"Yes." Theo told him. "If I had any children, this is the kind of world I would bring them into."
"It's not like you have a choice, right?" Snow patted him on the back, and laughed for a moment. "I like you, Theo. And all the Gamemakers... You're like toymakers, endlessly trying to make a new toy for the Capital to play with. I've heard you are good friends with the Head Gamemaker."
"Yes." Theo replied. "Roman and I have been friends for as long as I can remember."
"Then, I'm sure it won't startle you to know that he has been taking a keen interest in these particular Games. I gave him the idea of the Quarter Quell, and he ran away with it... at the speed of light. I was told you gave him the idea for the arena. A jungle was it?"
"Yeah. The jungle is a good place to practice stealth; Roman seemed to be leaning toward it." Theo nodded, staring back toward the cafe that the two of them used to meet every day. He could see half the city from here. "The Quarter Quell was your idea?"
"Anything related to the Hunger Games must be approved by me first." President Snow responded. "Yes, the Quell was my idea, but Roman's imaginative mind has taken it far in ways I did not intend at first. I was taken aback at first, but there was a reason I appointed him Head Gamemaker. The man has an eye for detail. He can see art where the world before him is bare...
"But now it comes to the question of, your allegiance. I like you, but there's still a very likely possibility that you don't think the same of me. That would be... disheartening to say the least. I want to know where you stand, because there's nothing that can ruin a perfectly good day more than a betrayal."
"I stand with you." Theo did his best not to say it through his teeth. "I have nowhere else to stand sir. If you haven't noticed, I haven't been much to stand recently. My leg is just too weak... It's just about the only weak part of me though."
"That's good." He turned and leaned against the railing with his back and took a sip of his white wine. "This world has too many spineless people in it. A man with a good backbone always has a place on the panel of Gamemakers. Your position is...?"
"I handle the sponsors, sir." Theo sat down in the chair beside the long conference table. As he did, he noticed a small flower garden hanging from the railing. It brought a bit of color to this otherwise drab room. Every now and then, Snow would take another glance at it. His presidential garden was world-famous as the best garden ever grown. Theo had never seen it. He'd only heard stories. However, given all the other stories about Snow, it may as well not have been true.
President Snow looked at him and frowned. He wore a look of apathy, but Theo knew it was only a mask. He turned back to the city below. "Can you not stand in front of your President?"
"Will all due respect, no I can't."
The young man did not waiver in his gaze upon the sea. He simply pulled a small white rose from his breast pocket and laid it among the other flowers in his garden. "What does it mean to you, Gamemaker?"
"What does what mean, sir?"
"The concept of hope?" He took the rose and dropped it from the balcony into the fountain below. "Because to me, and to any quality citizen of the Capital, it is nothing more than a word. But like any word... If it is used incorrectly, in harmony with its brothers and sisters, it can mean your death. So choose them carefully."
"I respectfully disagree, sir." Theo shook his head. "If hope is anything, it's glue. It doesn't reduce civilization to dust... It raises it higher."
President Snow spun around with a hint of malevolence in his piercing blue eyes. No one seemed to notice it except for Theo. "Well..." He chuckled lightly after a few seconds of shared silence. "I suppose we shall agree to disagree..."
Theo knew without a doubt that his disagreement was one way to make President Snow an enemy, but he was too tired of sucking up to the man. The world shouldn't, so why should he? While the Capital was busy sitting on their asses and whining about things that don't matter, he would be making something of the world. Theo would be the difference. President Snow wasn't going to beat down his determination with an intimidating demeanor alone.
"I have to say, I've enjoyed our talk here today, Gamemaker Warrik..." He laughed in a kind of way that made it impossible to tell if he was lying or not. "I hope we would have more soon... And I hope your strong suit is making the Games rather than wording your sentences."
"I'm sorry, Mr. President. I haven't been known to think before I act."
Snow smiled slightly and placed a hand on Theo's shoulder. Theo stood slightly taller than the man, yet when he looked down into his eyes, he really could sense evil in him. Theo liked to tell himself he wasn't afraid of the Capital... But looking directly into the eyes of the man who'd made his life hell put a kind of fear into him.
