We Are Dreamers (spesh)

[Stare]

Namia Warren
Smile for the camera, wave to the crowd,
Never say your thoughts out loud.
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Through an artist's impatient eye, the world is little more than color and potential. Nature's work of art cannot be copied, though a few attempts at replicas do exist; it is widely believed that human hands can only destroy (though I have never shared this opinion) and so those who dare to speak their defiance out loud are eaten alive and then thrown aside to be laughed at furthur by those who care enough to even look their way. I have always been content with my own silent opinions, for I am a teenage girl as well as an artist, and perhaps my parents' constant concern over their reputation has rubbed off on me. Still, I do not deny myself the moments of peacefulness with nature despite the way that others of District Ten seem to be losing their interest in the light forests that cover the land. Now, trees are seen only as obstacles for building more farmland, and the rate at which they are being cut down is secretly terrifying me. It is like watching all of the final whispers of inspiration in this horrible district being destroyed.

I emerge from below the canopy of leafless branches with my sketch book clutched tightly against my chest, leaning against the sudden wind that sweeps over the flattened land. Though the harsh cold fingers make the tops of my ears and my fingers numb, I am grateful for the way it carries the foul scent of animals away from the streets. There was a time back when I felt trapped by the brains of the district, with no real creative freedom. Back then, I was so convinced that the industry couldn't be any worse. It turns out, I was wrong- the stench and the little 'gifts' the animals leave behind are enough to keep me indoors most days, desperately clinging to the leftover scent of my mother's perfume in the hallways. I'll admit that though I'm sure I was just as bad smelling as the animals back in my pauper days, years of luxery have changed me into a clean freak- I can't stand being messy unless it's with paint.

I politely nod to a few familiar faces in the crowd as I shove my way forward. My parents have taught me to always greet someone who is important, and I follow their strict rules obediently because there will be more yelling and tears if I don't. I can't put my little sister through another fight- she may be annoying, but I still can't stand to see the way her eyes get huge whenever my parents and I argue over different things. She has lived in the world of glitter and gold for her entire life, and so it's impossible for her to really see my side of things. Still, she tries and really that's all that counts in the end. It is some nights that only she keeps me anchored to the district. I have wanted to just flee for so long that the ache is a familiar one, but I wouldn't last a day out in the wild and would never be able to put my parents through the pain.

What is it like out there, though? I have visited the fence on several occasions and have at least a dozen paintings hidden in the depths of my closet that portray my view of the outside world. Color blooms bright in those pictures because the grass is always greener but I honestly think it must be more beautiful out there without all the farmers tearing up the land and animals stinking up the air. Perhaps someday, when I am older and able to take care of myself, I will journey out into the unknown and never even look back. Out there, the stars will shine brighter and the sun will be warmer and I'll be free for the first time in my life.

Abruptly someone's shoulder slams into mine with painful force, knocking me sideways. I give a yelp of surprise, waving my arms up and down in a desperate attempt to keep the balance that I always seem to lack in the most crucial of times. No one makes any attempt to steady me and so I take one final step before slamming into the ground, my sketch book flying out of my hands. The most recent drawing flutters outward in midair and then settles in a puddle. I give a sorrowful sigh as I watch the murky water destroy the beautiful sketch of the woods in autumn before reaching over to retrieve it and crumpling up the damp page, shaking my head in disappointment before tossing it randomly. I hear the sound of it hitting something to earily to be landing on the ground, and look up to see that it has hit someone squarely on the head. "Oh, I am so sorry," I say, scrambling into a standing position. "It was an accident, I promise!"

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[Spesh]

Newton Erik Frierson

The reason Newton was in a crowd was unknown to him, in fact he hardly remembered what being in a crowd was like, the sweating people, the conversations that one easily listens to without ever meaning to, people running into others. He had to admit that he kind of missed crowds, missed the old industry. Ever since the switch of District Ten's industry, crowds were rare. Sure, there was always the given crowd at the reaping and during the victory tour, but otherwise, none. Never was Newton the brightest star in the sky, but he did like the feeling of being around people. Now, the spread out district gets in the way, makes it hard for a middle of the run family like his to do business, not to say he has suffered though, because he has not.

Unlike many of the artisans in District Ten, his family was wealthy enough to continue on with their business, even with the slackening demand. It seemed to Newton that his older brother, Cameron, brought in customers. People, it seemed, were willing to save up that extra bit of money just to buy stuff from the Frierson's because they liked Cameron. In a district that was so poor, it seemed amazing that a single person could sway someone to buy something they hardly needed, yet they did it. Either he was assuming the product his family made was not important enough, or that it was far too important, as even Newton doubted Cam could be that influential.

