Peyton Edric - d2- Done
Aug 16, 2014 18:30:21 GMT -5
Post by bellz on Aug 16, 2014 18:30:21 GMT -5
She was Peyton Edric. She was the only child of David and Kaley Edric.
Her parents tried to tell her that living in District 2 did not mean that she had to be a career.
Her parents tried to talk her out of training, and devoting her life the all that is the Hunger Games.
Not just the Games themselves, but the prestige, the glory, the life that a victor lived.
Peyton Edric wanted it. She wanted it all. She wouldn't let anyone stand in her way.
Now if only she were old enough to attend the Reaping. Seven was too young...
Until then...She'll dream on.
At age 12, Peyton had to attend her first Reaping. Something that she, unlike many others in different Districts, was so looking forward to. At five feet tall, she towered over all those in her age group. She didn't look like she belonged with them, and didn't feel like it either. Her auburn hair stood out as a beacon among the darker tones of her peers. Highlighted by pale skin, and light bright blue eyes, she was a picturesque young girl. Youthful, bright, but determined to be noticed and remembered. They called the name for the boys. She bit her lip in excitement. There were no volunteers. They all clapped, cheered. They called the girl's name. She opened her mouth to volunteer, practically straining to be seen, when the girl next her clamped her hand over Peyton's mouth and grabbed her arm. Indignant and angry, she bit down on the girl's hand, and glared at her. "Impertinent witch!" She hissed. "Why did you do that?" She hurried looked back up and realized that her chance had passed. A small voice penetrated her ire.
"You are not as ready as you think you are. You are rash, you are quick to anger. You will get yourself killed." Peyton's head turned slowly. Her eyes roamed over the girl, the same age as her of course, slender and waif-like. Her hair was an inky black, framing an alabaster face. The girl turned to her, dark eyes belying her age. She suddenly seemed much older than her age. "Wait. Just wait. Maybe your turn will come, but don't be so eager to rush to certain death. You're twelve. Try to act your age. Live your life. Just wait."
She thought herself brave, undeterred, anxious to get into the games.
"You don't know me." Peyton whispered, eyes darting to the Peacekeepers that accompanied the Reaping. She did not want to get caught talking. She wracked her brain for something clever and wise to say, but ended up facing forward and whispering again, "You don't know me.." Yet, for the next few Reapings, when her name was not called, she did not speak up. She waited, all because of one girl who had told her to wait. Maybe Peyton didn't know herself.
Three years passed by slowly.She grew another seven inches, slightly taller than a normal girl, and her face showed a little more maturity. Peyton's days were filled with training and meditation. She was trim, but healthy, being the child of fairly well off parents. She developed muscles, but not as fast as she would have liked. She didn't know she was a little imposing for a child of her age, but it was her intensity that put most people off. She considered herself to be like most Careers. She tried to be like them. Hoped to be like them. Yet another Victor from District 2. She worked on her anger issues, learning to think calmly and rationally. She lifted weights, and found her calling was thrown weapons. Knifes, shurikens, her aim was accurate.
Swords were too unwieldy and hard for her to figure out the balance. Archery was definitely a no for her, as a few people about a half a mile within her range could attest. Why she couldn't get the hang of it was a mystery to her. Her parents were clearly dismayed by her determination and even more scared with her proficiency. They were like her when they were younger, but facing the fact that they may actually lose their only daughter to the Games was more than they could handle. They put on a proud face at her tenacity, but inwardly they cringed at the thought that their daughter's dream would become their nightmare.
Fifteen years old, sharpening her knives, Peyton looked up at the bright sunny sky and sighed. She almost wished that it was overcast. She squinted her eyes at the glare in the sharp edges of the six inch knife cradled by a custom hilt in her hand. Her father had bought it for her on her birthday. They were a gift and a symbol of his reluctant acceptance of her dreams. She treasured them above all her other possessions. She smiled and flipped in in the air, watching it shine beautifully in the light, and decided she was glad it was sunny after all. She caught it deftly and tucked it back in its sheath. Her mother's present to her was a belt that fit snugly around her waist and held all fifteen of the knives in the set. She turned fifteen, they gave her fifteen knives. She was ambidextrous with them and could readily reach and throw them. She loved them. She would equally love the chance to use them to win the games. Until then she would keep training, and hope that all her training and anticipation didn't end with her picture displayed among the dead.
