Tuesday, April 26, 2011

The Untold Saga of the Mellark Children, Part 3

I am not a baby anymore. This is very possible. I can do this myself.

Oh, what's the use of trying to convince myself that this will work? In a few years I'll be crawling back home with no money and nowhere else to turn. The name "Rue Mellark" will have to be changed to "Mud." That will have to do. "Oh, hello, Mud! How are you doing, living in the sewer, foraging for food? Very well, I hope." This was just a crazy dream anyway, becoming a journalist. Why did I even think I could get a job like that with no experience, no resume, no connections, no nothing?!

Look at yourself, Rue! All humped in a corner acting like you've been turned down by the meanest person in the world. You haven't even left District 12! Stop being a whiner and get up off your rear end! That's the only way you could get to any interview whatsoever!

Now I'm talking to myself. Am I going off the deep end? Maybe that nagging voice has a point.
***
Rue put on her most professional-looking fitted suit: a pinstripe jacket and skirt of gray and black that made her shoulders look regal and perfect, a pink scarf, and not-too-high high heels of the same color. Resume in hand, she walked across the busy Capitol streets towards (hopefully) her office. After about 6 blocks, she reached it: the looming tower of The Panem Herald. Now that the districts are free to exchange goods, information, and tourists, there could be a newspaper for all of Panem, not just the individual districts. Gulping down the nervous lump in the esophagus, she stepped inside.

The lobby was spectacular, to say the least. It held vast arrays of expensive furniture all in brown, but it made the room seem very serene and undistracting, and not at all dull. Rich mahogany tables were surrounded by large leather armchairs studded with dull bronze. Brown rugs sat beneath, and the cherry display cabinets held old news. Stepping closer, Rue took a closer look at the headlines. Most were about the rapid changes that occured while her parents were growing up, and read things like FREE TRADE BETWEEN DISTRICTS 5 AND 6 ESTABLISHED, MORE DISTRICTS TO FOLLOW SUIT...MEMORIAL OF HUNGER GAMES VICTIMS BUILT IN HEART OF CAPITOL...and a much older one, almost twice Rue's age, was titled KATNISS EVERDEEN AND PEETA MELLARK OF DISTRICT 12 WIN HUNGER GAMES.

The paper broke apart into sections to reveal the editorials, all on the same subject. Someone named Phineas Frederick's column was headed SCANDALOUS WIN OF HG, DONE WITH NIGHTLOCK? Though the print was old and faded, one could still read his play-by-play of the nightlock incident, and why he thought the young victors should be disqualified (code for executed) because of threatening the rules of the Games. Beneath so many angry, snide words, was a picture of Katniss and Peeta holding up the poisonous berries, looks of despiration and just a tiny bit of revenge plastered on their dirty, sunken faces. Rue was in shock. Were these her parents? Her bright, intelligent mother, her solid, always-there father? These faces could not be theirs. These were too full of pain, too sleepless, too grief-stricken to be 16 years old, no matter where they lived. A shrill voice called out to her over her angry, horrified thoughts, pulling her to the shores of reality.
"Rue Mellark, Mr. Rettinsly is ready for you."
Pulling herself back together, she strutted into the Human Resources Department.