Soon his brother would move out, Newton was sure of it. The business would take a hit, no doubt. People would be finding him at the counter and not Cameron. They would ask questions that he would only have one answer for. More likely than not customers would not like the answer and refuse to come back. Why else would they come to Frairson's shop? They could very well survive off of the food and water they had, there was no need for anything more than that. Newton figured he would soon have to learn how to be more like his brother when it came to interacting with people. His family would need him for it.

At one point there was actually hope for the younger people in District Ten, hope in being smart and making more money because you were smart. To Newton it now seemed that people were stuck with the amount of money they had, this new ranching prevented the poor from getting rich and the rich from getting poor, just the way the Capitol wanted things to be. It let them establish a good, longstanding relationship with the rich, thus keeping the poor under control. As one of the few people who was not considered rich or poor, he could see this happening. He almost felt forgotten amongst the masses. In a way he felt that was a good thing, especially considering the fact that being in the spotlight likely meant being a tribute; yet he also felt that not being noticed was awful. Newton felt like he would never be recognized for his achievements, he would always be stuck doing what his father has done, and what his fathers father did before him.


While there would never be any recognition for his work, Newton did not want to gain any for being a tribute, so he would deal with the circumstances. Coming up from out of his thought, he saw a girl, quite near his own age he would assume, having a hard time getting around. It was not that she was lost or anything, but she just kept running into people and falling over. If Newton was not a decent person, than surely he would laugh at the comedy from this; much to his chagrin, he saw and heard many people laughing at the girl. He figured she was rich, the girl stumbling around, because she appeared to not be in the greatest hurry and she was also well mannered. With good intentions in mind, he did want to help the girl out, but he was afraid of entering the wreckage zone surrounding her.

The next thing Newton knew, he was hit with a soaking wet light projectile. The thing did not hurt, and upon further expectation was a piece of paper, but now his hair would be ruined, quite the frustration to Newton. Apparently the thrower, the girl scrambled over to Newton, "Oh, I am so sorry. It was an accident, I promise!" This was clearly the truth, he noted, at least the accident part. The way that she said the 'sorry' made Newton feel like he was being talked down to.

No matter what the girl meant by her words, he was obligated by curtesy to answer her back, "It's no big deal, don't worry about it. I don't mean this in a rude way at all, but are you okay? You seem to be struggling quite a bit in getting through this crowd of people."

[Stare]

Namia Warren
Bury me in riches and call me lucky,
Because it's not like that will change anything.
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Relief of his forgiveness makes my face relax into a smile. A real one- not the one that I wear around home and at my parent's parties and at school. My parents would never forgive me if this were a truly important person. Of course, I am more concerned as to whether his heart is full rather than his pockets. Yet another thing separating me from my family- I care about people, and they care about wallets. It would be a lie to call my parents selfish or mean, but they have been hardened and smoothed by years of living under party lights with plastic grins. I touch their skin and they feel just fine, but if I brush their hearts for just a single instant I find that they are ice cold. Dinner is polite but empty, and the conversation consists mostly of all of my sister's brilliant accomplishments. Up until recently, they have tried very hard to care about my passions, but I suppose that they have found it is no longer worth their time, so mostly they just yell at me now. Where are my parents? I want my mom and dad back, please and thank you. Except they aren't coming back.

Not until it all falls and we are hidden back in the depths of poverty.

I know how to protect myself and survive on the streets. People don't bother asking about my past and I've never been eager to tell it. Those memories are filled with hungerthirstfear and more tears than I can count. Endless nights of nothing but emptiness inside of my stomach as my body screamed for something to keep it functioning (for some reason to keep moving forward). I knew how to defend myself- I had to, for all the time I spent in dark alleyways searching for something to eat in dumpsters. The kids at school didn't say anything about my worn clothes to my face, but I always saw the rich girls twittering behind my back. Those memories make District Ten seem like a whole different world that I lived in during an entirely different lifetime. Now the world has spun me around and woven fate into me so that mine is an entirely new pattern- one with lace and gold but also dark threads of pain and whispering silver of lost friendship.