"You're a good man, Theo." Snow nodded. "I would love to keep it that way... We'll be watching your progress towards the Games from here on out."
"You're monitoring me?" Theo raised the eyebrow that was not burdened by his monocle. "Will I have no privacy?"
"What is privacy when compared to security?" He shrugged. He looked out towards the Capital city below, scanning over it for the thousandth time with his greedy eyes. "This city is full of dark places. No matter how many lamps you hold, you always cast a shadow. Don't be the man who cowers in the shadows, Gamemaker."
"I don't even know where to look for them." Theo lied. "This is the Golden City, after all."
"You seem to have reacquired your way around words." The President laughed quietly. It was a cold laugh... A scornful laugh... "Only a month ago, I had a woman here such as you. She went by the name Lynona Williams. Quite an eye for detail, that girl. If I remember correctly, she was a prodigy in engineering. The youngest Gamemaker on the panel, at 25. And you are the oldest. Are you familiar with her?"
"Yes. We've been friends for the past few months." Theo said. He didn't find anything to gain from lying here. He was growing nervous, remembering how she had left the meeting earlier that day.
"Are you...close?"
"No." He replied. "We've talked briefly about the games, and news issues, but our conversations never deviate above small talk."
"Oh really?" Snow asked. He seemed as if he knew exactly where the conversation was going. Theo didn't like its direction. "I have an eye witness report of the two of you being... more than friends to say the least."
"That's not true." Theo frowned. He truly wasn't lying this time. He'd never felt anything for Lynona, and didn't understand the accusation. They'd never been together. "Where was your source?"
"You question my source?" Snow seemed slightly angry. It was the only true emotion Theo had seen on his expression thus far. "I believe that information is behind a wall of strict classification, but what I saw was the two of you walking behind an alleyway dragging one another along by the hands. It was quite a romantic scene."
He pulled a holographic device from his jacket pocket. He set it down in the garden, pushed a button and watched as the scene unfolded. It was like he said. Theo met Lynona just outside the coffee shop. He was becoming very close to her as he spoke, and for the first time, Theo noticed she didn't back away. He took her by her hand and led her into the alleyway behind them. It did look as though it were true but it was not.
Theo remembered that day clearly. It was the first day he'd talked to her, trying to express his ideals against the Capital. Luckily, this footage was not shot from a security camera, as it was too shaky, and no audio could be heard. It meant, however, someone was behind it. Theo admitted he'd gotten a bit close to her that day, but it was only because that was always how he demonstrated his point. It was not romantic in origin, yet, he could see how President Snow could mistake it for such an action.
"Yes." Theo sighed, admitting something that was not the truth. "We became involved through the past month. Even so, is this a bad thing, what say do you have to intervene?"
President Snow looked shocked at first, but quickly shed that mentality. "She is my second cousin."
"What?"
"Lynona Williams is my second cousin and only living relative. I would ask that you stay away from her."
How could this happen? In one sentence, Theo's entire world began to unravel. Lynona was related to Snow... She had his trust... She had his plan... She had his hope... If what Snow said was true, it would only be a matter of time before his true intentions were discovered. "I'm... I'm sorry."
"I know this must be frustrating or shocking to you." He nodded. "But, it's the truth. It's more than what you gave me. I do not like being lied to, Gamemaker Warrik. Do you understand?"
"I understand, sir..." He said, shrinking into his place. He felt smaller now...
"Normally, there would be discipline involved, but I have a proposal for you." Snow extended his hand for a handshake, and Theo glared down at it. "You leave my cousin in piece, and I will forget we had this discussion. Are we clear?"
Theo took the President's hand and shook firmly. He was surprised to find his grip was very tight and his hands were as pale and as cold as ice. There was something unsettling about the texture of his handshake alone. "We're clear sir."
"Now, leave my company, Gamemaker." He commanded stiffly. "With luck, the next you'll hear from me will be congratulating you on a Games well done. I haven't lost my hope in you."
Theo turned and walked down the seemingly endless table of the conference hall. As he passed leather chair by leather chair, he thought to himself about how his plans had changed. He would need to notify Kirt and Rhetora about this."
President Snow had spoken to the Gamemaker about his hope in the Games. Theo laughed when he thought about it one more time. After all... Hope was only a word.
