he barks at me. "your alarm clock not working?"[/i] his boot connects with my side, as his first kick had rolled me over. i'm emotionally blazing and empty simultaneously: i'm instinctively raging about the cripple shot, but i'm also too busy trying to just pacify him through my reaction so he'll go away. it's worked before when people have gotten punished, but... maybe it's also because they either died or passed out. either way, it's all i can do to keep from vomiting because his piercing, nauseating kicks have obviously bruised (or worse) my stomach, if not some other organ(s).

     i can't avoid gagging, though, and when i cough, i taste blood. yeah, i'm hurt. and my hammering heart, eager to return the favor to the peacekeeper, sends a new wave of intense pain and nausea through my stomach with each beat.

     if this is it,[/i] i think to myself quickly, with bitterness, with storming anger, what a useless way to go.[/size][/blockquote]

(( i'm so (h e a v y) in your arms. ))

word_count::1634.
__notes::wow. uhhh... guess i had more rye muse
than i thought? haha. sorry if that was
boring to read. i just kinda kept going
with it when each bit came to mind.
sorry, too, that i took so long to post!

[Katie-Is-Maybe-Back-Lola]

Tessa groaned loudly, and stretched out in her luxuriously spacious bed. It was situated in the minuscule box room of Tessa’s family farm. Which, when you considered that Tessa was ‘on the cusp of Womanhood, (A fact her Mother liked to mention often) and took note of the equally important fact that she was the eldest of 5 frighteningly rowdy children, was the perfect space for someone as suffocated by responsibility as Tessa to occupy, as it was the only place in the house where anything could be kept truly private.

Rubbing the Gound slowly from her eyes, Tessa slipped her plain black cotton dress over her head. Then in as fluid a motion as she could manage, she slung her dark hair up into a tidy ponytail. Her Father, always looking for a new lesson to teach his offspring, had decided that in order for Tessa to truly appreciate how lucky she was to be working at a farm owned by close relatives, she would first have to spend a day working outdoors with people; and a boss, that she didn’t have any emotional ties to. As always, Tessa was determined to prove to her Father that she would succeed in working hard, regardless of the circumstances, However, the most important thing she had to do in order to prove herself, was to arrive on time.

Tessa strode towards the door, only turning back to glance at the crooked wooden clock that hung from the solid magnolia wall opposite her bed. She was just over five minutes ahead of schedule, with just under 15 minutes’ to go until she was scheduled to turn up at Clemson’s field; for what her Father told her would turn out to be a ‘Surprisingly Educational’ day of work.

The dim coral glow of the rising sun filled the early morning sky as Tessa walked briskly in what she thought the direction of her strange new workplace. All in all the walk there was fairly uneventful.She did not see anyone she knew, but this was probably due to the ungodly hour at which she had risen from bed. Then again, Tessa was so blinded by her own determination that she doubted whether she would have been able to recognise her own reflection.

After walking for what she’d estimated was about ten minutes, Tessa eventually came to a stop at a large Orchard, where several wise workers were already stood, clustered together in small organised groups. Like her, those already present had thought to arrive early. Tessa had an inkling they did so in order to avoid Clemson’s notoriously harsh wrath.

As if on cue, Clemson, swaggered authoritatively towards his workers. As he approached, Tessa noticed that although some scowls of disdain were visible on the faces of particularly defiant workers, the majority of them were stony faced. They were obviously determined not to be victimized. Obediently we all slipped into a single file line.

Strolling purposefully towards the clump of trees nearest him, Clemson proceeded in firing a barrage of instructions our way, just as he began to beckon us forewords, (to follow him as he circled around the orchard) a late comer joined to back of the perfectly straight line. Tessa didn’t catch sight of him, well not exactly, she just saw a movement in the corner of her eye.

