COME MORNING LIGHT * [ARX]

[HEY, ALEX!]

The glassy brown eyes of the doe looked in awe at the young girl that was I. It was as if the animal had never send a creature like myself. If the deer had, she would know not to stay here. She’d know to run. Perhaps, she thought she was looking in a mirror, finding that the image disturbing or surprising. Perchance she pondered why I had two legs while she had four. Maybe she thought my blue eyes were actually two pools of crystal blue water in the distance. Why there was fur only on the top of my head rather than my entire body? What was that object in my hands? A curved stick connected with wire? Oh. I have another stick. It has three thin feathers on one end while having a sharp point on the other. What was I doing? Placing the feathered end of the straight stick into a wire of curved stick. Now the straight twig was being pulled back and release.

There was no denying my aim. I rarely miss a large target like a deer. However, striking a deer in a way in which it would not suffer was my ultimate goal. Since the animal hadn’t been frightened, I had the time to aim properly; thus shooting the area that drops the animal in its track. She didn’t suffer. Perhaps it felt a little pain. The arrow entered the chest area. I intended for the heart. The front knees of the doe bent onto the cold ground before the back legs moved to match. Then, on its side it went. It was odd to witness such a thing. I hadn’t killed a deer without having to track the animal after I shot it. Instead, she went out like a posed, noble creature rather than an animal she truly was.

Soon, I approached the animal. The deer, once full of life, lay on the frigid forest floor. Her head rested on a tiny patch of melting snow as if she had placed her head on a pillow before she entered her deep sleep. A blood stained tongue escaped her mouth, dripping her life fluid on the snow; thus staining the white substance red. Her body was quite big while her breasts were sworn with milk. She was some animal’s mother. From her massive size, I assumed she had more than one fawn over the years. Though her stomach was rather large, I knew she wasn’t pregnant. It wasn’t the time for that. She was getting fat for the cold weather that is to come. I looked to her face again. Peaceful. She got to close her eyes before she fell. Good. I am trying to forget those almost human eyes that stared at me only moments ago. Never shall they see again.

My lips, flushed due to the weather, pushed together, appearing like I was about to peek a boy on the cheek or something of the matter. However, when the whistling tune escaped from between my lips, it was obvious what I was doing. Signaling. While I waited, I gripped the arrow was that wedge in her chest area of the doe. There was no use in wasting our amino. When I jerked at the arrow, it snapped into two parts. “Good shot. Between two ribs.”

[/i] The familiar voice surprised me. My father.

Smiling, I turned to face him. He held his flatten hand high, with his thumb perpendicular with his face. One cue, I took my hand, flatten as well, and slapped it into my tall, muscular father. However, unlike most high five, our hands gripped together and squeezed tightly. I winced from my father strength. Turning back to my prize, my father placed his hand on my shoulder. “She has lots of meat,”[/i] he complimented as he past me and advanced toward my doe. After grabbing the hind legs of the animal, he continued. “Surely she’ll bring us some extra cash.” Forgetting I still had my bow in hand, I placed it across my chest and over my shoulder before I grabbed the front legs of the animal.

“And what’s in the game sack?” My dad finally spoke up after minutes of half carrying, half dragging the doe to the forest outskirts. After stumbling over the deer’s limp head again, I responded. “Three squirrels and two rabbits.” In other words, empty. It was fortunate I had gotten the doe when I had. I would not have gained much money if I hadn’t. Noticing the stuff sack behind my father’s back, I asked the same. Smiling, he responded. “Thirteen squirrels and seven rabbits. I just turned in a turkey when I heard your call. It was a Jake. Rather small but I’ll get something for it.”[/i]

It was silent they rest of the three minutes it took before we reached base. We hadn’t the words to converse. Plus, taking my attention from the deer head for only a second would make me fall onto the leaf covered ground. Upon reaching our destination, we receive quite the cheerful greeting from our fellow hunters. Apparently, it had been a slow day, only getting small game and a few turkeys. The deer was the largest animal received so far, making my father had been correct. We obtained quite the sum of money for my catch. Though I gave most to my father for safekeeping, I kept a small amount for myself. My stomach told me to.