75% of readers chose to [A. Appeal to Snow.]
"Yes." Theo told him. "If I had any children, this is the kind of world I would bring them… more into."
"It's not like you have a choice, right?" Snow patted him on the back, and laughed for a moment. "I like you, Theo. And all the Gamemakers... You're like toymakers, endlessly trying to make a new toy for the Capital to play with. I've heard you are good friends with the Head Gamemaker."
"Yes." Theo replied. "Roman and I have been friends for as long as I can remember."
"Then, I'm sure it won't startle you to know that he has been taking a keen interest in these particular Games. I gave him the idea of the Quarter Quell, and he ran away with it... at the speed of light. I was told you gave him the idea for the arena. A jungle was it?"
"Yeah. The jungle is a good place to practice stealth; Roman seemed to be leaning toward it." Theo nodded, staring back toward the cafe that the two of th… [view original content]
75% of readers chose to [A. Appeal to Snow.]
"Yes." Theo told him. "If I had any children, this is the kind of world I would bring them… more into."
"It's not like you have a choice, right?" Snow patted him on the back, and laughed for a moment. "I like you, Theo. And all the Gamemakers... You're like toymakers, endlessly trying to make a new toy for the Capital to play with. I've heard you are good friends with the Head Gamemaker."
"Yes." Theo replied. "Roman and I have been friends for as long as I can remember."
"Then, I'm sure it won't startle you to know that he has been taking a keen interest in these particular Games. I gave him the idea of the Quarter Quell, and he ran away with it... at the speed of light. I was told you gave him the idea for the arena. A jungle was it?"
"Yeah. The jungle is a good place to practice stealth; Roman seemed to be leaning toward it." Theo nodded, staring back toward the cafe that the two of th… [view original content]
Well, for me, this is better then what we got in the books. Becuse there Capital was like: Everyone is bad*, much terror, such decadent
*Of course the guys helpin' our heroes are not, but the majority are.
Well, the Capitol kinda forced the Games on each and every one of its citizens, thus resulting them into having a belief that the Games are, overall, an entertaining "game".
Saul had been through a lot in his seventeen years on the earth. He'd lost his parents... Lost his girlfriend... He'd killed before. Sometimes he would take a step back and would feel like he had nothing left to fight for. He would spend long nights lying awake, wondering why he was here, but he only kept reminding himself of Peara. He knew that, even though he felt terrible pain in every situation, she felt it just as bad. They were all either had left.
He stared across the cheap wooden table into his sisters' eyes. They were in this together even more now than before... If that was even possible. He looked down to his hands that were cuffed at the table and watched as a plate of food was placed in front of him. He hadn't eaten in so long... yet today he wasn't hungry.
"Eat." Mr. Munrow barked at him. "You need your strength for the days to come."
"No." Saul spoke firmly. He saw that Peara had already begun scarfing down her mashed potatoes. That was like her. Even a grudge against the man who'd sent her off to die wouldn't stop her from what really mattered. Saul couldn't find the same strength in himself.
"You're going to eat it, boy." Munrow pushed the plate further toward him. He admitted the fluffy mashed potatoes and steamed green beans looked very appetizing, but his will to get the cuffs off weighed more than the pit in his stomach. "If you don't eat, you're gonna lose weight. And trust me, you do not want to be in the arena on an empty stomach." Saul didn't respond. "Well I guess I'll eat it then, if you're so persistent on getting yourself killed."
Saul sucked up his gut and spit as much he could into the plate before Munrow had a chance to take it from him. "Eat up..."
Saul didn't gaze up from his cuffs to see his former master's expression, but judging from the tone of his voice, he was angry. "This is more than I eat in three days, Saul. How hard can it be for you to take a fucking bite?"
"I'm. Not. Hungry." Saul barked at him.
"You just don't understand do you?" He sat down in the seat next to himself and his sister, rapidly waving his arms. "You're whining because you got suckered into the Games! I have news for you, boy, you're going in because the rest of your District deserved it more than you. They had something to live for."
"Say that again."
"Okay, the rest of District 11 has something to live for, you asshole." He repeated himself. "You're two orphan children who have no chance of ever being adopted. Everyone is too full with their own kids to take on two more. And the girl here's an Albar. They don't have any place in our society, even when they're of fucking age."
