bystander . mattio

[flyss]

FRESH

ANCIS DELYNOVA GONER

Have you ever been around another man like me?
Gets down like me, sounds like me
Have you ever met a motherf♡cker fresh like me?
Got you on your knees, with your ripped jeans

"Pass me the one that doesn't look like utter shit." Across the booth, a frail-looking lady smiles and taps her crusted yellow nails against the counter; as she reaches over to grab the fish which lies the furthest to her left, I take a shortened step forward and she flinches. "How much is it?" I breathe my words through grinning lips as she places the still-whole animal into a brown oil-resistant sack and avoids eye contact, handing out her arm for me to grab it from her. "Five, but I'll give it to you for four." I suck in air, pretending to contemplate the offer, even though my mind is set. "Two and a half, and I won't report your husband for helping that boy the other day." 

"What boy?"

I grin and take the bag from her, placing it securely in the looped rope on my waist, just beside my silver and black baton. I make sure to tap it as I move my hand back to its rest on my hip. 

"You know what boy I'm talking about." Pulling out my wallet, I fork over two clean-cut bills and some bronze-ish coins which are a dull green-brown now, but I don't really care. Nodding once, I fold the leather back together and place it in the pocket of my uniform; today has been slow, and while there was certainly no dirt on that woman nor her husband, it's fun to make interactions interesting every once in a while, isn't it? I stifle a laugh, and pull my helmet off, allowing my paled skin to breathe if only for a moment. My house is only a few blocks away, so it's not like it would hurt for me to be out of uniform for a little while, as long as I'm off duty. 

My house is a great thing, if I could even call it that. It's this little wooden cottage up by the beach a mile or so from the market, and when I sit on my front porch, the smell of the shore is so terribly strong that it's tantalising. As gorgeous as it is, though, it comes with the price of making sure that nobody drowns in the waves that terrorize said beach. Not that I would care, but my job does include protecting the interests of the people, even if I sometimes abuse that power. 

As I approach the steps to my front porch- my house is raised off of the grounds due to high tide- I can hear the soft splashes of someone swimming. Grinning, I exhale with each noise, my fingers moving to unlock the door after I place the sack on my chair swing. I'd probably check it out later, and see who's out there. Maybe I'd even scare them a bit, if I have any shreds of fish left.

Once the door is open, I grab the bag- which is starting to smell a bit- and walk inside, not bothering to close anything up behind me and casually tossing everything that's in my hands onto the counter. I'll get everything started in the oven before I relax- if I don't, knowing myself, surely it'll never get done. Using my elbow, I turn on the faucet and open up the bag, pulling out the food and rinsing it under the running water shortly before grabbing a pan and slopping some mixed spices and oils in it. I finish preparing everything a few minutes later and when the sweet 'ding' of an oven timer fills my ears, I place it in, setting the clock for 35 minutes. 

Once dinner has been settled, I decide- to my excitement- that today has been too boring not to go have some extra fun before retiring for the night. After all, I have what- I glance at the kitchen briefly before pulling out my stun gun and fiddling with the safety for a few moments- 30 minutes left? 

Might as well make something out of it. 

I laugh and switch the safety to 'locked' mode so it doesn't accidentally get turned on before walking out of my front door and out to by where the beach is barren, for the exception of some bags and clothes. I see a lone boy- someone who is almost too easy to mess with- and smile subtly like a child who has just discovered the delicacy of cake for the first time. I wouldn't call myself sadistic- no. I would consider myself.. as someone who likes fun. 

Pulling out my gun, I approach the kid and open my mouth to speak loudly.

"Hey- you. Do you have a permit to be out here right now?"

Truth be told, there is no permit. Hell, I don't even really have the official authority to be questioning him like this. But he doesn't know that because he hasn't gone through the years of training- the years of being told what to do- like I have. I doubt he even assumes that I'm just playing.

That's what makes it fun, though, right?

