#when they started rolling out the “WE LOVE YOU ESSENTIAL WORKERS!!!” propaganda i knew it was going to turn into a shitshow

[munkkyprime]

I think i hauve (long) covid

[dumbledearme]

chapter one

~~ read Metamorphosis here ~~

Effie stood near the mines watching the workers come and go. They were all sweaty, dirty, smelly, but to her they looked damn beautiful. The sweat made their skin glow, the hard labor made their eyes shine. It was like there was nothing else in the world: only their efforts and her inclination to go down there and help.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” her mother came rushing, her oily skirts moving from one side to the other as she moved her legs in that aggressive march of hers. “Haven’t I told you you can’t be here? You’re gonna get in their way, Effie. Or worse.”

“What could be worse than that?”

Her mother gave her that condescending look. “They might think you’re… offering yourself.”

“Well, I might be. I do want to help them! And I should be able to. I have good strong arms. I could carry at least—”

“That is not what I meant.”

The realization came slowly. Effie’s eyes widened. Her hand twitched.

The mother sighed. “Oh, Effie. The Seam is no place for a girl.”

“Where is my place? Behind the stove? Wasting away in that house with that bastard that does nothing to help you—”

“Don’t talk about your father—”

“Cleitus isn’t my father!”

“He is! And he’s good to us. He… Well, Cleitus might not be the best of men, but he certainly—”

“—is one of the worst. You are blind, mom. You can’t see it. If you could… you wouldn’t leave me alone with him. The way he looks at me, he’ll soon—”

The slap came fast, hard, sharp. But that wasn’t the first nor would it be the last. Effie looked down; she didn’t care to see the regret that always took over her mother’s face after moments like this. Regret paid for nothing. Effie couldn’t do anything with regret.

“You can’t say these things about your father, Effie. It isn’t right. Now go home. We have work to do.”

“Cleaning after that pig isn’t work.”

“But it’s all you’re gonna get,” her mother snapped. “I’m sorry if your life is such a disappointment. I did the best I could. I can see you’ll never be satisfied with what you have. You’ll keep those big dreams of going to the Capitol, of escaping this poverty, but that’s all they are, Effie. Dreams. Reality is here and now. Accept it and it might hurt less.”

“Are you going to stand there chatting all day?” Cleitus called from a distance. Even from afar, Effie could smell him: alcohol and the putrid smell of cigarettes. Her stomach twisted.

“I want distance from that man,” said Effie ignoring her mother’s promises that Cleitus was her father. That wasn’t the true. Both of them knew it. Her mother had that little wood box, her most precious possessions, the one she kept hidden under the kitchen sink. More times than not Effie caught her crying over that box. She didn’t know what was inside, but she was sure it was about her father. “And I won’t spend the rest of my life working in that bar of his. You know what he does. Sells drugs and cigarettes to people. Keeps the money to himself. And we work our asses for nothing so he can keep up with his drinking.”

“I need you to help me, Effie,” pleaded her mom suddenly looking very small. It was a marvelous thing how small people, instead of making Effie feel big, made her feel tiny. She shrunk into almost nothing, nodded and followed her mother back to Pieter’s.

Serving tables was definitely not a dream job. Effie went from one side to the other in the bar, refilling glasses of beer, serving a dozen sandwiches to the buns who lived in that part of District 12. They talked loudly, they burped and they just couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

Effie grabbed a butter knife and threatened Marcus Davis with it. It was always him and his hand on her ass. She had reported the fat man a thousand times but no one ever did anything about it. “If you touch me again, I’ll cut you.”

The idiot had the nerve to look offended. “What is wrong with you, kid?” he asked. How could Effie ever answer him? How could she explain to the man with a boner, who just called you kid after grabbing your ass, that pedophilia was a crime?

“You touch me again, I’ll cut off your hand and the thing you have between your legs that barely works anymore since your wife left you, Mr Davis.”

Marcus Davis’s face turned bright red. He immediately called Cleitus to fight his battles for him.

“Aurelia!” Cleitus shouted. “You have to control this girl! The client is always right, ain’t it?”

“You don’t like it?” Effie threw the knife at his feet and he danced around it pathetically trying to avoid it. “Find another poor soul that’ll work for free. I dare you.”

“Effie,” said her mother in that tone of voice she used as a warning. “Enough. Take the trash out for me, will you?”

Effie did as she was told. She always did as she was told.

It was already dark outside. Effie put the trash in the can and decided to take the rest of the night out. Maybe sleep near the clearing. Anywhere that wasn’t home. Anywhere she didn’t have to be afraid.

School was a mixture of excitement and fear. Effie enjoyed learning new things, but most of all, she loved learning about the history of the districts. District 3 definitely had the smartest people and District 5 was perhaps the most essential one there was. But her favorite was District 9.

When Effie was very little she had had a dream. She was outside and there were no fences. The sun was rising, everything looked so orange. As she walked between the fields of crops, she felt like she was walking on the sun. Everything was warm and beautiful.

She knew exactly why it held such a fascination. The teacher was very thorough in her lesson. The one fact that could be said about District 9: they had food.

“Wholesome food produced from nature is the cornerstone of a healthy Panem,” the teacher had said all those years ago. “District 9 cultivates and mills the most nutrient-rich grain possible and takes pride in providing this fertile harvest to our nation. In Panem’s bread bowl, real nutrition and a thriving country live hand in hand.”

That was the most beautiful thing Effie could think of. A land where you don’t go hungry. Someplace where the pain in your stomach didn’t exist, didn’t stop you from sleeping. A land where we have for us, and we have for all.

