|{Chained to a Tree }| |{Open}|
Jun 2, 2015 16:00:31 GMT -5
Post by d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel on Jun 2, 2015 16:00:31 GMT -5
Alfan Cryer  17| Male | District 2 |
Hacking away at the swinging bag of leather, all of Alfan’s focus would be solely on defeating the bag. Having carried the bag across the district to one of the few trees, Alfan was a lone from the chaos. Swinging another fist at the bag, it would fall to the ground; a crashing noise would erupt as it hit the earth. Sighing, he’d grab it by the chain, dragging it under the branch. Just about six foot from the ground the branch wasn’t that high and having a rather long chain helped with erecting the bag. Swinging the chain across the branch, he’d grab it at the other side and pull it up. Exhaling in some air as he did, he’d clip the chain and it’d be secure, for now. Clasping his hands, Alfan would take another swing at the bag. After the reaping the Cryer family had returned home quite calmly, another reaping where they’d be all together. Arriving back home, Alfan went straight to his room, to change his attire. Slinging off the fancy white shirt and grey trousers, he’d swap it for a more casual wear. A white polo-shirt and pair of black shorts, as the days were getting much hotter. Looking into the mirror, he’d scruff up his hair, before returning to the dining room; where he was met by wildfire. Alfan’s mother Marion had insisted they eat dinner together, but his father Norrel had other plans. “They haven’t trained today, they can have dinner later!” Yelling in the woman’s face, Alfan watched from the doorway. His little brother Kaidan was sat at the table with his head in his hands. “Can’t you just give them a day off Norrel! They’ve plenty of time to train later.” The woman pleaded with him. “Not this one.” Norell pointed to Kaidan, “He is useless.” “He is young, he doesn’t want to train. You can force it on the poor boy, not like you’ve done with the others.” Alfan thought about what she just said, he wasn’t forced to become a career, it was his choice. Declining would probably put some burden and hatred on him, but it doesn’t mean you have to accept, after all his little brother didn’t. Alfan believes you’ve to train, what happens if one day his name was called and he was unprepared, Alfan was not one bit willing to die in the games. Since he began training, his whole life is revolved around being one of the best careers. The fuel of beating the predator trying to kill him just drives him. Being feared by those weaker than him, gives him some sort of pride, he is well known for being a remorseless soul and he loves it. Before the argument could get any worse, Kaidan stormed out of the room brawling. When he came to Alfan, he shoved him out of the way, causing Alfan to fall slightly into the side of the door. “Ough!” Alfan would curse at the kid, as he hurried up into his room. “You should’ve been prepared for that Alfan!” Norrel glared down at him, having watched him get pushed by his own little brother. “Just shut up Norrel.” Alfan’s mother would speak before Alfan could reply to his father’s criticism. Raising his hands in surrender, Alfan would just shake his head and leave the room; he couldn’t do with all this brawling. Walking down the hallway, his sister’s door room would be open; they’d be at in the mirror applying make-up. Shaking his head Alfan would enter his room. Grabbing a few bandages from his drawers, he’d wrap them around his hand. He had to train today, but not near this chaotic family. Grabbing his punch bag, which was strewed across the room, he’d head out into the hallway, the punch bag over his shoulder. Peering through the open door of his brother’s room, he’d see his mother comforting Kaidan. “The kid is wet.” Alfan would say to himself. Slipping out of the door, he’d hunt for an appropriate secluded destination to train… …Continuing to throw a few more hits at the bag, Alfan would grow quite tired. Summer had arrived and the sun was out in force. Sweat trickled down his brow, while damp patches marched across his shirt. Wiping away the sweat from his forehead, he’d slump down the trunk of the tree and sit in the grass. Knowing his father would disapprove of his little break, he’d let the rays of the sun colour his skin for a bit. |
