The Untold Saga of the Mellark Children, Part 5

Rue awoke in the dark, both figuratively and literally. She was aware of the fact her eyes, wrists, and ankles were bound, but not much else. Her mind was foggy, like she'd been drugged, and could not remember anything beyond hearing footsteps behind her. Slowly, after a little while, she regained her thoughts and memory.

She had been walking through the streets of her district, 12, at about 20 minutes past 9 P.M. Rue was rushing to get home because her journalist work had her in The Capitol for a while, and she had to pay a visit to her brother, Cinna. Her car hadn't been returned to her yet from her travels, so she was forced to walk about 6 miles in her business heels, which she was not too happy about. After 2 miles, she had oozy blisters, which freaked her out, and Rue wallowed in her awful mood as she took step after aching step across the darkened avenue. Then, she heard heavy footfalls behind her. Turning swiftly, a sudden rush of adrenaline consumed her, but she saw no one in the dark night. Ignoring her blisters, she began to speed walk, then run, but the steps continues still. A rock struck against her foot, and she began to fall, but not before an unknown arm caught her...and another whacked her with tremendous force on the back of her ponytailed head, knocking her out cold.

A knife cut off her blindfold, and Rue's sapphire-blue eyes unfocused in the sudden exposure to a bright light above her head. Still temporarily blind, the smudgy figure in front of her didn't match with the voice she heard.
"Are you sure this it the right one?" said a baritone, gruff sort of voice.
"Positive, absolutely positive," responded a higher, but equally gruff voice.
"Hey Rue," the baritone voice said to her, "remember me?"
Her eyes focused, and her jaw fell to the floor.
"C-C-CLAUDE?!"
"That's right, Rue! It's your grade-school buddy, Claude! And guess who's with me?"
Blood-red nails scraped at Rue's face slowly, leaving white marks on her cheek. A face, heavily coated with makeup, popped up half a centimeter from Rue's. Before she could take it in, the face smiled grimly and said, "It's HATTIE!!"
Claude stepped up beside his accomplice with an evil smirk. He was clearly thrilled by the fear behind Rue's blue eyes.
"I-I have 1 question, C-Claude." Rue made a fruitless attemtpt at appearing without fear. "Why kidnap m-me? If it's b-because I left school, that wasn't m-my fault."
"Sweetheart, this is so much bigger than you can imagine. When you left school, people began to wonder why little Mellark had gone right after the new teacher came. Ms. Trimmer wanted the old ways, the way things were before the final Hunger Games, and she fixed us to be just like her, and we want the old ways. Your parents are powerful, influential, and they don't think like we do, which is a problem. Origionally, we were just going to kill them, quietly, but then we heard of their children. Cinna fell away, and if he were to-heh heh-be hurt, your family wouldn't react as much as they would if it was their daughter, Rue. Little, perfect, sucsessful Rue, all alone in the dark, with no one to help her. But we offer them a chance to recover their angel girl: just give us 50,000 dollars and a TV spot where they say they want the old ways back. Really a small price for such a gem," he said as his clammy hand brushed Rue's injured cheek. She shuddered at his touch.

About this time, Cinna decides to bust in the door.

The Untold Saga of the Mellark Children, Part 4

Have you been wondering where Cinna Mellark's been all this time? I'm going to catch you up on his story, because the brother-sister duo are going to come together in these next few sections. Please comment! It's the only way I'll know if you like anything I've done!

"CINNA?!"
The surprised look on Rue's face was pure gold. She had no idea I was coming, thought Cinna. Her surprise turned to a giant grin that he matched. The next 5 minutes was a flurry of hugs, smiles, and tons of frantic questions.
"Where have you been? Geez, how tall are you now? Why didn't you ever respond to my calls or letters? Oh my gosh, you look completely different!"
"For cryin' out loud, Rue! Stop talking for half a second and let me answer!"
Rue collapsed onto the ancient leather couch that had sat in the family room since their childhood. Breathless and excited, she had no energy left to respond. Cinna sat next to his long-lost sister and started filling her in on the past few months since they'd last met.
He'd been working long and hard in the rolling hills and fields of District 11, right next door, to try and pay the bills of his new apartment he could barely afford. The friction between him and his mother got so intense, he decided to move out. The descision was made rashly, however, and he didn't pick as well as Rue did someplace to live. The stress was incredible, trying to keep his parents at a distance, the 15-hour workdays, the crime and drugs enveloping his inner-city area. Just trying to get by was giving him migranes that kept him from work, which cut into his paycheck that was too small already, which caused more stress...worry lines already creased the brow of this 19-year old man. Rue now understood why he hadn't called or written--it was just too painful, too hard to relay his crumbling life to her. When he finished, Cinna started massaging his temple with a boiling expression on his face. His dismal little apartment reflected it perfectly. Without any warning, he jumped up and said, "Well, nice seeing you again, Rue. Hope you have a good time working for the paper." Completely stunned, Rue allowed him to push her out the door without another word.
***
A note was pasted to Cinna's door. Ripping it off the cheap plexiglass, his dark gray eyes scanned the words. Suddenly, his eyes widen, making them seem grayer than ever. With trembling fingers, he pulls something from the envelope attached to the note. He mutters, "No way on earth..." and stops short when he sees it.
A scrap of fabric, black pinstripe.
The suit.
Rue's suit.
Cinna dashes inside, quick as lightning. He grabs a shotgun and a cell phone before racing to his clunky old car.

