Isaiah VonDeerment D2 ((FINISHED))

(( Appearance and Personality are written from Isaiah’s PoV. The history is written in third person with Isaiah’s thoughts in italics. Also while reading the first two sections, listen to Power by Kanye West to get a better feel. For the history, I wrote it to These Hard Times by NEEDTOBREATHE))




Name: Isaiah VonDeerment
Age: 15
Gender: Male
District: 2

Appearance Don’t stare,. Please?! It makes me uncomfortable. I know most people think I’m “cute”, but that really is not what I’m going for these days. I get it, I really do. Being 6’4” and almost two hundred and ten pounds makes me stand out. Most people’s eyes just tend to fall on me when they look into a room. It does not make it any less awkward. I mean really, I am a career after all. I’m a trained killer people. Just in case you can’t tell, maybe my seventeen-inch biceps and 32-inch waist in proof enough. If that doesn’t do the trick for you, maybe you should take a look at the scars on my arms and back. Proof enough yet? Either way, I know who I am. I am a trained killer.

My mom says she can see it in my eyes. Glacial blue as they might be, according to her, there is hardness to them now. I’ve never killed anyone but I could. I swear I could. I mean, I’ve broken my nose more times than I can count on both hands. I’m honestly surprised I can feel it anymore but oh well. I’m a man after all. Speaking of feeling, do you want to know something funny? I can’t feel my upper lip anymore. Fun story, but when my parents paid to have my teeth surgically realigned, I guess the doctor nicked a nerve and boom. Screaming pain and now nothing. My friends and my brother think that it is hilarious to walk up and poke my lip and see if I notice without them saying anything. Guess what… I CAN STILL SEE THEM! Thanks to my dad, I guess, I’ve got eye’s like a hawk. At least that’s what the trainers say anyway. Yeah, I’ve got a trainer. I need to. I’ve never been much good at school. I can see fine, but when I try to read or do math the letters and numbers get all jumbled. It could be worse, I guess. The result is that I scrape by with help from my mom and dad. But that really does not matter.

When it comes right down to it, I guess I kind of like the attention people give me. I mean if I didn’t, I would not wear my jet-black hair in a faux-hawk with red streaking and tips, right? Attention is not such a bad thing. I mean, assuming I get into the games (why wouldn’t I? I am awesome after all), attention is a good thing right? Anyway. Like I told you before, stop staring at me. I like attention but it’s getting a little creepy now. I really don’t dress that flashy, so it must have been my hair that got your attention. Most days, I’m lucky if I put on actual jeans anymore. Since I start training sweatpants and track jackets are my best friends, besides my actual friends and of course my brother. But come reaping day, which I have been to four times now, it is time to shine. I know I won’t get picked, but I make a point to put on a freshly ironed white dress shirt and a pair of pressed black slacks.

I’d be good in the games, I think. Aside from being naturally athletic, I’m really good with a bow. Swords and knives are ok, and don’t ask be to use a spear. I can’t. I tried, and I failed. I think I can win it, if I get the chance. Well, provided that I can get to and find the other tributes before my food runs out. I tend to make poor choices when feeding myself. During training, we had a unit where we were asked to select edible foods based on pictures. I scored a 0/20. Oh well. It’s not like I couldn’t run down the other tributes anyway. Unless they climbed a tree or something like that. I can climb rocks like a champion. I’ve been doing that since I was a whee-little guy, but trees are different. I can never find my balance or solid footing when I try. I can swim enough to survive, but if they can swim, then that’s a leg up for them. I still think I could win it.

Personality I guess you could say I’m shy, kind of. I play that way anyway. Truthfully I’m kind of a jerk. Not really, but seriously. I don’t know. Honestly that is probably the best answer. I don’t really know who I am. I’m a Career, so part of me just has my finger up to the world and I can carry on without anyone else around me. But unfortunately, that is only about half the time. The other half of the time I am a normal, 15 year old kid. Which means, mostly, I just don’t know. I mean, I want people to like me, and I suppose I am pretty good at that. People tend to like me for some reason. I don’t know if it’s because they think I’m funny? Maybe. I’m a little on the sarcastic side, but most people tend to think I’m just doing it for laughs. I’ll just let them think that.

Honestly, you would be cynical about life too, if you had been through half the crap I’ve been through. But that, is none of your business. For all you need to know I am a happy kid, most of the time. The rest of the time, I’m a hardened career, and I will snap your neck if you look in my direction the wrong way. Not that I’m bipolar or anything, I can control those moods perfectly well so don’t go drawing conclusions. I mean, who are you to judge me! You don’t know my life! You have never been where I am! So don’t even think you can understand if I told you anything anyway.

History The stage was set perfectly for Isaiah to enter the world. His mother, Kandice, was a trained career turned school marm. His father, Gerald, was also a trained career, who turned career trainer, I mean Peacekeeper…. Both were respected members of their community and had everything going their way. Still do truthfully, but for some reason, with the emergence of Isaiah seemed to come a whole mess of problems. As you may recall, Isaiah mentioned a brother. And he has one. His name is Deacon (character and profile to come). Deacon was born last. I don’t mean he is younger, I mean that they are twins. Or rather, they are a twosome out of what should have been a three pack. The third brother, whom Kandice named Hunter, died three days after birth. It truly is a weird sequence of events when you think about it. The birth was routine, nothing out of the ordinary for a mother of triplets. Things just did not go well afterward. Isaiah burst into the world an extra long and slightly slender baby, screaming like crazy. Then came Hunter. He came out just fine. He was screaming and breathing just fine. Then, Deacon. He was where things got a little, hairy.