842 WORDS | SONG

[mat]

[googlefont="Akronim:400"]

tobias staite

My father told me to get out of the house when I woke up screaming this morning. It's embarrassing to be a teenager who is still afraid of nightmares. That's just kid stuff, screaming because you think there's someone coming to kill you, but for me, it seems to real. Every time the black bags under my eyes are too much to handle, I just fall asleep. I put off resting until my body just does it for me. I've never wanted to willingly jump into hell.

So, I did as my father asked, walking outside. Zeke and I always played outside together, and now that he's gone, it makes me feel as if someone cracked a little piece out of my heart. Ever since I was little and saw him die, I knew I was truly alone. Sure, I had my parents, but a human can only fall deeper into the abyss of darkness when someone they relied on every second of the day suddenly disappears.

At first, I was just walking, pacing around in the early hours of the day. Even at the crack of dawn, earlybirds like myself walk around as if they've been up for hours. I kept on what I woke up in, a black t-shirt, dark (almost black) blue jeans, and sneakers. My family never got caught up in materialistic things like clothing after he died. It made every little thing in our house so precious. Mother and Father always finished their food. We became more grateful and thankful, in a way. Still, my parents fight about how it was the other's fault, but I knew exactly whose fault it was.

Mine.

I thought I was his partner in crime, his sidekick, but in all honesty, I just brought him farther down from an low, to an even lower state of mind. He protected me, yet he let his guard down from the outside world. I saw his letter, and it basically said everyone but me. However, everyone affects everyone, sometimes even indirectly.

My thoughts let me walk in peace. The pathways around District Four are nice, as well as the scenery. Some water is used only for fishing, but there are many other places in the District that are beautiful. I don't understand why this place wasn't used as the Capitol considering it's jaw-dropping features. I suppose I never really should understand because I've never seen the beauty that people talk about if they get the honor to journey to the last ring of hell.

I come to a small cottage, probably for one of the richer members of our District. It has a beautiful area behind it, a nice place to swim. I don't see anyone around the house, so why not go into the waters and enjoy myself. Nobody's there, so I guess I can collect my thoughts and emotions there.

I remove my shirt, pants, and sneakers before testing the water. I look around, hoping that people don't stare at me with the little clothes I have on protecting my private area. The waters cold, causing a covering of freezing-cold water to wrap around my foot. It sends shivers up my spine and to my head.

People don't care if others live or die, they just care for themselves. Sometimes, that pushes my buttons. People act so nice on the outside, but really, they could care less about you. I can't be the only one who thinks this, right? People putting themselves first and everyone else last? That's something that has always been false for me. Other people deserve attention as much as I. Equality. But sometimes, people can get cocky. And when people get self-centered or over-confident, that's when you lose them. They won't care for you anymore, they'll just walk away.

I lay in the water, trying to remain calm. The monster that caused my brother to die will eventually be gone. I'm too oblivious to see someone in all white walk into the house

I guess I wasn't supposed to be here after all. I hear a voice call out as if they had some sort of authority.

"Hey- you. Do you have a permit to be out here right now?"

My body quickly readjusts, frightened from the new encounter.

I quickly paddle myself back to the shoreline, hoping that this isn't the end of me.

Actually- scratch that.

End me.

[flyss]

FRESH


ANCIS DELYNOVA GONER


Have you ever been around another man like me?
Gets down like me, sounds like me
Have you ever met a motherf♡cker fresh like me?
Got you on your knees, with your ripped jeans

A few moments after I call out to the kid, I see his face again, although this time it's painted the purple-blue-black of fear and anxiety. His movement seems almost hesitant and his body language- well, from what I can see, his body language is that of a child getting ready for a speech that he came up with five minutes ago. But I am no teacher, nor do I have the patience of one; in short, the kid looks scared shitless. 

