Walking in Solitude (open)

[ccswimmer57]

As usual, Larch woke up early, not because he enjoyed working but rather because the solitude of the morning was the one place where he felt comfortable, or at home. He dressed quickly and moved silently out into the fields, eager to free himself from the crowded conditions of the living areas.The hard dirt beneath his feet was the one thing that felt similar to himself, so often pounded beneath the feet of others that it was forced into toughness. He realized as he walked that there would likely not be much work today since the finale to the Hunger Games was taking place, but he continued walking. It wasn't as if he were eager to see yet another mere child die. So many lives wasted, and this next time his name would be entered into the pool of potential future victims. Yes, they were all victims of the Capitol, but was there anything they could do about it? Larch knew the answer was no, and he kicked the dirt in frustration, numb from anger to the pain of a stubbed toe.

The Hunger Games were required viewing, and he knew this. He was just as fearful of the law as any other citizen of District 11, or all of Panem, for that matter. He would grit his teeth and watch because he had to, and then he would get back to work. His family, after all, needed to be fed. Even with five family members working, the small income of a field worker was almost never enough. He sighed as his belly growled. He would almost rather work and earn money for his family than watch the Games. No, scratch that. He would definitely rather work.

Larch shook his head, wanting to think on happier thoughts. After today, the Games would be over, after all. Then he could get back to work. Also, then he could take tessarae in order to earn more food for his family, but he would run the risk of actually being picked. The thought of being chosen silenced Larch's thoughts for a moment until his mind filled with anger at himself. Why must he dwell on the Hunger Games so much? He was letting it control his life! It was either the Games or working. He did not enjoy either, but he did not find it strange that such unpleasant things dominated his life. It wasn't like he lived in the Capitol or District 2, where no one ever starved to death or dehydrated from working in the fields to the point that they could no longer work. He sighed and moved on.

While his own thoughts annoyed him, Larch was glad for the silence that accompanied his morning walk. These morning walks, he realized, were essentially the only things keeping him sane. As he disliked the company of others, the company of his own thoughts were a sort of refuge. He almost managed a smile to himself as he turned around and began the short journey back to his home, where he would watch the dreaded finale to the Hunger Games and hold his tongue regardless of what happened. He was nearing home as he passed the orchards and noticed another person in his peripherals. He turned his head to acknowledge the other's presence. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he turned and continued his journey home, unsure if he wanted to be confronted or not.

[{ arietta]

I am murmuring to myself again as I shift in the prickly embrace of a bare apple tree. This morning, overcome with disgust at the buzzing talk of the Quell, I decided to venture outside. Only now I realize that's it's stupid, because I can't escape my own thoughts. It's still early morning, and I know I don't have to worry about being caught by adults; most of the workers will be at home watching the Hunger Games anyway. But sitting broodingly in the stifling outdoors is no better than being curled up at home, is it? Cold is slowly seeping through my oversized clothes, so I shift uncomfortably, making the branch shake slightly. It's almost time to return home and watch the mindless slaughter of yet another child the Hunger Games. Forecasters tout that this finale will be action-packed and exciting; there's nothing better than seeing two Careers fight to the death, is there? Not one Career made it to the finale in the last Games, but it seems that the rules of logic have won out in this one. What are their names? Reyes and.... Julian, wasn't it? I can't tell the difference between them, and quite frankly, I don't care.

Swinging my legs over the branch I'm curled against, I carefully disentangle my limbs from the tree. It shouldn't be too difficult to climb down, I think, though a light wind is beginning to blow, whistling past my ears and biting my cheeks with a gleeful vengeance. Perhaps Nature doesn't approve of the Hunger Games either; although it's technically spring now, it's not as warm as Spring is in my memories. My mouth purses into an uneasy 'o' as I hear footsteps coming from behind me; don't let it be a Peacekeeper, don't let it be a Peacekeeper- Shrinking against the trunk again, I allow my dark hair to cover my eyes in a feeble attempt at hiding. The cold knowledge that it won't help nags at me; my clothes are brightly colorful and distinctive, mocking the somber tones that this day deserves. Stupid, stupid, I scold myself frantically, though I know there's nothing I can do. I shift slightly again, breathing a giddy sigh of relief as I come across the sight of the intrusion - not a Peacekeeper after all, but a boy. My cheeks flame red as my panic marches away, and I lower my head again to get a better look at him.

He looks to be about my age, though he's a bit bigger than me. He doesn't look really distinctive, mostly because almost everybody in District Eleven is a variation of one look: hunger. Although he seems to have noticed my presence, he doesn't seem to care to acknowledge me. My shyness tells me that I should just let it go and climb down, but I can't help but feel curious. Who is this boy, and how come I don't know who he is? I know many of the workers in the orchards, not by name but by appearance. This one doesn't seem familiar, and I can't admit that I have miscalculated my abilities. If I don't know who he is now, I will after I talk to him, I decide. "Good morning," I say dryly from above him, letting my wispy voice be carried slightly wayward by the wind. I know it's anything but, and he probably does, too. Quickly, I wrap my hands against a solid branch and get down - for real this time. My large brown eyes bore into the boy's back, and I wonder if he'll turn around and greet me or just run off.