The note is a ransom note.

My Artistires, which will knock your shoes AND socks off

Et voila!

This is actually a school project due tomorrow, so you're getting an inside look!

This is the oil pastel version which I almost used, but didn't thanks to a certain person's critique and suggestions (this person also shares my blood and was celebrated today with toast and a present she'd already read.)

If you don't know what it is, which is a common mistake, it's a girl with her hair over her face. I call it, Girl With Hair Over Face.

This is from an activity book with guided drawing stuff. My paintings used to look rather primitive, but they are much improved now thanks to the pastel how-to bok I found!

Last but not least, these are based on my sister's purple Chucks. The white tiled part is our bathroom floor before we changed it.

Thanks for watching my online art show! :-]

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.

Allow me to gush

Um, is it OK if I go on and on a bit about how much I adore my favorite book trilogy? 

Not waiting for permission!

Check out what I found on that blessing from above, Google Images:

Cool, huh? For those of you who have not read the best sci-fi series of all time, Katniss Everdeen is in the center, Gale is on the left, and Peeta is on the right. The artist did great with keeping the faces accurate, and the characters look exactly as I imagine them. I desperately want to paint like this. DESPERATELY. I would probably get a major self-confidence boost, especially after my latest artistic failure on a $6 canvas. My remaking of this photo from the 80's didn't work out, and she looks like a poorly drawn vampire. Here's what

I wanted it to look like:

Here's what it turned out like:

Get the picture?

Back on Hunger Games. I have now recommended this personally to 4 people, and now I'm recommending it to the e-universe: READ THESE BOOKS. As you know, I'm writing a story based on these characters' children, I was so inspired by the story. I have one last picture to show you. This is Katniss's token going into the Games, and the bird is a mockingjay. The shape to me is so beautiful, and it's been reinterperited so well for the cover art:

I'm done gushing now. Phew...

The Untold Saga of the Mellark Children, Pt. 2

It was a blustery Monday morning when Rue went to her own personal nightmare. The day before, 3 years ago on the day, her parents had told her what happened to so many people that they loved dearly, people that she would never get to meet. One of them was a girl her age, 12, when she was murdered by a boy from District 1 20 years ago. Rue carried her name, and she also carried the name of an aunt Katniss had never spoken of until that day, fighting tears valiently. She was blown up by the powerful Capitol during a revolution that ended the Hunger Games, in which both her parents played twice in a row. One of the few people still living that her parents spoke of was Gale, the current dictator, who was apparently much fairer than the Capitol's president, who was executed before she was born. She remembered the day perfectly, because that day she realized the sadness that her mother hid from them, why when she stood on tiptoe with her hands stretched out, Katniss tried to cover up her sobs with coughing. Both Primrose, her sister, and her friend Rue had that same pose. Now,  walking up the concrete steps of Meadow Junior High School, she prserves this day in her mind, because Social studies will be torture for her now for the next 4 weeks. For an entire month, the students of Mr. Fattern's class will be focusing on The Hunger Games Revolution.

Both of her parents being former contenders and catylists in the revolution, and just because Mr. Fatterns was an idiot, Rue will be bombarded with questions about her mother's and father's thoughts and ideas, of which she had no clue, and of their hardships, which neither Rue nor her parents wanted to speak of. His questions would get her classmates started, and it so aggravated her that she didn't consider any of the people who asked her about the revolution no longer her friend. But when Rue stepped inside the dreary grey classroom, she found not a plump, balding man but a young, slim lady in a pale green pantsuit. Her lemon yellow hair was piled up on her head in a bun, and she wore bright pink lipstick and green eyeshadow, which matched her eye color perfectly. She spoke in a flutey voice.
"How are you, Rue? Mr. Fatterns told me about you. Apparently, your parents are Katniss and Peeta Mellark! I'm the sub, Ms. Trimmer."
Ms. Trimmer seized her hand and shook vigorously. Rue was stunned by her clearly false perkiness. Didn't her mother mention somebody named Effie Trinket? Ms. Trimmer behaved in an excruciatingly similar way. The high voice with the Capitol accent, the odd hair color, the fakey energetic persona...this could only mean that her substitute teacher was the daughter of her mother's least favorite tour planner. This unit was getting off to a smashing start.
***
The stench of faux chicken and soggy vegtables filled Rue's nose, and she inhaled gratefully. Anything smelled better right now than Ms. Trimmer's hairspray. Choking down a bite of "chicken leg," she reflected on the torturous class. It was many times worse than she expected. Ms. Trimmer actually was Effie's child, and was talking nonstop to her about how her mother told her so many stories when she was a child about being a part of the last 2 Hunger Games and the revolution, and how her mother was so pretty, but caustic and groggy in the mornings, and how her father was such a gentleman. All period long, she would pause and check her reflection in a small compact every few minutes. The accent grated her nerves down to powder. It seemed the period would never end. After 1 and a half murderously long hours, the bell rang for lunch. It wouldn't be long before the questions started from her classmates. At least her friend Claude understood. He was nearly silent and never raised his hand, but got A's in all his classes. Rue felt she could trust him a lot more than the other people in her classes, especially Hattie, the rude girl who acted like a 5-year-old child. She was always out to get Rue in trouble.