Again, I stifle yet another laugh and walk forward, pointing my gun at him for emphasis. "I said- do you have a permit?" As he moves to get out of the body of water, I walk forward and grab his arm with the padding of my glove, not waiting to see if he'll answer or not. I know he doesn't have one- mostly because it doesn't exist- and it takes everything I have not to break out in pure five-year-old giggles at the expression lacing his mouth and eyes and cheeks and well- everything. I push him outward and down, not caring if he falls because honestly- it's fun enough just terrorizing the poor boy. 

"If you don't have a permit, I guess I'll.." I trail off, smiling and clicking the locked trigger of my gun- a tease, if you will- to let him have a guess at what I'm going to say. "I'll have to take matters into my own hands." I feel less confident in my words without the thickness of a helmet covering my face, but each syllable is still a masterpiece of my cunning and fearless mantra. Hopefully he doesn't have the sense to report me, although it really won't make a difference anyway. It's not like anyone will believe him if he tries saying that some peacekeeper roughed him up while he was swimming. 

I unclick the safety of my gun and then click it back again, waiting- longing- for a response with the tip of my toes to the last strand of my faded silver-blonde hair. If he doesn't answer, I'll do something and make up an excuse, and if he does answer, I'll probably do the same. You see- that's the thing about authority.

It feels good to have it, and even better to use it. 

385 WORDS | SONG

[mat]

[googlefont="Akronim:400"]

tobias staite

The man is scarier than I wish to admit. A peacekeeper, but without his helmet. Intimidation has always been part of my daily routine, even as a tall teenager. Immature, that it what I am. I never grew up and out of the "there's a monster in my closet" kind of child. The monster is always in my dreams, coming back to torture my every night. Even if I don't take the time to rest, I only do it in fear of him doing something terrible to me. I feel pain from something who I know is only in my head, and will never release itself in the outside world. I'm afraid of a figment of my imagination, but he is much more than that to me. He is my one and only opponent in life, and I can never win in this war that has been waging for too long.

This peacekeeper is half as horrifying, but considering how scary the monster is that lies in my head, waiting for me to return again to punish me for closing me eyes, that's still very scary.

I continue to breathe, allowing my body to relax. Maybe he's just trying to mess with me. I knew there were permits for fishing areas in the District, but nobody was fishing. There were so signs, so how could I have none?

"I said, do you have a permit," the man asked, turning more strict. My nervous system tells me I should flee instead of fight, but my body feels stuck with walking. He doesn't take the time for me to walk past him. Instead, he walks to me, grabbing my arm tightly. I feel the pain squeeze in my arm and down to my forearm, taking different routes to sting all the way to the tips of my fingers.

I also feel as if it's okay to break now. Maybe he'll have pity on me? After all, how can he say I committed a crime if I never did. I doubt there is a permit because the evil look on his face looks like mischief. He pushes me back, and I try to catch up fall, but instead, I slowly tip backwards, not even bothering attempt a nice save. I don't even try to pick myself up.

"If you don't have a permit, I guess I'll.." his voice sounds evil. If the monster had a voice, this would definitely be the one I predict. Dark, evil, mischieveous. They want to torture me, laugh at my failures.

Hopefully this man won't break me like the man did, like Ezekiel's killer did.

"I'll have to take matters into my own hands.." I quickly spot his gun in a holster, and I immediately know that this man isn't lying.

I shake my head, hoping that he won't break me.

I hope I hope I hope.

[flyss]

FRESH


ANCIS DELYNOVA GONER


Have you ever been around another man like me?
Gets down like me, sounds like me
Have you ever met a motherf♡cker fresh like me?
Got you on your knees, with your ripped jeans

The force of my words shoot bullets into this boy and I raise my eyebrows, looking down upon him until he answers my question. A shake of the head- a forfeit- and I smile at what a perfectly poised picture this is. Control is what I have, and in moments like these, it's almost theatrical to resist the temptation to use it. 