Art was kind of my constant- the one thing that connects me to that starving little girl back almost a decade. Years of our blooming wealth and my metamorphosis into a proper young lady are trapped in the fluttering pages of my precious sketch book. Maybe that's why my parents are constantly threatening to burn it- they hate the memories that kindle my heart and keep me sane in the moments when all the glitter and make-up and fake becomes too much for me. They don't want to remember times when they couldn't feed their only daughter and I can hardly blame them for that. It's just that in casting those memories to the wind, they lost themselves when I have used those moments of true friendship and horrible hunger to anchor me to reality.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," I say, tucking a tangled lock behind an ear that has become pink from the cold. "I sort of got lost in thought for a moment. A stupid thing for someone as clumsy as me to do in a crowd like this." I grin, and it feels nice. Much better than the mask that I put on for other people. I suppose it's easier to talk to complete strangers who don't seem to realize who I am- like I have a fresh start. I left behind anything designer and dug up my navy blue zip up sweatshirt that I had hidden away beneath all the nice clothes my parents bought me. My mother hates seeing me wearing anything other than the best (and most uncomfortable), so I often have to sneak out when I wear something as plain and worn as what I have on. No jewelry. Normal jeans. Really, I could pass as any other District Ten citizen instead of a Warren.

Instead of a filthy rich spoiled girl.

The wind stops for a single instant, and the smell of animals fills the air thickly as if it had been there all along. I wrinkle my nose in disgust, clutching my sketch book tighter as if the stench could soil the pages. "Ugh. Do you think that snow will cover that horrible smell?" Another person shoves into me, and I stumble one step to the side, straightening and glaring in the general direction of the vanishing stranger.

"I hate this district," I mutter quietly.

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[Spesh]

Newton Erik Frierson

No matter what the official industry of District Ten was, it did not matter to Newton. The industry could be intelligence like before (how that was an industry he did not know) or it could be ranching like it was now, either way he would be working as an artisan like his father and his father before him. One difference would be his brother, he would run the shop and Newton would be delegated to some random job, probably sweeping up crumbs dust. He would be wealthy enough, so there would be no arguing between him and his boss, yet Newton would always feel that his life was unfulfilling , that it had no purpose. He had not yet come to terms that his life was already unfulfilling and the fact that he would never make the world a better place, but that time would come soon.

He was, after all, still stuck in a crowd, in the winter cold. Or was it the fall cold? It mattered not to Newton, he was just interested in getting out of it. This mass of people were in no way all heading towards his families business, so he had no need to return home. Instead, they were all probably going to some spectacle. It seemed to him that the girl was the only other person who had no idea what was going on. The only other thing that was for certain in Newton's mind was that he had no intentions of joining this mass of people in their chaotic quest to finding what in the world they were all looking for.

Chances are, she has no more intentions of being in this crowd than he did, yet she probably had no reason to be in it. The girl had something that appeared to be folder or book of sorts, and was carrying it around tightly. She could not be interested in any of the shops like the other people were, parents do not trust their children with money in this fairly poor district anyways. Newton did wonder what was in it, but felt no inclinations to ask. It was none of his business to know, it might be personal things anyways. Why even bother at this point in trying to find out? The interest was enough for him to stick by the unbalanced girl, as something was truly unusual about a girl with papers in District Ten.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, I sort of got lost in thought for a moment. A stupid thing for someone as clumsy as me to do in a crowd like this." She had finished speaking with a smile, which Newton was far from expecting. People were nice to him, most of the time, but not for no reason. Most people in crowds, even the ones who seem to stray from it, have a purpose that they intent to reach, not even bother to stop if a stranger asks them a question. Newton, being one of the few people who actually spend the time to stop, actually was quite happy when somebody else did so to him. He was not a beggar, and he understood that this girl probably would not stop for one. Still, the thought that he was not the only kind-hearted person in all of District Ten was a heartwarming one.

"At least you're thinking, that ability left most people's minds after the industry change," he chuckled a bit as he finished. At least he thought that he was being funny. Surely, he was not, a rather disappointing fact to him. He always had thought that he was comical, but clearly he was not in this moment. After the many concussions, his humor had started to dry up quite a bit. Each concussion made that process happen faster and faster.

Still next to him, the girl continued on, ""Ugh. Do you think that snow will cover that horrible smell?" She then lost her balance again, after being pushed by some passerby in the crowd. She managed to stay up, somehow, but she was probably getting annoyed by all of these people running into her. Newton knew that if all of these people were running into him, he would be annoyed too. Before he could gather up the answer to his question, the girl spoke something inaudible, but Newton could see that she was saying 'I hate this district'. Not a smart thing to say, even in a crowd of people. Nobody ever knows when an off-duty Peacekeeper is passing by.

"Um, do you want to leave this crowd? You kinda seem to be struggling... a lot. But if you don't want to or whatever, then ya know, don't." He just stands their, waiting for a reply, not making any indication of leaving the crowd. Wait, just waiting, for this girl to lead him one way or another.

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