fifteen candles }} ID, Los [day 1]

[Deleted]

I a g o
I z a r – M c C l a i n e

•••

{I feel numb most of the time}
{The lower I get the higher I'll climb}
{And I will wonder why}
{I get dark only to shine}

•••

I could have second guessed my choice to mutilate the boy from five now that all of his allies seemed so steadfast in protecting him. We are five to their four, and from the looks on their pathetic faces, there is less fire in their stomachs than my littlest finger. At the least I’ve provided a birthday that Emery deserved: full of chaos, a good show, and it left all of us completely miserable. I’ve been smiling the moment since I threw the tongue down at Hope’s feet, but her continued threats only pushes me further. What strange courage is found in the heart of a little girl pushed to the end? I click my tongue as she approaches with her sword. She grandstands, telling me take your pride and your ego, and all your little friends, and fuck off.

[/color] Friends? Oh—Emery, watching intently; Ewe and Scout, huddle together and useless[/color]; and Beatrice, I suppose.

“You know why I’m dangerous little girl?” I lick my lips and bear my teeth. None of them seem to comprehend that I didn’t care about being the biggest or the baddest of them all. Let Emery with her fists take all the glory. Or let the careers, Beatrice especially; show the world just what their training had wrought them. But me? I was more concerned with seeing each and every tribute pay their dues for their unnecessary happiness. I would not let someone like Shadow make a mockery[/color] by throwing a birthday party, as though we were not animals forced to rip out each other’s throats. I would teach them all a lesson, whether or not they understood. “Because I would rather see you torn up in agony, even if that meant I had to die, rather than win this silly little game.”

I could have taunted her, perhaps of her brother and his pathetic death at the hands of an exploding crab, but there would time for that later. In the glint of her eye she reminds me my cousin, Deval, and his tempestuousness. Someone that was ruled more by their emotions than reason, I ventured to guess. The worst type of person—and so typical of a little girl—to make all her decisions off of feeling. I’m disappointed.[/color] Then again, how much could she truly know at twelve-years-old? I hold my hands at my sides and give a shrug, only to be interrupted by Beatrice. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a sliver of a second—her touch has me reach for my glaive but I stop just short of drawing it up. Instead I listen to her while my heart pumps double.

It’s not as though I’m unused to being the one taunted. I can still imagine the bigger boys from when I was younger. They were the ones that would come in from the fields, their muscles peeking out their tank tops, arms all aglow. I would wander along the rows of corn in front of them, head down, never trying to raise my voice. And still they swarmed on me, showing me a lesson, letting me know just what a proper boy like me deserved. The same words, the same taunts of being afraid when they held me down and shoved my mouth full of dirt. Want a taste, McClaine?[/color] The strong always pick on the weak—such has been the way of the world. No reason to be sorry about it. It’s what she says next that causes me to bristle. You're too afraid of consequences, Mr. Izar-McClaine.[/color]

“You don’t know me Beatrice Birch,” I start, eyeing the girl with whom I’d spent an evening on the rooftop. She’d lost her brother and I a cousin, as though that slow drip of family blood could bind us together. There was no mistake in saying she was powerful, and dangerous. A part of me was curious as to just how much so. But she was a reflection of the same girls I’d seen on the screen all those years before. Bits of Cricket were obvious—a girl that stood tall and tried to rattle the rest of us with words. I pull my arm up across my chest. “I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than listen to you ramble on about life and death. You ought to learn that you talk too much about things you don’t understand.”

I turn away from Hope, ignoring her sword, and back toward Emery. I don’t give Shadow a second glance, though I reason I could just as easily give a swift kick in the stomach if I’d wanted. I give one last look at Beatrice, perhaps too long. “We’ll meet again—and when we do, I’ll make sure you come to understand who I truly am.”[/justify][/blockquote][/size]