"No?" I laugh curtly and squat to his level, looking him dead on in the eye to the best of my ability; I scan his face for the weakness that I know to hide there and smirking, I tilt my head, long hair shifting on the side of my head haphazardly. "Aww- is the big bad peacekeeper too scary?" Quickly, I grab his wrist again and stand, not caring much if he chooses to follow or decides to be dragged by the force I put on his bones. Some days, I feel like this is too cruel and that I could do better- I know for a fact, that I could do better, actually. But my mind is a landfill of too-dense fog and one-too-many nights home alone as a kid because my parents were out at the bars betting on which tribute- which child- would be slaughtered next. 

Ha- perhaps if I hadn't gone into training, that would be me.

As I walk up to the back patio of my little cottage, I think of the fact that this young man has probably known one of those faces in the sky. Not that he's seen it painted on the side of an arena because hell- if he was a victor, I would be skinned right now. Authority is something that I have, but when it comes to those who have heartlessly killed enough for whatever precious liberty is left in the world, there is a mad respect that goes unsaid. This criminal- or so he thinks (maybe he thinks; he could be smarter than that)- doesn't seem to be able to protest, let alone hang a noose around someone and kill them, whether directly or indirectly. 

When we reach the back, I cough once and pull the air cuffs from the belt around my waist; this'll keep him here while I think of something to do. I've already set the boundary in my head of keeping him concious, because even I, Ancis, couldn't cause more harm than necessary. With this, I release his arm and stick it in the safety of the the left cuff, attaching the other end to the post and pressing the pad of my thumb into the locking mechanism. "I'll be back- try not to get yourself into too much trouble, sweetie." And if he says anything, I don't hear him because within seconds, the back door is propped open by a brick and I'm through it.

473 WORDS | SONG

[mat]

[googlefont="Akronim:400"]

tobias staite

The pitter patter of his feet begin to come closer to me. "No?" His words come out to haunt me, and I still feel as if I'm frozen in time, yet he still has the ability to keep moving towards me. He's standing and I'm on the ground. With every step he takes, it seems as if he gets taller, larger, bigger, scarier. Now, he descends, but doesn't sit with me. My eyes meet with his, and all I can do is hope he doesn't kill me. He definitely wouldn't be keeping the peace that way, but some people do get power hungry. They get self-centered, self-confident. Just you wait, sir. Wait until you lose someone you love. Then you'll see.

"Aww- is the big bad peacekeeper too scary?" He speaks like hell, every word spits out fire, burning into my mouth and down throughout my body. He will break me, I know he will. He's like the big bad wolf and I'm.. well.. a bunny rabbit with spots all over.

Immediately after his fierce voice ends it's sentence, he grabs me, and pulls. At first, I try and have my bare feet stop myself in my tracks, but after a few seconds, I allow myself to stand, walking with him to the back of his house.

I breathe, taking deep breaths as we stop at a post. He has a nice house, better than mine by far. I guess that's what peacekeepers get, special treatment because they are "such good rolemodels." Not.

I watch his every move, including the one where he takes out handcuffs. I can only imagine what he'd do. Lock me up in a basement, making me starve to death. Leave me without rats and bugs to eventually devour my deceased body as food.

I feel my wet hair slowly drop water onto my hands. Soon, wrapped around my left wrist is half of the cuffs, and the other is stationed at a wall. He begins to walk away. He's gonna leave me until some man finds me and takes me in as his own, I just know it. And if nobody finds me, he'll leave me to rot.

Tobias Staite, just breathe.

I shiver as he walks out, speaking once more, "I'll be back- try not to get yourself into too much trouble, sweetie." I'm flattered by his words, sweetie. I never really felt like that was a word used to define me. I feel the lock in the cuffs click, meaning I can't move for anything.

My body is cold as I wait for him to return. I remain stationary, sitting. I'm trapped, confinded to a small area like a dog on a leash.

When he returns, it doesn't take me long to speak. "S-sir? Can you, uh, get my clothes?"

I hope he says yes to my first words to him because if not, I might just freeze to death if I'm only in my briefs.

