people couldn't believe what i'd become {danyel - s o l o}

[rook]

i hear jerusalem bells are ringing
roman cavalry choirs are singing
be my mirror my sword and shield
my missionaries in a foreign field

Harsh, the morning sun bleeds through the thin glass panes above me, its rays burning into my neck and back. I am an ant under a magnifying glass, but still I keep working through the conditions, putting in far too much effort than it will be worth in the end. A worker ant. Persevering because it's all I know how to do. I'm a survivor, and working in these conditions is nothing in comparison to what I have gone through in the past. I have survived much worse. My toned body is speckled by beads of precious sweat, each sending a lukewarm trickle down my skin, cooling me down somewhat, but not nearly enough. I grab my plastic water bottle from the wooden surface central to the room and pour it over my head. My hair is drenched black, dripping down my back. I lean backwards to direct the flow down my chest and abdomen. I then ruffle my large hands through my hair, resting them on the back of my neck. Time for a breather.

I step outside of the greenhouse, grateful for the tickle of the wind on my face and bare upper body. I look out at the lands around me. Most of it is rural, but it's still obvious that we are in District One. Acres upon acres of farmland stretch east, crops growing to feed the people of One. Large, expensive machines hover over the plantations, harvesting the precious goods systematically. No need for manual labour out there, the whole thing's been industrialized. Bet it's a different story in a poorer District. Bet people are slaving away, barely being paid enough to feed themselves, let alone their families. Suppose I'm lucky, in that way. That makes me laugh, I'm the unluckiest person I know.

In the distance I can see the main part of One - Buildings larger than life, some even rival the size of the Capitol's skyscrapers. Hovercraft fly between the city and the station on the outskirts to the west. Residents commuting to District Two, or even the Capitol. Many businessmen in Panem travel long distances to work. I only wish I could travel more, like my Father. That isn't possible anymore. I'm a wanted man. It's been two years since I was last inside that damn room. The room I spent six years of my life locked inside, no contact with anyone except for training videos, and of course her. Intense Career Program '56, I was the only person inducted that year, but I know that there are others left alone in prison cells that were added in the following years. Despite breaking out and killing a man, they still deemed me a success. They made a monster, and that's all they wanted, in the end.

Still, my face is in every Peacekeeper Headquarters from District One to District Twelve. Most officers will know my face on sight, and arrest me. That's why I'm way out here, working in the Greenhouses of the flower trade. I'm hiding. Vanishing was easier than I ever thought it would be. Those first few months I hid inside the house of Opal Shore, in the Victor's Village. I assumed it was vacant - There were so many empty houses, ready for the Victors of tomorrow to live in. She found me though, she found me sitting in the corner of her bedroom. How long had I even been there before she showed up? One week? Two? All I know is that she didn't turn me in. She gave me food and a bed, she gave me someone to talk to. I hadn't had anyone to talk to in six years, if you exclude her.

I'm eternally grateful to Opal, but I couldn't outstay my welcome. Four months I was there before I told her I was moving on. She has her own life to get on with, and me being sat around her house was problematic. I was a liability. She had to travel to the Capitol once a year anyway for the Games, so what did it matter? I had to start my own life, as opposed to being a burden in hers. I lived as a street rat for a while, moving from alley to alley, masking my face with a beard and living off scraps. Those weren't good months. I found this place a couple of months ago, and it's been pretty good. The man who owns these greenhouses is pretty affluent, and has a couple dozen people working for him. I don't work for wage though, I work for shelter. He doesn't know who I am, but he knows I'm someone lost. He lets me sleep in one of his warehouses, and feeds me decent food for my labour. It could be worse, I suppose.

I head back inside, feeling somewhat refreshed. The patch I'm working on is pretty low maintenance, and only takes minor pruning. Deep purple Atropurpureas cover the corner of the greenhouse, their smell almost intoxicating. I trim the overgrown areas, stringing the now-dead stems into a large sewn bag behind me. Baby pink Campanulatus hang over my head in baskets pinned to pillars made of plastic, all of which are looking slightly too large. I set to work standing on my tip-toes and snipping the out-of-place vines with my trimmers, and disposing off the excess into my bag. My achilles feels tight after a while, but I push through it and finish off the last of the baskets in about twenty minutes.

The Blue Barlows, Purple Riding Hoods and Terracotta Achillea need little work done to them, except for some minor replanting away from larger plants. It would be a shame to lose these small flowers to larger plants with greedier roots. The large Viburnum Burkwoodii crossover bush sits happily in the far corner of the greenhouse, it's white flowers bouncing in the slight draft from the open door. I walk over to it and inspect it's blossom. The tiny flowers are starting to turn pink on the edges of the petals, suggesting that they are nearly in their prime. I never really thanked Opal for all she did for me. It's not just that she gave me a place to live for four months of my life, it's that she rebuilt me. I was in a dark place when she found me. I killed a man and wounded others, I hadn't had contact with people for most of my life. It was all so new and scary. Yet somehow Opal made me better. She got me talking again - She gave me hope.

I finish my shift in the early afternoon, as the heat starts to die a little. I hoist the now-full sewn bag of weeds and trimmings and carry it outside. I walk a couple hundred yards down the stone lane and hoist it onto the back of a stationary truck. Mr. Wren will grind that down into compost later, when we've all gone home, and I'm resting in his warehouse. I might give him a hand, if he needs it. Anything to keep on his good side and extend my stay here. I walk back to the greenhouse gathering my things - A near-empty water bottle, a towel and my change of clothes. I douse the towel in the rest of the water and press it to my forehead, filling me with an unexplainable relief. I start walking towards the warehouse and Mr. Wren's house, but something makes me pause and dart back into a greenhouse.