After turning in the government owned bow and arrows, I left the forest completely and into the sorry excuse for a town. I didn’t know what I looking for upon the stands of the marketplace. A bruised apple? Only the best go to the Capitol while the tainted, unkempt apples are moved to poor districts like nine. Well, to me, it seems that way. I browsed though the rest of the stands, hoping to find something that wasn’t completely disgusting. A banana blacked from damage. An orange whose core was mush. The selection was not what I had hoped. Nevertheless, I chose the apple and place some of my money into the hands of the stand worker.

A winter snow left a small dusting on top of the District Nine soil. To some, the frozen water would be bothersome but isn’t the case with me. I enjoy the scent of it falling from the white clouds. The noise it makes as my combat boots crushes the snow down in a more concentrated form. The simple sight of it. Nudging the idea away, I turned to a bench, covered in the white, cold bliss. After wiping the bench clear of the snow, I took my hunting jacket off and placed in on the bench for me to sit upon. Taking a bite of the fruit, I found the taste wasn’t as awful as I expected. The sugary juices filled my mouth, leaving an ever-so sweet coating of my teeth. Not minding, I took another bite, experiencing the same time all over again.

[sorry for the quality. It sucks…][/color][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[arx!!]

+++Tucker Oliver Truedhart\\\

I want something. But doesn't everyone? No, I need something. There definitley a difference. Not only in the needing and the wanting, but because I am me and they are them. No one deserves more than I do. I deserve glory, fame, girls ... All of it. Mace Emberstatt just won all of that, seeing as he has just become the latest victor in the Games. And now, it is the Quell. The Quell. I can only imagine what it must be like to win a Quell. Probably 10 times the glory, 10 times the fame, and 10 times the girls. Maybe even 20 times the girls. And for me, it would be so easy to attain it all. I haven't seen any real competition in the Games for some time and I know that I would be able to take on any tribute in the Arena. Any single one. And I would crush them like they were nothing. They wouldn't see me coming, but I would be there, killing them swiftly, quickly, easily. I can't wait.

I glance at myself in the mirror, quickly fixing my hair with a comb. Although the sun has just begun to rise, I have already been up for hours, lifting weights, running on a treadmill. But my father insists I run outside as it is more realistic. Weather is something that you must learn to endure if you want to be in a victor. So I dress appropriately. Skin tight shorts and jogging shoes. I know that this is necessary if I want to become used to the cold and the snow and I am already sure that if I left with a sweatshirt on my father would give me an earfull. So I go with nothing else on. I open the door of my house, yes my house that only I live in, and I meet the chilled air. There is a sprinkle of snow on the ground and it crunches like ice as my feet crush it. My breath is clouding the air and already my muscles are tensing in the cold. Time to run before I freeze.

District 9. I find it a sad excuse for a District at all. There is almost nothing here, a few factories some grain fields, and as far as I know, some hunters. That's about it. I can't find anyone to beat the hell out of train with and have begun to think that I am the only one that cares about this District. Doesn't anyone want to give their Distrcit a victor? Finding glory and fame along the way? No? I can't believe some people. They are all such idiots. Whenever I talk about the Quell, most people around here cringe away, scared. But me, I take this oppurtunity to be of teh right age to be able to take part in a Quell. Not everyone has this chance and I for one am not letting it slip from my grasp. I will take tesserae this year and wait for my name to be pulled from a glass bowl. No doubt this is my year.

Before I know it, I am entering town, which is about 5 miles away from where I started. I should've timed myself, but it completely slipped my mind. Perhaps on the way back home. There is still snow on the ground that crunches beneath my feet and I can't help but wonder if it will melt away or stay for the rest of the day. But I throw any thought of weather from my brain. Why should I be worrying about the weather when there are other things I could be doing?