[flyss]

FRESH


ANCIS DELYNOVA GONER


Have you ever been around another man like me?
Gets down like me, sounds like me
Have you ever met a motherf♡cker fresh like me?
Got you on your knees, with your ripped jeans

When I leave the openness of the back porch, I move toward the kitchen to check on the fish, counting my steps as I go. Thirteen paces and half a heart is all it takes to pull back the oven door and press a thermometer into the flesh of the animal- 110 degrees, and how long is left on the timer? 21 minutes? Pressing my lips together softly, I pull the container out and place it on the stove. I have something else to deal with for now and my dinner will simply have to wait for that to get done. This boy needs to have the living shit scared out of him and hell, I'm certainly someone who can do that.

When I come back to the boy- not that I could really call him a boy, considering he's a little taller than me- I hear him speak out for the first time, asking that his clothes be brought to him. Wet bodies and ocean air don't really mix very well unless it's with me, and I smile at his word choice ("Oh- Sir? I like that.") before raising my brows and complying, my legs forcing their way to where he left his clothes. Without saying anything further, I pick each article up until all of them are in my hands and as soon as they're securely there, I walk over and dip them in the water. The fabrics go from light, to slightly shaded, to dark and after letting them soak in the palms of my hands for a good 30 seconds, I pull them out, a few water droplets sliding down my wrists and to where the white fabric is pushed up slightly from cooking. Curtly, I walk back over to the porch and toss him only his jeans, leaving both his shirt and sneakers over to the side. After a short moment of realization that he might not be able to put these on without the full use of his hands, I reluctantly press my fingers into the cuffs, giving him full use once again.

"Don't complain, just put them on."

And I wait for him to do just that, my gaze hard-set on the ocean waves rising and falling, rising and falling like some rhythmic heartbeat of the water. Fine tuned in the granulated beaches, I can feel the movement of a thousand specks of life, each one far more fragile than my own- than the adolescent who shares my company in this time- and I swallow hard until my vision blurs into the unconsciousness of attention; my thoughts are a whirlwind, and as I focus back in on his task of putting on some jeans, I can't help but think on the complexity of his life and how fragile it must be, to have the possibility of losing it any day. I laugh to myself and rub my eyes, not giving a single shit, though, because frankly, if it doesn't pertain to me or someone I care about, there is nothing in the world that can stop me from ignoring the fact that life- in any form- is worth the same as mine.

526 WORDS | SONG

[mat]

[googlefont="Akronim:400"]

tobias staite

My words seem to give him a sense of power. Personally, that's what I hoped would happen when I used a word such as sir. It gave him dominance over me, it made him feel as if he was my owner, and I was commanded to give respect to him. He begins to walk away once again, and I tug on the cuffs, hoping that eventually they will give up their lock. I want the chains to break so I hopefully will never have to see his dreaded face again. A monster, trying to overpower me with every ounce of authority he has. I wouldn't care if I was humiliated as I only wear a small article of clothing. It's better than being held against my will.

As I continue to pull on the aircuffs, they do not budge. It feels as if I'll never got out of these cuffs confining me to a post. I watch him walk to my clothes, and I do not give up on trying to allow myself out of the cuffs. But as I have no success, I feel exactly what I've been feeling for ten years. Worthless. Powerless. Pathetic. I could easily call myself a slave of the world, having to bow down and accept my fate, no matter what kind of destiny it will be. Good or bad, I've been forced to accept it for a whole decade, and no matter how hard I try, I will always stay in this position of the social pyramid. The lowest of the low. The worst of the worst, and it's obvious where I am in life because I'm stuck to a post. If that doesn't show you how pathetic I am, I don't know what will.