[ccswimmer57]

"Good morning." Larch heard the greeting called too him all too clearly. He immediately froze in place, the crisp chill of the morning making that statement sound much too comical in his head. He realized that the voice was young, which erased his fears of Peacekeepers, but the tension holding him in place did not lessen. For all he knew, this could be the daughter of a Peacekeeper, or even the mayor. Suddenly, it struck him that she had said "Good morning," as if the morning of the finale of the Games was something to be celebrated. His fears grew exponentially with this realization, and Larch considered running. However, he had already been caught. Was it possible that she wouldn't be able to recognize him and thus report him? Was it worth taking the risk, when her father could be standing only a few feet away with a gun? All of Larch's natural instinct was screaming at him to run, but his common sense firmly told him to stay and analyze the situation. It took all of the willpower he could muster to turn his body and face the unknown fear.

As Larch had expected, he found a young girl looking about his age before him. However, he was surprised to notice that she was even smaller than he was. She was only about one or two inches shorter than him, but she also appeared to be 15 pound lighter than him. Larch had always thought he was small for his age at 4'10" and 70 pounds, but she looked even more weakened by hunger than he was. He instantly knew that this was no daughter of a Peacekeeper or mayor but merely another person fighting the same battles as him and the majority of the rest of District 11. He would almost go as far as to consider her a friend if he were more sociable or if she hadn't called this terrible day of death a "good" morning. Unsure how to begin, he muttered, "Erm, yes, happy Hunger Games Finale!" hoping he sounded enthusiastic enough. "Who do you think will win?" This sort of conversation disgusted Larch even more than conversation in general, and he hoped to escape as soon as possible.

[pianoplayer]

Morning, I think to myself as I slip through the door of my house and onto the road towards the orchards. Mom and Dad will be sleeping for a few more hours, and that's fine, but I have things to do. If today wasn't the day that it was, things would seem a whole lot nicer, and I might more time in my walking. If today was not the finale for the Games, it would almost be like a holiday.

Would they really miss one person for sneaking out to avoid the bloodbath? Maybe if I pretended to faint at the horror of it, or I feigned a seizure. That would be interesting- doctor's all crowding around me, realizing that I'm not dead, that I didn't have a seizure, taking me to court to be perecuted. I would be lucky to keep my life, if not my tongue.

The Capitol puts challenging conditions on the people. To avoid uprising, fear is instilled into the populous through the Hunger Games. Yet to avoid the possible revolution that the people could start due to the inhuman system the Capitol has founded in order to maintain control, the Capitol gives people a shred of hope; the possibility of a winner, and of a period of prosperity for the winning district. But the odds are in the Upper Districts favour, who have better relations with the Capitol (thus are less likely to commence an uprising), than those of us who would like to change things for the better if we were given the ressources.

Yes, indeed the Capitol has things figured out.

But that's dismal thinking for such a nice day out, I think to myself as I wander through the orchards. It is then that I hear the voices, and I look around to spot two people talking. Why is it that so many people seem to be up and around when everyone is supposed to be resting? And why is it always in the orchard I like to walk in?! Hmm, it looks like a boy and a girl, from what I can tell, although I cannot see them well from where I'm standing. Hmm, do I let them be, or interrupt? I could be marching in on some personal affairs, but then again, hmmm, choices, choices...

[мυтт]

Doing. Thinking. Speaking. Hearing. Misc.

I awoke as a result of a nightmare. I cannot remember much; the dismal screams, the glassy eyes, the invalid pleading of a tortured soul. A knife, a pool of blood; faint images emerge and come to haunt me as I roam the land of District 11, bare feet prodding the soil. In the distance, the call of a mockingjay beckons. Willingly, I hum a tune, and the bird echoes it back to me. The call is taken up by its companions. I've never had much of a singing voice, as a result of my reluctance for general speech, but humming suits me. It is tranquil, and lonely. We are made for each other.

Thus far, twenty-two children have died at the hands of the Capitol. Lives have been lost, blood has been spilt. And this is the last day of the horror. One of the two males left will die, and soon after, though crowned victor, the other will die as well, though inwardly rather than in reality. When you steal the life of another, you die, too. Our district will be divided momentarily, by those who are indifferent to the Games and those who suffer with every killing strike. I will likely be amongst the latter. Probably. I am not quite beyond caring. I'm almost there, though.

I will watch the bloodshed. Everyone in the district is required to. We will watch as the Capitol taunts, do you see how we take your children and murder them? Do you understand that you are powerless? We will sit back and do nothing. Absent-mindedly, I wander through the orchards. I am completely indifferent to any other person until I hear the heave of feet thudding against the ground from a great height. Perhaps someone--or something-- has jumped from a tree. I instantly quiet my incessant humming and strain to eavesdrop on the conversation. It is either than or join in.

"...do you think will win?" Undoubtedly, it is a male voice. And he and whoever he is conversing with are discussing the Games. Almost instantly, I tune out of the conversation. It isn't necessary for me to hear talk of who-will-win and i'm-so-excited, when underneath the empty wording there is pain. I whip my head around to see the two who are speaking, a male and a female. Disdain rises inside of me. Why must all talk today be centered around the Hunger Games?

The Capitol forces the districts into believing the Games are a celebratory event. Many people are brainwashed into speaking of deaths as casually as they would be speaking about the weather. I, fortunately, am not one of them. I part my lips, and in a fit of insanity, consider joining the conversation. Rather, I chuckle quietly. Me? Join a conversation? Surely, the Games finale have befuddled my thinking process, for on any normal day, my train of thought would have never led me in such a direction. I crane my neck to see yet another person strolling on the fields, and feel annoyance at once. There are too many people about for my liking. I ought to get away before one of them tries to talk to me. Self-consciously, I touch my face. Soon after I realize that I've done so unknowingly and automatically. At once, I lower my hands and begin to slink into the morning shadows.

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