Benson Tiero :||: Capitol :||: FIN

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

Part I—

Benson Bruce Tiero. I watched you grow up from afar, protected you when you were a child, supported you when you were struggling as a teenager, and yet you never knew who I was. I kept it that way because I promised your parents I would never talk to you, even though they told me that I was supposed to be there for you. As I write this, I know you will never read this and that you will never know who I am. But on the off chance that you see me on the streets, please don’t ignore me. Smile—that’s all I ask for.

So why am I writing this to you? Because you are my god-son and if this is the only tangible connection we will ever have, then so be it.

Part II—

You were born to Marcus and Emilie Tiero in what was considered one of the smoothest deliveries ever. I was there for your birth as your parents asked I be there—although we were divided by a pane of glass that deceived me into thinking I was actually in the room—and thanks to the Capitol’s medicine, your mother was quiet as you cried and took air into your lungs for the first time. I wanted to hold you, despite how slippery and loud you were, but your parents had turned their backs to me for the first of many times. They held their end of the promise, though, and I was named your protector. It killed me that I was not able to talk to you, to hold you, but it was such an honor that it was only fair that I maintained my side.

The first accidental encounter we had, you were running away from your parents and by some force I couldn’t explain, you collided into me. I was that elderly gentleman who excused himself and ran off before your parents found me, but I took the time to get a good look at the little boy you had become. The dark mop of hair that had covered your head when you were an infant had become lighter in shade. Your head was still a little big for your body, but your eyes were what caught my attention. They were so wide that I couldn’t help but stare before I heard the shouts of your parents and knew it was time to leave.

You were a thinker as you grew up, plans strewed across your room. Your little hands would scribble on the pieces of parchment your parents gave you gladly as they hoped that one day you would become a designer for buildings or something like that. I didn’t approve that they were forcing their goals on you, but as I watched you go through each sheet happily, I approved more and more. How was I supposed to be mad that you were doing something you loved?

At school, your teachers would often be angry at you because you were so plain, but I thought it was a welcoming quality; sometimes, the crazy fashions and ideas of the Capitol would cloud our judgment, and you were the one who brought us back to who we truly were: people. As the thinker, you refused to let whatever come to your mind take you away; you refused to believe that “going with the flow” could accomplish anything. I was proud of you, for being a thinker, but your teachers called your parents in and told them that this was a problem. They tried to argue for you, they really did, but your teachers wouldn’t listen to them so I stepped in as well. Your teachers were steadfast in their ways, though, and even I couldn’t use my powers to persuade them.

So you were trained as an artist. You went through long hours of torture at school and at home to change your way of thinking, but your mind was still young and malleable so you became the artist. But I saw you struggle, even as you succeeded in your studies, because you weren’t a natural artist. Your mind wasn’t made to not follow a plan, and it made me worried as I watched you struggle at nights to resist your natural instincts and complete your homework. I wanted to tell you that it was okay to be the thinker that you were as a child, and that it was okay if you couldn’t be the artist your parents and teachers wanted you to be. But I couldn’t be there to point you in the right direction and it killed me.

Part III—

Things changed as you grew older, but you were never able to conquer one side over the other and your mind always fluxed between your two sides. You struggled so much to get to where you are today, that I was worried that you would one day cave under the pressure. You’ve done well so far, but I have you seen your frustrations taken out on the desk that was given to you by me but under an alternate name. I still remember finding the desk at the store, thinking it was perfect for you because while it was an artist’s desk, it provided the capacity for you to be a thinker as well, and you had employed it to its full use. It made me proud when I saw you go through all of the sketches, all of the designs, and all of the constructions as you struggled being a Gamemaker.

At that point of your life, I wanted to scoop you away, to take you away from the world of the Games, despite the fact that you were already thirty-three and I was getting far too old. For all of the challenges you had suffered as you continued through school until you reached your mid-twenties, I had never seen you run your hands through your light brown hair that was often ruffled in all directions. I had never thought I would see the day that your wide eyes would be bloodshot from fatigue and always half-closed for you were so busy drawing up more plans that contradicted your training.