He's far away now, so I slouch, my legs beginning to flatten out, causing my arm to stay stuck up on the top. I tried to become comfortable, but instead, I feel like I am being crucified, my arms being dragged out as far as they can to fit the cross I now belong to. He is near my clothes. I watch him pick up my dark blue jeans, then my shirt, and my shoes. I can't exactly see what he's doing, but it seems as if he's examining my clothes, trying to see if I'm wealthy enough to get out of trouble. It's evident from the rips in my jeans and dirty sneakers that I'm not rich at all.

He walks closer to me now, coming back to see my slouched in my small area. It is as if I'm on a leash, tied to a post like a dog. He holds my blue jeans, that seem darker than usual. My shirt and shoes are not in his arms, and I wonder why. As he approaches me, his body towers over my naked and afraid build. He throws my jeans in front of me, and I feel the damp denim land on my toes. Quickly I move them closer, feeling that they're soaking wet. Great. Make me feel even more uncomfortable.

He unlocks me from the post, and then speaks. "Don't complain, just put them on."

Afraid that he might get enraged from me saying no, I do as he asks. First, I slide my right leg into the wet jeans, and then my left. I shiver, pulling them up to a nice height, where you can barely see my underwear. I sarcastically smile at him, acting grateful that he gave me an article of clothing to wear so I'm not shivering my ass off. However, the wetness of the jeans that go all the way down to my ankles.

I look into his eyes, feeling dead already. I have to admit, he is kind of cute. Tobias, no. He's practically making you his slave.

"Thank you.." I say, hoping that now that he's had his abusive fun, he may let me go. But instead of making a run for it, I sit back down, handcuffing myself back to the post. Hopefully if he sees my obedience, I will get to go.

I hope I hope I hope I hope.

[flyss]

FRESH


ANCIS DELYNOVA GONER


Have you ever been around another man like me?
Gets down like me, sounds like me
Have you ever met a motherf♡cker fresh like me?
Got you on your knees, with your ripped jeans

After the kid gets done pulling his pants on- if you can even call them that at this point with how soaking wet they are- he navigates himself back to the cuff and places it on his wrist. For some ungodly reason, he didn't run. Hell, I probably wouldn't have chased after him if he had run, but since he was so quick to restart "whatever punishment I was going to give him", I figured that I might as well as think of something to do with him. Pressing my lips together in a line, I reach toward my back to unbuckle the strap holding my armour to my chest. Outside, it's somewhat humid from the way that the ocean spray sticks in the air, although it's also a little bit chilly, too- I decide quickly that I'd rather be cold than hot, and proceed to pull the guard carefully over my head and off of my body.

Still plagued by the internalized struggle that is my body heat, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull that up too, not paying much attention to the captive that I've seemed to ignore for the past minute or so. Not a single word between us, nor a single care about such. Once I'm barren from the waist up- like him, minus the fact that I'm wearing boots and my pants aren't waterlogged- I walk back over to him and stand, examining his face, then his abdomen, then his chest all in quick succession. 

"I hope you don't mind." My words are bordering monotone, and I raise a single brow, keeping eye contact until one of us breaks it- I'm not sure who- and I regain my sense. Quietly, I stretch my back and shoulders, my thoughts scraping the edges of my mind in attempt to think of some way to satiate the boy's crime. Sure, it wasn't a true offense, but if I somehow got in trouble for it, exactly how hard would it be to say that I caught him trying to break into my house? Almost trivially easy, and that's that. 

"So you could comply, and we could find something easy or you could..." I smirk, holding out the last word for a moment before continuing. "struggle, and we could find something harder." I shrug and laugh softly, pacing a few steps to the side before planting my feet and waiting for an answer.

"Your choice, boy. It all comes down to you and your actions."

418 WORDS | SONG

[mat]

[googlefont="Akronim:400"]

tobias staite

Half of me wanted to run, to get out of trouble and never return to it. My family has always thought of me to be a good child, and getting in trouble for something I did not even know was a crime would be stupid. I do not want to get hurt, mentally or physically, by taking a breather and swimming to find peace the inside of me.