I run through the town, not too many people disturbing me, but still they watch. Ever since I moved to this place to meet my grandparents people have looked at me funny. Not just because I am a boy running around with no shirt in the cold, but because they look at me and see someone else. A ghost. They see my uncle in my broad shoulders and muscular arms and in my dedication. Or at least that is what they say. Some even think I am his brother ... I hate those people. How could they compare me, the future victor, the dedicated trainee, the bold and brave, to the cowardess, soft, dead boy Shayde? My uncle was weak, gone crazy in the Arena. And for what? Revenge. Crying over a lost friend. Crying over a stupid girl. And worse, killed by a girl ... Knifed in the friggin eye by a dumb whore. Honestly, I think they should be able to tell I am better than that.

I slow down to a jog as I enter a bit of a busy area. Not like in the Capitol or District 1 or 2, but still there are people. Some look at me confused, some with sympathy, some just ignore me. That usually sends me over the edge. Every person who doesn't even glance my way must be jealous of me. God, I know I am nearly perfect but there really is no need for them to give me the cold shoulder. In fact, they should probably be kneeling at my feet. Afterall, I can give them fortune in the future. They should want to know me in hopes that they make an impression on me. Hwo wouldn't want to spend time with someone like me?

I'm finally walking now, slowing down for a breath. The cold air has been searing my lungs throughout the run and I find myself needing the break. "Now I am the one who is weak ..." I mutter to myself as I put my hands on the top of my head, trying to open the passages to my lungs. My breath is still making clouds in front of me and I can't help myself from wondering where to get some food. If I am going to have a soft moment, might as well get them all out of my system at once. I look around the square and notice some food stands. I look carefully, noticing that all the food is blackened or bruised. This is pure shit! I ignore my anger at the man selling the food and decide not to waste my money on worthless, disgusting food. I sit on a nearby bench, harsh cold meeting my bottom as I sit. I want to cringe, but ignore the slight pain, telling myself to toughen up.

I finally notice that their is someone else near me. Sure took me long enough. And for christ sakes it's a girl! I guess most girls around here are easy to miss though, never dressing in sexy clothes like the girls in the Capitol or District 1. But girls are girls and I figure I deserve something after my workout this morning. "Hey there." I say, giving a grin and wrapping my arm around her shoulder. 'Why not?' I think. Girls generally like me.

((Ugh ... No muse ... Sorry.))

[HEY, ALEX!]

Another bite was taken from my apple when he crossed my mind. I should get something for my brother. Food wasn’t an option. I wouldn’t dare make him eat something that wasn’t worthy of his taste buds. Something as simple as a handful of the snow would be ideal. He was never allowed to go play out in the powdery bliss because of his condition. However, I sometimes spot him siting in front of the window, an expressionless look plastered on his visage. Though he claims he is content being in indoors, I know it is eating him up on the inside. So, before I was to enter my District nine home, I was to grab a massive amount of snow and introduce him to its cool content in way he would remember.

The juices of the apple filled my mouth for the last time, adding set another layer of sugar in my teeth. The sweet taste lingered on my taste buds while, I assumed, pieces of the fruit had been wedged between my teeth. My right hand had been covered with the juices of my apple, making it sticky. After placing the core on my lap, I reach between my legs to the ground below. Fresh, untainted snow lay there. I took a bit and rubbed my bare hands against the cold substance. Once clean, I wiped my hands off on my hunting coat. I assumed that the apple wasn’t the best choice I had had. A banana would have done a better justice than an apple, since an apple is nothing but sugar and water. My stomach, though content now, will not be in an hour.

Tossing the thought and the apple core in a nearby trash, I allowed myself to take in my surroundings. Without behind, I knew there was a group of kids enjoying the winter snow. I could tell by the joy in their screams, I wish my brother could be that happy. Anyways. In front of me, I spot the usual stand workers. A few knew my name while I knew theirs. One of the stand workers, a friend of mine, was given a warm smile and a short, but friendly, wave from myself. Some of the by passers gave me a nod of the head and returned to walk their way through the cold snow. I caught a glance at a male moving in my direction.