The latecomer was momentarily forgotten when Clemson finished talking, (rather abruptly in Tessa’s opinion) and they all began to pick the work. Without her sling to knock the fruit from the higher branches Tessa got a number of scrapes on her thighs as she clambered upwards to retrieve the fruit and back down to place it in the wicker basket Clemson had provided. This process was repeated to many time to count. Just as Tessa’s feet touched the ground for the umpteenth time. There was a loud thwacking noise as a boy Tessa recognized as her local bakers son was knocked to the ground by a single aggressive punch in the back. The stocky malicious Peacekeeper that had punched him was smiling hungrily as Rye (that was the name of the Bakers Son) rolled over on the ground. Rye had a stiff leg that affected his mobility so he relied heavily on his arms. Dropping her basket, Tessa sprinted over to where Rye was being beaten within an inch of his life, it looked as though he was struggling to breath and blood was pouring from his mouth.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins as Tessa positioned herself in between the unjust peacekeeper and a seriously injured Rye. She took a deep breath, “Stop!” Tessa bellowed and her voice carried across the vast area of the Orchard. She shielded Rye quickly with her body “Can’t you see that you’ve done enough already you hulking great moron? Her voice was steady, but tinged with an cold icy venom, that even someone as dense as the Peacekeeper could understand.

[ALEX!atthedisco]

     the world dumps on its side and i feel my stomach on the edge of emptying itself when, through the nausea, i hear the sharp slap slap SLAP SLAP of feet running first across grass, then across cracked asphalt. my first instinct is to try to run away--i'm sure it's another peacekeeper coming to join the party. the increase in adrenaline chills its way from my gut to my toes, but i know based on how the world's ready to rock back and forth that the instant i stand up is the instant i cough up what's left of my stomach.

     you can imagine my surprise, then, when, instead of a second set of feet to kick me, i discover a voice. female. it takes what little self-control i can muster to not lose it as i roll my head to the right to try to see its source, which i do: i catch a glimpse of ivory skin on a thin but curvy frame that's built for the work eleven's fields demand. i can't keep moving my eyes and head to take in more of the visible scene, my stomach reminds me, so i squeeze my eyes tightly shut. the peacekeeper would probably take that as a reaction, and the last thing i can bear to do right now is provoke him further.

     time's moving so slowly since i'm so messed up that the voice is still talking when i squeeze my eyes shut. or maybe it's the adrenaline, trying to give me some sort of reaction time to escape. i don't know. but i do catch the tail end of what she's saying: "--enough already, you great hulking moron?!"

[/i]

     my first reaction is blank awe. beatings are frequent in eleven, but people jumping to your defense are rare. probably because it usually results in them getting an even worse punishment for hindering "justice". maybe because we've mostly learned that showing no reaction will sometimes make the punishments shorter. my second reaction is at first breath cynical--after all, maybe she's expecting some sort of benefit for this, like i'll give her some food or money or something. i don't know why this is my next reaction, because in any other situation, i might feel bad for someone in need. then again, a guy does tend to look out for number one when he's being beaten to death.

     but my cynicism dissolves when i force my eyes open in the following silence--silent but for me blood-logged gasps for air, that is. the peacekeeper, though he's not dropping his cruel glare, has obviously not anticipated retaliation from a third party. perhaps he's new to this, a recent recruit from the capitol whose brutality hasn't yet learned to equitably pass unhindered from one victim to another. from the ground, it's easy to see his hand twitch towards his whip, which sends both my stomach and my leg into fear-induced spasms. but instead, he settles for giving his most hateful stare as he promptly spits in her face. or at least that's where i assume he spits; the most i can see of the situation from down here is his head jerk, synchronized with the noise, forward towards her dark hair.

     if my anger has dulled in the wake of the increased nausea, it's absolutely exploded now. but i still can't do much to help the situation--in fact, the re-surge in my pulse brings on more nausea, and it takes a little more willpower than i knew i had to once again not lose it. i meet my stomach's demands halfway with a gag that turns into coughing out a mouthful of blood onto the cracked asphalt. the peacekeeper steps over my legs, catching my left with his foot at the shin, jerking me around slightly as if he might have tripped over me. again, i remain stoic, now for both our sakes.

     his footsteps fade, but since i've again shut my eyes to try to get a grip on my stomach and leg, i can't explain the small silence afterward. but still, i've only heard one set of footsteps, so she, whoever she is, is still here, lucky that she's only gotten what treatment she has. i swallow to try to calm my body, counting down who it might be that would confront a peacekeeper. i can't think of anyone chivalrous enough at the orchard who would bother to risk their possessions, including their health and life, to stop a punishment. it won't be my sisters or mom: all three are within a few miles of home at school or the bakery.

     so it's only natural that, when i feel secure enough in my stomach that i can do so, i cough in a hoarse voice, "...why?" and it's the only thing i can think to say.[/size][/blockquote]

word_count::833.