Deacon came out with a massive dent in the left side of his skull, about the same size as Hunters foot. He also came out, completely blue in the face, and silent. The doctors scrambled. They found he had a pulse and began to do everything in their power to make sure he lived, because he was otherwise healthy. In the scramble to ensure that Deacon survived, the doctors failed to test Hunter’s blood. If they had, they would have discovered he was born with absolutely no immunities. Hospitals are generally clean places, but it is impossible to completely get rid of all germs. It was there few germs that did the trick. Within a day Hunter was consumed with a fever and spend his entire three days of existence vomiting and basically just being sick. On day three, as Isaiah and Deacon were settling into life outside the womb, the brother they have no memory of, passed.

Despite having two other, wonderful young boys, losing a child is never easy on a parent, even in this world where they can be ripped from you in an instant. But none-the-less, to the credit of Kandice and Gerald, they soldiered on. The heartbreak still has not healed, even with the eventual birth of baby girl Maia (pronounce Maya). Life only seemed to get a little harder, in fact. At about age four, in became apparent to both parents that Deacon was a little, off. They took him to many infant doctors, perks of being in District 2, we get doctors when we need them… most of the time, and they all came back with the same diagnosis. Deacon was suffering from a mild form of mental retardation. Physically, he developed, ok. He was no where near as big as Isaiah, and he only reached about six feet tall by the time he was 15. There is no way to describe the difficulties of raising an intellectually disabled child, and Deacon was no different. But this is not Deacon’s story.

Isaiah grew up like any kid from District 2 would. He was schooled in the ways of the Capitol thought. He is failingly loyal to the Capitol, because he has never had a reason to not be. He is a consummate big brother not only to Maia, but to Deacon as well. Somebody needed to be. His dad was always working, and well, Kandice is a woman, and thereby could not fill that role. So Isaiah from an early age learned the skills of emotional wall building. He resolved at an early age to not let Deacon see him upset, though he always sense Deacon could tell, they are twins after all. It was not until he was almost ten, that Isaiah’s dyslexia became very apparent. He always just avoided reading and writing in front of everyone. And when he did have to read, he would stumble his way through it. It didn’t take very long before he learned how to make a joke out of it, which then set the teachers against him much of the time.

At age eight, Isaiah and his father became significantly closer. Not magically, but rather because now they were connected. They had a bond. Training with dad has always been fun, but that guy knows how to piss me off quicker than anyone else, include Deke. Gerald had been kept from volunteering when his turn came about some twenty years earlier because he lost the final head to head wrestling match. The other career, snapped Gerald’s knee sideways, rendering him crippled and out of commission. As a result, the academy he was trained in barred him from volunteering. He was by the best trained of the two; the other guy just got a cheap shot in. Gerald was determined to make his son, his healthy son, a top contender. So the two began training in the basement of their two story house.

Over the years, Isaiah has learned the hard way that the world won’t take pity on you. Often times while he and his father were training, Isaiah would get cut, cut enough that it would scar, and his father would always demand more out of him. Training was never the only thing on his mind. Often times he would show up to train with his dad, and would find himself already exhausted. He was prone to fighting at school particularly when the other students took to picking on Deacon. Isaiah enforced a strict, “ do not mess with my brother” policy. The other kids would often break this policy just to see what would happen. More often than not, they would be sent home, needing stitches, or worse.

At age 13, Isaiah would need to “transfer” into one of the formal training schools, but not by choice. One day after school, Isaiah was walking home, his sense peaked waiting for someone to begin berating Deacon. What happened instead was much, much worse, and still haunts Isaiah at some level. It torments him enough that I tell you this, because he won’t. As they were walking three men, wreaking of alcohol emerged from a dark street. They grabbed Maia, who was walking some feet behind, kicking a rock or something to that effect. She was 9. When Isaiah, still on alert turned on them, a glass bottle met his face. Deacon, who had been taught by Isaiah the fastest way home, took off at a run. The men gave no chase. Instead they dragged Isaiah’s unconscious body into the alleyway. I refuse to go into detail on the next bit, but skipping ahead, Isaiah woke to find himself soaked in blood, glass shards still embedded in his face. Maia lay, he cloths ripped and her face bloodied, curled in a ball next to a trash can. The men were gone. Isaiah did not need a book, a long to realize what had happened. He picked up his half naked sister and carried her home. She fell asleep, wimpering in his arms. Some days later, close to a week or so, Isaiah saw the same three men stumbling into an alleyway. He was alone, leaving his training session at the “secret” academy. By his own account, he blacked out. Fast forward some, and we see Isaiah sitting on the back porch of his house. Staring into his hands, shaking. His father stood next to him, rubbing his back in the most fatherly way possible. “ It’s ok son. I’ll make this go away. You did what I would have done, only you got there first.” Making it go away could only mean one thing, and that one thing is what Gerald set out and did. Being a Peacekeeper, he had access to the evidence in the murder of the three town drunks. He tampered with it, replacing Isaiah’s blood sample with his own and the hair follicles as well. Gerald was arrested almost three days later. His sentence was commuted because of his status as a Peacekeeper, and the fact that no one had pity on the drunks, who had been linked to many other crimes. Gerald is set to be released sometime within the next three years, if he gets good behavior. Isaiah is left as the sole provider and protector of his family, a task hard enough for any 15 year old, let alone one with an intellectually disabled brother, not to mention the Hunger Games and all that comes along with those.