In the end, you came up with the frozen wasteland that somehow the tributes managed to survive that year. I should have been enjoying the Games, proud of all that you had managed to accomplish, but I only watched with more worry as the pressure of the Games affected the decisions you made that ultimately led to the four-person finale that everyone enjoyed so much. I should have been rooting for one of the tributes, but how was I supposed to enjoy the show when I saw my god-son avoiding sleep so he could produce the next plan for the next day or watch the fights unfold? You did not show any major physical signs of stress, but I was certain that I had grown patches of gray throughout my hair.

But finally a winner was crowned and you stepped down from your role as the one of the head Gamemakers, opting to work behind the scenes or occasionally consult if they needed the help. Generally, though, they preferred those who had more experience, who showed more creativity, not you who was still conflicted in your way of thinking. You did receive some backlash from the public and those who were working in the inner circles, but you never heard about them, because I took it upon myself to silence them, to make them understand that it was not their right to speak those words and make those judgments.

If only you knew how much I had done to make sure that you had your time to recuperate. But instead, you went crazy for a few months, changing your appearance to become like those damn Capitolites who were addicted to their fads. You had cracked under the pressure so much that you tried to embody the artist in appearance and mind. Yet you were never an artist, despite what everyone tried to tell you; you were a planner and after those chaotic months, you resumed your mostly natural look that was structured and simple.

Part IV—

Our second “chance” encounter was the year of the 61st Games, the one where they had let you sit out so you could resume drawing up plans for future Games. Never would you execute them again, but it was your hope that some of the Gamemakers would find them valuable and of use and actually listen to what you had to say. I was the old man now, the one with the long beard but short hairs that had brought you the message that your father had passed. Your mother would have had me hunted down if she had known that it was I who told you, but she was so much in grief that she didn’t realize that you had found out about your father’s death through me. I remembered walking into your study and how you had stood up so tall—you were much taller than your father’s 5’10 figure—as you greeted me. I could tell you had managed to gain back most of the weight you had lost, but you still looked a little sickly as if none of the food you ate could have combatted with the fierce inner battle you always had.

I had introduced myself with a false name, one that you have probably forgotten as I know I have, but I never forgot the mixture of shock, sadness, and guilt on your face when I gave you the news. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be talking to you, but at that time, I was concerned about you, how you grabbed your desk—the desk that I had sent you—tightly and how you unbuttoned the top button of your shirt. I wanted to have held you in my arms, to wipe away the tears that were falling down your tanned face, but I couldn’t disrespect your father even more so I bowed out of the room. You had thanked me quietly, I remembered that, for informing you of the news, and I dipped my head slightly before turning around.

Seeing what the strong young man you had become was a gift enough to me, despite the tragedy that came with my chance to see you. To have been given the opportunity to be near you, to examine you from a close distance, made me burn your image into my mind so that I could never forget you, even if I tried. That was the last time I was able to be so close to you, to speak a single word to you. For the rest of my days as your protector, I will continue to watch over you, to make sure no threat reaches you, but I will not contact you, not unless you choose to contact me.

But how could you choose to do so if you don’t even know I exist?

Part V—

You are all grown up now, a young man of thirty-eight years. You were born and raised and lived in the Capitol, yet as the thinker, you were never quite like them. Sure, you had your rebellious years, the years which you tried to solidify an identity, but you always remembered who you really were and that has made me proud. You have made me proud. Even if I can’t tell you how I feel, I want you to know.

Perhaps that is why I am writing this letter to you, despite the fact that there will always be a barrier between us. I will never know what drove your parents and I to have our differences to the point that I couldn’t speak to you, but I am so happy that regardless of the promise I made, I was still able to watch you grow up. Benson, I have never had a family of my own, a child of my own, and yet you gave me the opportunity to be a family member, to be a protector, and I hope to whatever mystical force is out there that I have succeeded.

I just wish I could have been there even more.

But I will be.

You just won’t know it.

codeword: odair

[cass]

Absolutely amazing <3

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