Odair
Her parents tried to talk her out of training, and devoting her life the all that is the Hunger Games.
Not just the Games themselves, but the prestige, the glory, the life that a victor lived.
Peyton Edric wanted it. She wanted it all. She wouldn't let anyone stand in her way.
Now if only she were old enough to attend the Reaping. Seven was too young...
Until then...She'll dream on.
At age 12, Peyton had to attend her first Reaping. Something that she, unlike many others in different Districts, was so looking forward to. At five feet tall, she towered over all those in her age group. She didn't look like she belonged with them, and didn't feel like it either. Her auburn hair stood out as a beacon among the darker tones of her peers. Highlighted by pale skin, and light bright blue eyes, she was a picturesque young girl. Youthful, bright, but determined to be noticed and remembered. They called the name for the boys. She bit her lip in excitement. There were no volunteers. They all clapped, cheered. They called the girl's name. She opened her mouth to volunteer, practically straining to be seen, when the girl next her clamped her hand over Peyton's mouth and grabbed her arm. Indignant and angry, she bit down on the girl's hand, and glared at her. "Impertinent witch!" She hissed. "Why did you do that?" She hurried looked back up and realized that her chance had passed. A small voice penetrated her ire.
"You are not as ready as you think you are. You are rash, you are quick to anger. You will get yourself killed." Peyton's head turned slowly. Her eyes roamed over the girl, the same age as her of course, slender and waif-like. Her hair was an inky black, framing an alabaster face. The girl turned to her, dark eyes belying her age. She suddenly seemed much older than her age. "Wait. Just wait. Maybe your turn will come, but don't be so eager to rush to certain death. You're twelve. Try to act your age. Live your life. Just wait."
She thought herself brave, undeterred, anxious to get into the games.
"You don't know me." Peyton whispered, eyes darting to the Peacekeepers that accompanied the Reaping. She did not want to get caught talking. She wracked her brain for something clever and wise to say, but ended up facing forward and whispering again, "You don't know me.." Yet, for the next few Reapings, when her name was not called, she did not speak up. She waited, all because of one girl who had told her to wait. Maybe Peyton didn't know herself.
Three years passed by slowly.She grew another seven inches, slightly taller than a normal girl, and her face showed a little more maturity. Peyton's days were filled with training and meditation. She was trim, but healthy, being the child of fairly well off parents. She developed muscles, but not as fast as she would have liked. She didn't know she was a little imposing for a child of her age, but it was her intensity that put most people off. She considered herself to be like most Careers. She tried to be like them. Hoped to be like them. Yet another Victor from District 2. She worked on her anger issues, learning to think calmly and rationally. She lifted weights, and found her calling was thrown weapons. Knifes, shurikens, her aim was accurate.
Swords were too unwieldy and hard for her to figure out the balance. Archery was definitely a no for her, as a few people about a half a mile within her range could attest. Why she couldn't get the hang of it was a mystery to her. Her parents were clearly dismayed by her determination and even more scared with her proficiency. They were like her when they were younger, but facing the fact that they may actually lose their only daughter to the Games was more than they could handle. They put on a proud face at her tenacity, but inwardly they cringed at the thought that their daughter's dream would become their nightmare.
Fifteen years old, sharpening her knives, Peyton looked up at the bright sunny sky and sighed. She almost wished that it was overcast. She squinted her eyes at the glare in the sharp edges of the six inch knife cradled by a custom hilt in her hand. Her father had bought it for her on her birthday. They were a gift and a symbol of his reluctant acceptance of her dreams. She treasured them above all her other possessions. She smiled and flipped in in the air, watching it shine beautifully in the light, and decided she was glad it was sunny after all. She caught it deftly and tucked it back in its sheath. Her mother's present to her was a belt that fit snugly around her waist and held all fifteen of the knives in the set. She turned fifteen, they gave her fifteen knives. She was ambidextrous with them and could readily reach and throw them. She loved them. She would equally love the chance to use them to win the games. Until then she would keep training, and hope that all her training and anticipation didn't end with her picture displayed among the dead.
Odair
