Sophie Wender looked back from her horse at their small house that stood lonely on the jagged outskirts of the fringes, her six-toed feet dangling on the sides. She squinted hard at one of the windows, where David was surely watching. After one last wave that David probably didn’t see, the house disappeared behind the horizon; the monster that was swallowing up all she had ever known as her family’s small parade of horses and people moved forward.

“Will we see him again?” Sophie asked. 

          The voice pulled Mrs. Wender, Sophie’s mother, out of her thoughts. In the shapeless sea of her mind, she could somehow sense the apprehension Sophie was feeling. David had been such a good friend to her, it was such a shame that they had to leave so fast. He kept the secret of her toes without so much as a whisper to anyone. He was the one resident of Waknuk that didn’t see Sophie as dangerous or wrong, but for who she really was. Mrs. Wender seriously doubted that they would ever see David again, but somewhere in her mind, she could feel his wanting; his wanting to find them.

“Someday,” replied Mrs. Wender. “Someday.”

          They continued on in their small parade for a few days with little hindrance, until Mrs. Wender started feeling the pains. They were dull pains that ran along her back and snaked around her body. These pains though, did not lack an air of apology and remorse.

“Something’s not right,” said Mrs. Wender, right as the search party appeared on the horizon.

                                                                                 * * *

          They didn’t fight the search party, they didn’t even try to run. They simply stood there, waiting. The party led them and their horses to the edge of their district and into a small house. In that house, Sophie was poked and prodded, but all her parents could do was watch. Sophie kept a brave face, until the mention of the irons.

“The irons are ready,” said one of their captors. “Red hot and burning.” 

          At that, all the Wenders went white as a sheet. They had done all they could to keep Sophie safe, but not even that was enough. One of the older men held two misshapen hunks of metal in his hand. 

“So those are the irons,” said the youngest member of the search party.

From pages 18-20

Only The Image Of God Is Man!

Hateful is all else

Banish Offences and Blasphemies

Keep pure the stock, our self

Watch Thou For The Mutant!

The pure image it blots

Put it where the devil struts his wide estates

And the laws of god are mocked.

Concealment

Concealment is a pale, dusky turquoise,

It sounds like whispers so quiet as to be inaudible, but still there,

It smells like metal with a hint of salt,

It tastes like sweetness masking a bitter taste,

It looks flimsy, thin and opaque,

It makes me feel angry, but also comforted. 

This repentance has made the greatest impact on me as it promises that purity is our salvation. The promise of salvation is one that many will chase after, therefore attempting to create a pure way of living. This is taken quite literally in David’s society as all malformed organisms are destroyed. Sophie, David’s newfound friend, is an impurity called a blasphemy. This is because she has six toes. She is kept hidden from the town in the fringes as if she was found, terrible things would happen. We see this in the book when David talks of what happens to offences, slaughtered or burned while hymns are sung.

If this was in place in my life, I would probably come to believe it. It was simple enough for adults to convince me that Santa Claus was real even though they didn’t believe in him, imagine how much more I would have believed in him if they shared that belief. When children are indoctrinated with a belief, especially when that belief is common throughout their region, they grow to accept it and even support it.

I think that as David and Sophie grow older and become closer, they will not be as careful of keeping their friendship a secret. Because of this, I believe that Sophie will be found out and people will attempt to destroy her, singing hymns all the while (La La La In Purity Is Our Salvation – Now where the heck is my axe?) Then, Sophie, David and possibly Sophie’s family will run away to the “ungodly” East.

Emmer Maize

14 years old

District 9

2 siblings, Barley Maize and Miller Maize

Raised by Father, Spelt Maize and Mother, Farro Maize

Job: Bread maker. Works in bakeries, subjected to hot ovens, scarred hands and arms from the heat.

                  My name is Emmer Maize. I am 14 years old. Panem, in my mind at least, is surely not the greatest nation that has ever been. I’ll bet that there have been superior societies before it; I could almost say that I’m sure there was. There has to be a better way of keeping us in line than killing our children. I want to change something, but what can I do? I’m only one girl who has nothing different about her than the next District 9 inhabitant. My shyness and quietness help me blend in seamlessly with the crowd, even my hands, scarred from many years of working the ovens, don’t differ from the norm. I take tesserae for the sake of my two younger brothers and overworked parents. In my opinion, it is wrong that the grain that my parents harvested is returned for the safety of their children; it makes me sick. I’m apprehensive about the reaping because I am the only one to care for my brothers through the daylight hours. Since they extended adult work hours, my parents have had no time to educate my brothers, Miller and Barley, as they did I. The nearest school is a two-hour walk from here and therefore; I am in charge of their education.    

          When the book describes long elephant grass, something along the lines of this long leaf came to my mind. The LRA rose and departed from camp early, which is where the dew comes in. When I read chapter 9, I can almost feel sharp, dewy blades of grass scratching legs and vapour rising in the heat of the sun eventually leaving a dry, cracked ground and thirsty mouths.

           Grief has come over me in every sensation. The thud of my father’s frail frame in the grave, no priest to bless him; this sent me cowering behind my hut, crying my apologies. I do not know much about big god, but did he need the priest’s blessing to get into heaven? The thought of him hearing my voice through flames and pitchforks sent even more tears to my eyes. Although perhaps the worst place he could be would be nowhere at all, the sound of my voice inaudible. This was the worst death. Since then, death has almost become normal. My siblings, my mother, and finally Adaa. Where do I go now?