It wasn’t his physical appearance that drove me to steal a glance. It was his idiocy. The weather outside was frightful; thus bring cold induced illnesses, which, obviously, can cause harm to the human body. Dressed in only shorts and shoes was not enough outerwear to protect oneself from the climate change. This boy might not be the brightest. Or had something to prove. I did not know nor did I honestly care. As he got closer, I noticed he looked familiar. However, the place in which the face originated did not pop into my mind. O’well.

Feeling the weight upon the bench increase made me feel uncomfortable. Not because I noticed his bare legs and chest but, after a few moments past, I felt the weight on my shoulders increase. Not metaphorically but literally. Taking over the distress was an ever-so familiar emotion. Anger. And, if we weren’t in such a crowd location with lots of witnesses, I would have allowed my new feeling show in a more drastic way. With that in mind, I took the index finger of the hand on my shoulders and removed the arm completely. “Hi,” I replied coldly. ”Can I help you with something? Seems you have lost your clothing.”

[/color]

[arx!!]

+++Tucker Oliver Truedhart\\\

I look into the eyes of my competitor, ready for their next move. Sun is soaking me with its warm rays, which frankly are bouncing back off the sweat that is rolling down the back of my neck, over my shoulders, and down my back. I have beads of its in my eyebrows, daring to drip into my eyes, threatening to momentarily blind my with its salty sting. But still I ignore it. My father demands focus from me and so I deliver. I wait, not only because I am tired, but because I know I must wait for a mistake. Anything. A poorly thrown fist, the right foot put forward instead of the left, the sun blinding the view ... Anything. I find myself wishing for a mistake. For mistakes mean that I win. But, so far, no mistakes have formulated. But still I know I can win this one. Why? Because I win them all and against many more skilled opponents.

I set my feet to take the offense, readying my boxing gloves in front of me, trying to listen to my father from the edge of the home made boxing square. It's time, I attempt to kick, which my opponent swiftly and easily dodges, but that was only a ruse. I quickly bring my foot back in and swing my fist with all the force I can muster towards my competitor's face. I close my eyes, waiting for my fist to meet a force to stop it, but instead I feel none and my fist flings back around me, I feel a sharp pain as I receive glove to my shoulder and then another in my kidney. I whirl around, wondering how my opponent moves so quickly to my backside, swinging my fist wildly in the direction of my enemy. But again their is a dodge, again I swing, but now their is a duck, I kick and miss. Anger is consuming me and I can't hear anything anymore. All instructions are being blocked out and I can only see eyes. The kind that laugh at you. I am swinging furiously, trying not to curse aloud as I continue to miss and my punches are blocked.

Finally, my opponent stops letting me attempt to swing at them without consequences and I start to receive blows to my cheek and ribs. And I don't stop attempting to hit until I can't see her eyes. I wake up in my bed a few hours later, cursing and throwing up blood. I am wrapped up in bandages and I guess a few of my ribs are broken. I hurts like hell to scream and curse, but I do it anyway. Why? Well, she beat me. And I never get beat. Never.

And to this day, I can still see her eyes, the laughter in them. Laughing at me. Me. But she did and I guess the only thing that smears my undefeated record is that stupid girl. I don't count it though, as I was only 11 years old, less inexperienced than I am now. So I try to not let that defeat count, try to ignore it, but it is still there. And ever since then, I have never fought a girl. Not because I fear a loss, no. I don't fight girls because I fear that they will win. And of every kind of living force in the world, girls are the least deserving of a win. Why? Because when you read the history books about life before Panem you see how they always get their way, always win. Whether it was getting a guy or gaining the ability to vote or to own land or to join the military or to enter politics or to save lives. Ever since humans roamed the Earth, woman have grown. But males? Nothing. All we have ever achieved is maintaining what we already had. But I still find women weak. All they have is luck. And good looks.

