☞︎ℍ𝕦𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 ~ 𝔸𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕪𝕤𝕥'𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 ☜︎

~District eight~

I feel like I've been walking for years. My feet feel like they might fall off at any moment, though when I look at them they're fine.

I'm venturing through the forest. It's my third day of walking, though it seems like a lot more. 

I'm starting to run out of food, too. For some reason I thought it was a lot shorter trip. A few days at most. 

And so I'm ecstatic when I first see the buildings up ahead. 

In my mind, it's District Thirteen. They rebuilt after the capitol's attack, and have a thriving city that I'm about to join. 

But when I get closer, my hopes are extinguished like a candle plunged into water. 

The whole district is covered with factories. I see houses in the distance, though they look small and worn down. Patched-together pieces of fabric are being used as doors and windows. 

This is District Eight. 

I almost groan. It means I'm going the right way, sure- well, if the districts are all in a straight line or a loose circle. But it also means that I've got a long way to go. 

I slip under the chain-link fence, which is covered with barbed wire at the top but easy to get through lower down. 

Maybe I'll try some of the houses, see if anyone can lend any food. 

I slide on my cloak, which hides my face in shadow. I was on TV for a while not long ago, and was the second-most famous person for a few days. I can't risk anyone recognizing me. 

I walk into District Eight, looking around. It seems a lot like my district, District Seven, though with a lot less trees and a lot more factories. 

The sky above me is gray and cloudy, and the air smells like smog. I'm assuming these side-effects are from the gray smoke that floats out of the chimneys of all the factories, polluting the whole area. 

I try not to gag on the smell as I make my way through the barren streets, glad to see that the people who are there are also covering up, wearing cloaks and shawls that seem a lot more worn down than mine. 

There's also peacekeepers in shiny white uniforms roaming the streets, holding their rifles against their sides and shooting glances at everyone who passes as if they suspect that person might be skipping work... or escaping their district. 

One of the peacekeeper's gazes focuses in on me, and I keep walking, pulling my hood further over my head. Apparently they don't recognize me, as they keep walking. 

I find my way through the paved streets to the housing section. It starts off with tall houses, like my new one in seven, which look fancy and polished and overall not where I want to start. 

Then the road turns to dirt, and the houses start looking like the ones I saw earlier: small huts, fraying string holding the planks together. 

I survey each of them, thinking which one might be the most likely to help me. 

And eventually, I decide on a smaller one off to the very edge. I hear people talking inside, and from the words I can make out it seems to be a conversation that's against the capitol. 

I push the curtain they're using as a door out of my way, peeking into the home. 

The two people inside freeze as they see me, their eyes widening. 

"Who are you?" One of them asks, who looks older than I've ever seen before. He shakes his cane at me, as if shooing me like I might do with birds back home. 

"Sorry, I just wanted to see--" The other person, who looks like she might be his daughter interrupts me. 

"Are you from the capitol?" Her voice sounds afraid, and tense at the same time, as if she's worried I heard what they were talking about and is here to arrest them. 

"No, no, I'm not. I'm from District Seven." I pull down my hood, showing my face. 

The woman gasps and the man squints at me. 

"Are you the girl who won?" He asks, his voice gruff. I nod. 

"It's Amethyst. Amethyst Greenwood. Nice to meet you," I reach out my hand as if to shake his. He doesn't respond, and I slowly retract my hand. 

"You ran away? From seven? Do you even know how dangerous that is?" The woman's voice has a worried and concerned tone now, as if peacekeepers are going to be barging in their door any moment now. 

"I-- I couldn't stay there." My voice breaks, shattering my confident look. They heard what I said in the games, about my family. They know why. 

The woman nods as if she understands. And maybe she does, because she gestures for me to come in. 

"You're welcome to stay here. I'm Twyla, and this is my father, Luis."