“Are you listening to me, Miss Trinket?” the teacher asked. Someone nudged Effie on the side bringing her to the present.

“Hmm? Yes.”

The teacher made a face of one who didn’t believe. “What was I saying?”

“She wasn’t listening,” said someone from the back of the classroom. “She was thinking about how we’re all so hungry to pay attention to you, Miss Janine. And I have to say, she has a point.” As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly. Some of the kids laughed.

Haymitch Abernathy. How Effie despised him and at the same time… No, she despised him alright. He was tall, blonde, thin, arrogant — Effie could spend the entire day listing the things he was. He sat there with that stupid grin on his face like he had said something extremely smart that deserved applause of something. As if. Like she needed his help with anything.

Then again, she had been thinking along those lines, hadn’t she? She wanted to feed her people. She wanted their lives to be better. Was it all a coincidence, what he had said and what she had been thinking? Was it because they were, indeed, all hungry? Or did he somehow just knew?

“Don’t start with me, Mr Abernathy,” said the teacher, “or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh, please, do.” More laughter. What a clown.

Miss Janine chose to ignore him. A wise choice, Effie thought.

“I was saying, Miss Trinket, no citizen is too young to support the constructive efforts of the Mining District, and in turn, the gallant efforts of Panem.”

“Yes, they are making a difference, aren’t they? We work, they eat,” said Haymitch with sarcasm.

“The Capitol channels their hope and optimism toward Panem’s peaceful future.”

“It’ll be incredibly peaceful,” he said with indifference, “when there are no more people.”

Effie got out of there with Haymitch Abernathy’s words still in her head. The cheek of that boy. And yet… no truer words were ever spoken. Outside the school, she found herself face to face with a poster of the Capitol’s propaganda about coal mining. Their pride and commitment is truly the warmth and light of our lives!, it said.

“Their pride and commitment will get us all killed,” said Haymitch from behind her.

Effie sighed. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

He seemed to think about it. “No. Now say, Trinket, how about we go to Greasy Sue and-”

“Can’t. I’m busy.”

“Doing what? And don’t say washing your hair. We both know you haven’t washed that in years.”

“Maybe I should. It’s getting kind of itchy.” That made him smiled. “Besides, anything to get you to leave me alone.”

Haymitch pretended to be offended. He placed his right hand above his heart and made a pained face. “You’re killing me.”

Effie rolled her eyes. “Haymitch, seriously, I have work to do.”

“Not today,” he said smiling like someone who holds the key to another world. “Didn’t you hear? Today everyone needs to be at the Square.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Something or other.”

Effie looked around. Everyone was, in fact, moving toward the Square. Thinking she’d better follow, she turned her back at Haymitch. But he couldn’t take a hint. She could feel him walking behind her.

The Square was packed when they arrived. It was a large space but not large enough to hold District 12’s population of about eight thousand. Latecomers like them were directed to the adjacent streets, where they could watch the event on screens at it was televised live by the state.

There was a temporary stage set up before the Justice Building and a group of around twelve strangers from the Capitol. Two of them were by the podium: a short weird looking man with a blond wig and a taller one who looked absolutely rich.

“Welcome,” said the short one in a booming voice. “I’m Claudius Templesmith and this is my very good friend, Plutarch Heavensbee. We come to you with a proposition; one that you must have heard of already. The Project Metamorphosis.”

Effie had heard about that but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. Haymitch made a tsking sound beside her.

“I wanna get closer,” she told him.

Haymitch didn’t look pleased. “Of course you do.” He grabbed her hand and guided her through the crowd while Claudius Templesmith spoke.

“Our program is looking for a girl to be the face of our country. We want someone with potential, someone who can speak, walk and act as an example of all the good things we have in Panem. All of your girls are invited to try out. Every age, every color, every style.”

The Square was surrounded by shops and there were bright banners hanging on the buildings. The camera crews, perched like buzzards on rooftops were filming the crowd as much as the stage. When they got near a short wall, Haymitch took Effie by the waist and lifted her up. She stood high on the wall where she could see everyone, everything. The camera man beside her turned the camera at her.

“What are you doing, girl?”

“Just wanna watch the show,” she explained. The man shook his head and that was when someone shouted, “Stop!” Effie looked up just in time to see her surprised, dirty face showing in the big screens of District 12. Her hair was almost brown and looking like a rat’s nest. Her skin was pale, ugly. But her blue eyes were large as she saw herself and they kind of looked like stars.

The man who had shouted was the young Plutarch Heavensbee. He wasn’t looking at the screens — he was looking directly at her from across the Square. Then he moved, came her way, pushing people aside, until he was right in front of the wall. He reached out his hand as an offering. Hesitantly, Effie took it and he helped her down.

“You’re beautiful,” he said touching her hair. Effie slapped his hand away, her heart racing. Plutarch raised both hands in surrender. “I mean you no harm. This is my job,” he gestured around to the big event. “And you are… gorgeous.”

Effie had only the vague idea that everyone in the Square was watching them. She couldn’t take her eyes from the stranger. He looked like the prince charming from on of those books Ingrid liked to read before bed. Was this a joke? Or did he mean it? Did he really find her… gorgeous? Oh, yeah, right, as if…

“Yes, you are,” he insisted as if reading her mind. “You look clean, fresh, young.” He studied her attentively, then said, “I want you to sign your name on the Metamorphosis program. I want you to be the face of Panem.”