Izaiah Zafiris {d7m} fin
Sept 6, 2020 17:58:24 GMT -5
Post by rook on Sept 6, 2020 17:58:24 GMT -5
Strive for progress not perfection
We understand that you are not machines, and every worker gets a fair and equal opportunity to prove themselves to be honest and decent laborers under the supervision of the Capitol. Not everyone is built to chop trees, or pulp paper, and that's why you're here at New Capitol Printing, to put your unique skills to good use.
Our aim? To spread information and educate the masses of Panem about the truth of the rebellion, and qualm and doubts about the leadership of the Capitol. Only together can we thrive as a nation, and as a people we must unite against any misinformation or callous lies being spread under the guise of freedom.
At New Capitol Printing you'll be given an opportunity to not just earn a living, but to grow and develop your skills as a professional printer. Use our state of the art printing machines to mass produce our informative pamphlets, set for deployment all across Panem! The designs that you transfer onto paper will be seen all over the nation, and it all starts with you!
You'll receive your own work uniform that you will be responsible - a set of workman overalls, a cap, a pair of military grade boots. We'll even provide you with eye-care if you are visually impaired, and custom workbenches if you were injured during the war. We want everyone to be able to work and earn a living, and being as inclusive as possible is one of our core aims.
Who are they kidding? We're at war, and you better believe we're on the losing side. I know it, they know it, and everyone in every District knows it - but we're supposed to pretend that it's business as usual, like this is the way things are supposed to be. Smile on your face, here are your new work clothes, and away you go to earn barely enough to keep yourself from starving. Don't you dare complain, because this is the new normal, and you're gonna like it.
But I don't like it.
And I'm already on a list, already being watched. The overseer breathes my name with weight, the stench of cherry makes my stomach drop. It's heretical to question what we're printing, and the blinding white justice of a Peacekeeper's baton is the price you pay for asking the meaning behind the pamphlets.
Mother says I don't have to be sad about it. Accept the way things are now, she says. Yeah, sure, like Dad accepted it, didn't he? Like he didn't pick up a rifle and start sinning like it was the rapture.
Just because something is futile, doesn't mean you shouldn't fight it. That's what Dad did. He died, but he died fighting a true cause. He died fighting this bullshit.
And lost.
But isn't that better than living a lie?
But I don't like it.
And I'm already on a list, already being watched. The overseer breathes my name with weight, the stench of cherry makes my stomach drop. It's heretical to question what we're printing, and the blinding white justice of a Peacekeeper's baton is the price you pay for asking the meaning behind the pamphlets.
Mother says I don't have to be sad about it. Accept the way things are now, she says. Yeah, sure, like Dad accepted it, didn't he? Like he didn't pick up a rifle and start sinning like it was the rapture.
Just because something is futile, doesn't mean you shouldn't fight it. That's what Dad did. He died, but he died fighting a true cause. He died fighting this bullshit.
And lost.
But isn't that better than living a lie?
Izaiah Zafiris
Suddenly it doesn't matter.
In just a single moment you can realise how meaningless all the things you resented really were, like none of it even mattered. Your struggles are incomparable to what comes next, and the instant my name was spoken so softly on that stage my world fell apart, and I realised I was right all along. We are at war.
Just like my father, I have to fight. Just like him, I don't want to. But they'll press a weapon into my unwilling palms and grab me by the scruff of my neck, drag me into hell and whisper kill in my ear. They'll expect me to abandon my humanity for the sake of something greater than myself.
Except I am being made sport of. There is no cause for me. I'm not fighting in the rebellion, I'm not saving the people I love, I'm being sent into battle against the oppressed. I'm being made to kill for entertainment. My death will be watched on television and sliced into highlight packages for media consumption and analysis.
I'm standing in the path of a hurricane, eyes closed, teeth clenched.
Here it comes.
And it's swallowed me alive in one brutal moment, and my mother looks at the place on the stage where I stood so briefly, and I wonder if she can see all the things I wish I had said to her on my cold, bloodless face before they swept me away.
I wonder if she knows how much I love her. I wonder if she'll ever know how much she meant to me. How hard I would have worked to keep her safe, to keep her from starving.
And I wonder and wonder, as they push me towards the train, and I feel fear in my chest, and tears in my eyes and... and...
Suddenly it doesn't matter.
In just a single moment you can realise how meaningless all the things you resented really were, like none of it even mattered. Your struggles are incomparable to what comes next, and the instant my name was spoken so softly on that stage my world fell apart, and I realised I was right all along. We are at war.
Just like my father, I have to fight. Just like him, I don't want to. But they'll press a weapon into my unwilling palms and grab me by the scruff of my neck, drag me into hell and whisper kill in my ear. They'll expect me to abandon my humanity for the sake of something greater than myself.
Except I am being made sport of. There is no cause for me. I'm not fighting in the rebellion, I'm not saving the people I love, I'm being sent into battle against the oppressed. I'm being made to kill for entertainment. My death will be watched on television and sliced into highlight packages for media consumption and analysis.
I'm standing in the path of a hurricane, eyes closed, teeth clenched.
Here it comes.
And it's swallowed me alive in one brutal moment, and my mother looks at the place on the stage where I stood so briefly, and I wonder if she can see all the things I wish I had said to her on my cold, bloodless face before they swept me away.
I wonder if she knows how much I love her. I wonder if she'll ever know how much she meant to me. How hard I would have worked to keep her safe, to keep her from starving.
And I wonder and wonder, as they push me towards the train, and I feel fear in my chest, and tears in my eyes and... and...