The other half of me wanted to stay and accept my fate. After all, Zeke never got to decide who he was in life, he was just molded into what he was by his surroundings. And Daria Staite never got the chance to back away from the Games, and instead got dragged into them without a say in anything. She had to fight for her life, and people fought harder than her. They never got to choose, so what right do I have to choose? I don't.

I watch him loosen the collar of his uniform, and I begin to squirm back. It was idiotic not to just bolt out of there, but right now, I'm a pet and he's my owner. No matter how hard I may not like the actions being taken, and I have to live with them. It must be scary to be a pet, easily manipulated by the humans that act like their on the top of the world. And it's likely that we are, but people become so selfish that they think it's their right to breathe in clean air and shove everyone who isn't worthy of them away.

I continue to breathe, trying not to scream for help or draw attention. After all, I put myself into this situation, not this peacekeeper who is just following orders (even though I doubt their the Capitol's, more likely his own.)

I see him remove his shirt, and I feel like I'm not alone. The freeze hurts my skin and bones, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by it. "I hope you don't mind," he says, and I can't say if I do or not. He's pretty cute, but I don't know if it's correct to like someone who is basically holding you captive. "So you could comply, and we could find something easy or you could..." I remain silent when listening to his words. "struggle, and we could find something harder." I breathe.

Harder? Like what? It's as if he thinks holding me against my will isn't hard enough.

He tells me that the choice is up to me, and I don't want it to be up to me.

"Whatever.." I say, accepting fate once again. Daria and Zeke never got to choose, so when I'm given a choice, I'll let the questioner choose for me.

[flyss]

FRESH


ANCIS DELYNOVA GONER


Have you ever been around another man like me?
Gets down like me, sounds like me
Have you ever met a motherf♡cker fresh like me?
Got you on your knees, with your ripped jeans

"Whatever.." When he speaks this word, his voice is borderline submissive, a tint of 'I could care less' splattered in the midst of a canvas that it does not match. It makes me cringe, and I squat to his level, grabbing his face between my thumb and forefinger so that his cheeks rest nicely under the tips. I search his eyes hesitantly for the will that should come with any sane human being.

"Whatever?" I tighten my hand ever-so-slightly. "That doesn't sound like an answer from somebody who wants to live." My voice is soft, like usual, yet the edges of each word possess the sharpness of thinned blade. I release my grip and stand, walking a few steps away before turning back and looking down upon the captive. 

"I gave you a choice, and I expect you to choose." 

Back at home, my friends would have already taken me into a headlock and forced me into the dirt for the incompetence that this child is displaying. Earnest would have laughed and flicked me aside the head without a second thought. But the fact is, is that none of those people are here now to do that for him. To make him grow up cold as steel and aggressive to those that defy him. I close my eyes momentarily and remember a day from 12 summers ago when our class went on a field trip to one of the old arenas and I refused to walk with them around the cornucopia. It felt unsettling to think that the death of 23 children was fun, but nobody else saw that. Nobody else saw how disgusting it was to me.

I remember being shoved inside the cornucopia itself by the girl with a galaxy in her eyes. Even before all hell broke lose and even before she said the words 'I love you', Earnest Wellings was the type of girl who didn't take no for an answer. Taller than me by 4 inches at the time, it was effectively too easy to gain enough ground to force me where I didn't want to be. But I suffered through it for her- to get that kiss on the forehead and the gold star from my teacher, I smiled and pretended to be amazed from the bloodstains that laced the walls of it like spiderwebs. 

Eventually, fake interest turned into real interest, and before I knew it, the games couldn't seem to come fast enough. I suppress a smile at how good of a change that was for me- to not think like the district cowards and instead become the capitolite that I was meant to be. The peacekeeper that I was meant to be. 

Hesitantly- although nobody but myself would be able to tell- I stare at the boy with eyes of gold and nerves of silver. He'll talk, or I'll do for him what they did for me; I'll make him a man.

489 WORDS | SONG