After the school day ended and she walked home, she told her parents all about Social Studies. After talking privately and hearing that this was the last straw, they told her surprising news: they were going to have an adventure in homeschooling.
"But when will I see my friends again?" whined Rue.
"We can call and arrange something. There's always festivals and camp." Her father spoke so calmly it drove Rue insane.
Yes, thought Rue, but not Claude. He didn't go to camps or festivals because of his acute shyness. Would she ever see him again?
"We can't have you being this aggravated all the time. If she's going to replace Mr. Fatterns, you would never get work done from what I'm hearing."
"Well, if this doesn't work, then put me back in!" Rue hadn't thrown a tantrum since she was 6. Was another one starting up?
"I promise, Rue." Her mother crossed her heart.

So began the adventure in homeschooling.

A little fan fiction

My friend Samira recommended fanfiction.net to me today, and I'm a bit inspired. So, in this very post, I will now attempt genuine FAN FICTION. (dun dun duuuuuuuun!)

The Untold Saga of The Mellark Children, Pt. 1

Rue Primrose Mellark ran ahead of her younger brother. Her icy-blue eyes took in everything in the Meadow--every flower, every stone. An A-student in her school, she was very observant of everything. When her brother, Cinna Gale Mellark was coming about inside her mother, Katniss, she noticed how sick she was, and her odd quirks. As the lump continued to grow, she observed her mother devouring odd things, like bananas and roast duck washed down with chocolate milk and cinnamon bread for dessert. She stood aside as her father, Peeta, never left her side as the baby bump enlarged, helping her through doorways and fetching her the odd meals she requested. And she also eavesdropped when they talked with each other when it was well past her bedtime.

She never meant to be spying on her own parents. But when she heard a cry from her mother, she had to know what happened. Stealthily, she crept to the door and tried the handle. Locked! She put her ear to the keyhole and silently listened.

"I just don't know when to tell them about...the past. Rue doesn't even know who she's named for! And Cinna..." Katniss trailed off.

"Katniss, look at me." The stern-sounding voice of her father seemed much louder in the sleepy house. "I think the time is now. Tomorrow. As soon as Rue moves up to fourth grade, they will do lessons on the Games. No doubt the teacher will ask her questions, single her out, maybe, because of who we are. I know you've been putting this off, but you can't anymore. She's nine years old now. She's old enough to know."

Know what? What have they been hiding from me?

"OK, I give up. You're right. As usual."

Rue walked away after the keyhole went silent, confused and tired. Part of her wanted to march inside her mother's and father's room and ask what were they hiding, but the good side of her said that this can wait until morning after a good night's sleep. The good side won, and she collapsed into her bed, half-asleep.

***

A bright sunbeam lit Rue's face. Her long dark hair was in knots and her eyes were stuck together with morning eye crud. A normal morning. Throwing on her favorite blue shirt and a comfy pair of shorts, she hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Cinna sat in his high chair, making gurgling sounds and giggling when he dropped his sippy cup on the floor. 

"Morning, Rue. How's cinnamon toast sound?" her mother called from the stove.

"Fine, Momma." Rue took her seat next to Cinna and picked up the sippy cup. It was a Sunday, a no-school day, and Rue was glad that she could stay home for what she heard about the night before. Warm sunshine filtered in from the large windows and her mother walked in with a plate for her. It was Rue's favorite Sunday breakfast: 2 thick slices of homemade bread crisp and buttery, with not too much cinnamon and sugar on top.

"I am so glad you learned to cook," said her father, kissing Katniss's cheek.

"After I about killed you with that meatloaf," she retorted back, but with a smile on her face.

Rue laughed quietly at the memory. It was so rock-hard that her father choked on it a bit, and her mother was so embarrassed that she signed up for a cooking class the came day. Her mother sat down and sighed. As Peeta and she exchanged glances, Rue could feel something coming. Something important.

"Rue, do you know what The Hunger Games were?

TO BE CONTINUED...