Peacekeepers. The unmistakable white uniforms stain the top of the hill, and next to them is Mr. Wren's more slight figure. I watch from afar, observing the events unfold. Two of the men have white helmets covering their faces, but the third has his removed. I assume he is in charge, because he's also the one talking to my boss - The man who has kept me a secret for all these months. The Peacekeeper keeps showing him some form of document. I'm pretty damn sure that they're looking for me, because Wren keeps pointing to various greenhouses and nodding his head. The old fucker has given me up, to save his own skin. Shit. I look for a weapon - Something to defend myself with when they come for me. A rock or a tool or something, but nothing useful stands out. My pliers! I run back to the table and grab the dull instrument. They'll do, right? I'm not going to prison. I'm not.

I peer round the corner, trying to locate the Peacekeepers, but I can't see them. The boom of engines firing up startles me. Wait, they're leaving? That can't be right. Their hovercraft slowly takes off, rotating in the air and flying back towards the city. I don't know if I should be relieved or more afraid. The fear of the unknown settles in, and I'm too scared to leave the Greenhouse.

It's twenty minutes before Wren finds me, hugging my knees next to the Viburnum Burkwoodii bush. His face is like leather that has been stretched too far and worn with the years. His skin is tanned from years of rural labour, and his body looks just as tired as his eyes. He looks down at me with a strange pity, his hands on his hips and his eyebrows furrowed, locked downwards.
"You're Danyel Le Meur, aren't you?" He asks me. My silence confirms it to him, and he lets out a sigh, "Wasn't my business to ask your name, but they came to me with a picture, asking me if I'd seen this criminal..."

So the Peacekeepers were looking for me. The fact that I'm not in chains right now is probably down to the man in front of me. He lied to them to keep me safe. Why? My eyes trail to the large sack of trimmings on the truck. My workrate. He'd rather keep me here and have me working for no pay than lose me. That's just common sense. I lick my lips, trying to say something, but he cuts me off.
"So who'd you kill?" He asks, folding his arms. I could almost say that he was fascinated, but I don't think he's that kind of man. Curiosity, more like. I try to think of the words to say. I don't know the man's name, only that he was in my way. I didn't want to kill him, it just... It just happened. My mouth hangs open, dripping silence.

"Did they do something bad to you?" Wren asks, trying to prompt me somewhat. Well, he was involved with the experimental process. I don't know how much input he had or what exactly he did, but he worked for that twisted company, so he played his part.
"Yes." I nod my head. I can't bring myself to make eye contact with my employer. My protector. I want to go back to my flowers. I'm at peace when I'm working with the flowers. Everything else just disappears, y'know?
"I should leave for a bit. They might come back to check through your workforce," I say trying to think like a Peacekeeper. It's how I've stayed hidden this long. He nods, grunting in agreement. I can't imagine he wants to be caught out lying to Peacekeepers. He'd be in as much trouble as me, for hiding a fugative. I notion to the Viburnum x Burkwoodii Mohawk, "Do you mind if I take some flowers?"

Having to walk all the way back to the center of District One takes the rest of the day, and I'm pretty sure it's past midnight when I get to Victor's Village. I clutch the bouquet of whitepink flowers and walk through the gate. I never thanked Opal. I walk to her house and knock three times, taking a few steps back. It takes me half a minute to figure out that no one's home - The lights are off not just in Opal's house but all of the Victor's houses. It's the start of the 67th Hunger Games. Of course, all the Victors are in the Capitol, mentoring their Tributes. I dig into my pocket and pull out the key to Opal's house. I still have the spare. Pushing the key into the lock, I twist and open the door.

The house is exactly how I remember it, spare a broken television on the floor. What happened there? I want to call out her name, just to be sure, but I know how daft that is. Being one of the most affluent people in the District, Opal has several television sets, so I walk through to the kitchen and flick on the screen there. I then raid her fridge for food. It's been a long time since I ate anything that wasn't beef jerky and boiled potatoes. As always, Opal's fridge is well stocked. I start drinking milk from the carton and browse through the channels. All of it is Hunger Games coverage. Replays of the twelve Reapings and interviews with Claudius Templesmith and the Head Gamemakers. They show a brief clip of a reporter in some kind of desert, pointing out several structures - The arena? I keep flicking, drinking the milk greedily. I almost choke. I see Opal on the screen.

She said she'd take me with her. When we were living together she said that, if needs be, I could travel with her to the Capitol. Something about not leaving me alone. I liked the idea of travelling. It would have been nice to see the undisputed glory of the Capitol. Even more, it would have been nice to spend time with Opal. She's just as troubled as me, and I would have liked to be there for her during her bad days. It never happened though. It was an empty promise.

I watch her standing next to a slowing train, waiting for the doors to open. A figure steps out and they embrace. The commentators describe the scene, but their words are foggy in my ears. I hear the name Potato Earnest and narrow my eyes. They talk about District Eleven too. A Tribute? Why does she care about a Tribute? It doesn't make sense. It makes me feel weird. Not angry - She can care for whoever she wants - Just, weird. Half-empty, almost.

I drop the bouquet of flowers in the trash can and leave.

revolutionaries wait
for my head on a silver plate
just a puppet on a lonely string
oh, who would ever want to be king?