So naturally when I am mocked by a girl, I kind of feel a rage come on. And usually, girls flock me because I am, if I don't so myself, pretty damn handsome if not one of the nicest looking as well. I put my hands back on top of my head and smile, ignoring my anger. I purse my lips, a little mannerism I have them give a little chuckle. Because, yes, what she has said is somewhat comical, even if I feel insulted. "Yes, it seems I have. I was just going to ask you if you could help me find them." I debate my next words. I feel that since she doesn't seem to like me at all, which I find perplexing because frankly, who wouldn't want me? But because I know she hates me, I think that whatever I say will truly piss her off. I think I am okay with that. Yeah, it is because she started it. "I'm pretty sure I remember leaving them in your bed." I think about twirling her hair on my finger but is that too weird? No, she started it afterall.
"Soft hair." I lean towards her, dramatically sniffing. "Smells just like your mom's."

[HEY, ALEX!]

For a moment, I feared I had gotten myself in quite the predicament. I only had a few witty comments to my name. Most, of the little, were one-hit wonders: those cruel, soul-crushing words that break every being of its unfortunate victim. I usually relied on my physical strength over those quotes. Being punched in the abdominal or face was much more painful than a sly comment on their appearance or behaviors. But, with the company of others, I could not strike this boy without receiving some sort of punishment in the aftermath. So, for now, my words were all I owned. However, I drew a blank. Those statements of emotional distress could be not found in that head of mind. Improvisation. The unreliable source that I must trust for the time being.

To have my virtue tainted with this boy’s word only angered me more. To find a laugh from such a thing was arrogant. Child-like humor, in my opinion. Attack my physical appearance. Girls hate when their bodily image is criticized in a negatively way. Make jokes on my nose. I’ve heard them before. My height. Go ahead. Eyes too small? Yep. They sure are. Censure my true behaviors and actions. Me, a bitch? Alright. I see how this may be true. So you’re the girl with the disable brother? TAKE THAT BACK! Yes I am. All of this emotional abuse, minus one, I can take. However, being claimed of doing something I hadn’t taken part in grinds those rough gears of mine. Even in a playful, joking form.

I tired to find comfort in this unpleasant situation. Unfortunately, the thought was more elaborate than the actual actions. The only thing my outer body was doing was gripping my coat I sat upon with the hand that I assumed the boy could not see. My fingers wrapping themselves to my hunting jacket where he could not observe was useless. He probably was aware of the anger that was hiding behind my tan skin. And there it was. One of those “not so witty but might make him leave” comments. And I was agreeing. ”Damn. That was you. How could I have failed to recall the worst lay of my life? Thank for reminding me of that uneventful, waste of my time night. I nearly had forgotten it.” I smirked at my comment, hoping to offend him at least a bit.

An amount of my hair was left from the rest of my locks as the boy lift the strands toward his face. The process reminded my of the childhood I thought I left behind. I could vividly remembering my mother braiding my long, five year old hair as she told me stories of how girls found their princes they had searched long and hard for. She announced how they lived happily ever after while she tugged my hair gently, a sensation that brought me joy. And, now, the touch of my hair did not bring the bliss it used to. It brought only frustration and wrath.

Funny. Screwed your mother comment I assumed. The image of my mother going at it with this young, immature child was ridiculous. And unrealistic. And disgusting. Deciding that the impossible wasn’t worth fantasying about, I thought swiftly for cruel comeback. Thought of nothing. I should tell him my mother died. Make him feel awful. Well, if only that were possible. However, I would regret the comment later. My mother’s life was too great to lie about. Plus, I couldn’t live knowing I made the comment, only to find my mother dead when I arrived home. So, dead mom was a no go. So, again, I agreed, coolly. ”Thanks. We use the same shampoo.” With the reply, I, gently, pulled the little of my dark hair he had in his grasp to freedom. If the dead cells could speak, they would thank me. I was sure.

[/color]

[arx!!]