OOC: OH MY GOODNESS. I AM SO SORRY this took forever to get posted! I thought I was in the clear with school to write by Wednesday, but then my teachers decided to add more work. Gah! Again, I'm super freaking sorryyyyy! D:
P.S. Sorry if the Peacekeeper spitting was godmodding/power playing. I just couldn't imagine a Peacekeeper from D11 just shrugging and walking off.
P.P.S. Sorry what conversation I gave you to work with absofreakinglutely SUCKS. D:

[Katie-Is-Maybe-Back-Lola]

Tessa kept her eyes level with the Peacekeeper and stubbornly refused to blink, Tessa wouldn’t back down, she’d show him that those as arrogant, self obsessed and cruel as he could only push her people so far, and that then, if they were continually mistreated, her horribly oppressed and unbearably starving companions would be forced to act, regardless of the merciless punishment that would consequently follow.

Tessa’s face remained blank; it was a mask of gritty determination, even faced with the sly twisted features of her newly acquired foe. Who, at this moment, was stood in a pose that could only be described as unnervingly statuesque. Well, anyone but Tessa would have called it unnerving. However, as driven by her rage and adrenaline as she still was, Tessa simply waited for events to unfold. Hopefully, God willing, they would do so in her favour.

Truth be told Tessa would have repeated her unbelievably spontaneous actions, multiple times, even if the victim of that vile Peacekeepers abuse had been a complete and total stranger to her. Because, by doing what was right she found the strength to get up each day and carry on. She felt that by taking the brunt of the Peacekeepers frustration, she could ensure that her spirit did not break, and that her soul was never tarnished or rotted by the evil of the Capitol, and in turn, she could also help others to realise that even in the bleakest of circumstances, while people who still cared were around, there is always hope.

In the silence, Tessa contemplated her next move. should she go and help Rye up?, or simply stare defiantly into the unforgiving eyes of the dunce that stood before her? Indecision wasn't a trait she normally possessed, and it didn't become her, but in tough times like these, it was of the utmost importance to weigh up your options before acting again. a spontaneous decision may have been for the best beforehand, but now a poorly thought out one may land her into trouble that she had so far managed to avoid.

Seconds passed, and Tessa spied the slightest of movements in her peripheral vision, it was incredibly quick, obviously calculated, and filled with vengeful intent. She heard an audible pop, and suddenly a damp spray was scattered from the start of Tessa's hairline to the bridge of her nose. The smarmy b*st*rd had spat in her face.

If she had been furious before Tessa was absolutely incensed now, she wiped her face slowly with the back of her hand, and judging by the sound of a pair of even fading footsteps, the peacekeeper had decided to take a hike, leaving her and Rye alone. Although they were a considerable distance away from each other.

Panicked Tessa sprinted hurriedly towards where Rye lay, sprawled pathetically on the ground, she arrived at his side just in time to witness a viscous gloopy spout of blood pouring from his gullet. Tessa took a rather hesitant step forward, for in her opinion, it would have been rather patronising of her to offer Rye help without asking him first.

However,before she'd had a chance to utter any more than a faint murmur, Rye spoke first, it was a simple word, although laden with curiosity, and bewilderment. "Why?" he croaked, A sincere smile played on the corner of Tessa's mouth as she spoke"Because it was the right thing to do Rye, I wasn't going to stand around and let you get pummelled, what kind of person would that make me if I did?

As she finished speaking, Tessa felt an pleasant burst of heat pass through her body, after a few seconds of silent pondering, Tessa realised that she was definitely glad she had acted upon her instincts. Because, in the long run, helping others was the right thing to do and the only way to stop higher authorities from tearing the district to shreds.

(SORRRRRRY Its been FOREVA, and the speech I've given you sucks equally so XD)