+++Tucker Oliver Truedhart\\\

Once upon a time there was a little boy who lived in the Capitol. He was born and bred to specifically meet the needs of his father who wanted him for one thing an done thing alone. Glory. So, the boy was thrown into the world on his own at a young age, forced to learn quickly if he wanted to keep living. Of course, the boy, being a naive youngster, believed his father was someone who could be trusted. What little boy wouldn't think that? So this boy loves his father with all his heart and trusts him with everything. The boy feels his father is helping him gain glory and fame and a name for himself, but that is just what he thinks. And, the father being the man he is, takes the opportunity to let the boy think that he loves him when in reality, it isn't the truth. In reality, his whole life is a big lie, all one big illusion. But the boy was raised in this life, believing that when his father left him in the cold for a week or didn't let him have a drink of water for two days or smacked him hard enough to cause him to bruise that it was for hi own good, that all dads did that to their sons. And so that boy grew. And grew. And grew. And even after all those years of growing, he is still caught in the illusion. And it seems that there is no way he will ever see the truth before he dies. For, before he realizes his father is a liar, he will die in the Hunger Games.

--------------------------

At that moment, I was tempted to punch the face, and oh how so easily I could do it. Even with so many people there watching, I knew I could get away with it. My father always got me out of things like that, at least if I needed him to help me. Sometimes I didn't even need his help ... Blackmail Persuasion is kinda my thing after all. But I made sure to hold my fist close to my body and resist the urge to swing at her. Instead I sat back, trying to avoid letting anger enter my eyes. I pictured her bleeding on the ground, begging and pleading for me to leave her alone. Taking back everything she said in hopes that that would help me forgive her. Except it wouldn't. I let a grin slide into my lips despite my anger and sigh. It would be nice, to have something like that actually happen, but imagining it is enough for me.

I have all the time in the world to think of some comeback, but my mind hasn't been functioning in the right way for the past few seconds. (minutes?) I have nothing to say. The images in my head have satisfied me and I feel relief. Whether she knows it or not, I have won, which makes her the loser. I think maybe I should just leave, satisfied with my win, but then I think maybe I have another chance to, so to speak "hit her while she is down" ?? My mind fills with slick comments, so many that I can't decide which to pick. Maybe none. Maybe several. I don't know. But on impulse I throw some more pointless words into the air. "I think it was luck that I remembered you too, babe." I held my tongue before I could add anymore. I was pretty sure that adding 'babe' to the end of my last words would piss her off enough. And although I would love to piss this girl off to the point that she punched me I felt that would be unproductive. I am actually enjoying this conversation. It's a bit fun. Different. I don't usually find myself actually talking to a girl.

I wind up my next slick comment or, at least this one is just more of a reply or at least I think it is. "I thought you might. Again, I must say it smells nice." Pause for effect ... "Babe." I want to laugh, but I can already see that if I do she might not get angry about it. Maybe she won't react at all if I laugh, who knows, but I hold back all emotion except the bit of slyness and confidence that I can muster up. I don't feel angry anymore, and I realize that with all the fun I am having I can't be angry. At least not yet.

"Tucker Oliver Tru-" I slip up alot when I speak my last name. So many people know, knew, Shayde that if I just say 'Truedhart" they instantly say sorry as if I care. Some think I am his brother that they somehow missed knowing of and some who know my father know that he is, was, my uncle/ But still, then they think I cared about him. I didn't even know him. And to be compared to or to be praised for his death is just a sin. People don't seem to realize that he was weak and didn't even deserve the chance to win the Games. I'm glad he is dead. And of all people, or should I say genders, he chose to be silenced by a girl. What a friggin pansy. God why can't I speak the name 'Truedhart' and people go, "Oh, hi Tucker. Good luck in the Reaping." or "Tucker, the odds are sure in your favor!" Why can't people know me for me? "Truedhart." I finish. "Or you could just address me as the future Victor of Panem." I flex my biceps and kiss each just let her know I am deadly serious. I smile at her, giving a small chuckle.

"Now how about you? ..... Babe.