"We've gone through too much of your shit to have to hear about the color of Peara's skin." Saul scowled. "She isn't even a true Albar."
"And then there's you, defending her." He shot back. "If she doesn't have any place, than what does that make her older brother? You get it now? We were removing a weed in the district. We were allowed to select for ourselves who would be our tributes for the Games this year. There was no other option than the outcast and her pathetic guardian."
"Fuck off." Saul turned his head to the side. He saw in his sister's eyes she was too scared to even speak.
He looked around at the room. It was the same room as he had spent countless hours in before, with its deteriorating walls and faded floors. He wondered how he'd gone so long in his life without realizing the man whom he served as apprentice to was never a man at all, just a backstabbing traitor. This was how he was repaid for all his work in the orchards: getting sent to the Capital to die.
There was a ring at the door as it creaked open. Mr. Munrow jumped up and found his way into the front room where the business transactions were held. There were a few sentences shared at the counter, none of which could be made out by Saul. It was most likely the daily pickup for the market.
Once he was done, Munrow walked back into the room where he was keeping the prisoners. "Sir, when are we going to go to the Hunger Games?" Peara asked.
"In one week." Munrow answered. "See, at least your sister is polite. She asks the important questions instead of sitting there, useless. Just look, both of you are going into the Games one way or another, so the way I see it, might as well be prepared."
"What are you saying?" Saul moved his head up, since his neck was getting tired of slouching. He still didn't give Munrow the honor of eye contact.
"I'm saying I will personally train you, Saul." He said, waving his hands in the air as if he was holding a sword." You needs to get to the top and win. This District is on the verge of bankruptcy. A victory could bring us enough money to get our economy back to speed."
"What could you possibly have to teach us that we don't already know?"
"Have you ever had a lesson in fencing?" He replied. Saul shook his head slightly. "It's a sport of art and mastery. There's not much I can teach you in a week, but it's better than going in bare-foot."
"...What about Peara?" He looked to his sister. Her pink eyes went wide. "You'll train her too?"
"No." Munrow answered his question. Peara seemed like she was very overwhelmed. Saul didn't blame her. "I need to focus on the one who really has a chance to make it through. Peara won't survive the first night."
"Take that back, right now."
"Or what? You'll spit in your own damn food again?" He scoffed and sat back down. "I'm the only one here who is thinking logically. This is the only right way to win." Munrow reached his hand forward for a handshake and Saul had every bit of motivation to push it away, but didn't do so just yet.
Saul looked back to her sister. Every word Munrow said put another feeling of spite into his heart. Peara would survive far past the first night. He would see to that. Yet, he knew in one way, the man was right. He needed training if he ever had hope to survive. Being able to climb trees isn't always the greatest skill, since it's possible the environment wouldn't have any trees. Still though, the man was a prick. Saul was still hesitant to shake his hand.
I say accept the training. It's possible that with this training, Saul is increasing his chances of making it in Games along with Peara by his side (if they stick together). Plus, if someone were to come at him with a knife, he'd have a better chance of surviving, I guess.
Chapter 11: The Last Supper
Saul Arrem
Saul had been through a lot in his seventeen years on the earth. He'd lost his parents... Lost … morehis girlfriend... He'd killed before. Sometimes he would take a step back and would feel like he had nothing left to fight for. He would spend long nights lying awake, wondering why he was here, but he only kept reminding himself of Peara. He knew that, even though he felt terrible pain in every situation, she felt it just as bad. They were all either had left.
He stared across the cheap wooden table into his sisters' eyes. They were in this together even more now than before... If that was even possible. He looked down to his hands that were cuffed at the table and watched as a plate of food was placed in front of him. He hadn't eaten in so long... yet today he wasn't hungry.
"Eat." Mr. Munrow barked at him. "You need your strength for the days to come."
"No." Saul spoke firmly. He saw that Pear… [view original content]
Chapter 11: The Last Supper
Saul Arrem
Saul had been through a lot in his seventeen years on the earth. He'd lost his parents... Lost … morehis girlfriend... He'd killed before. Sometimes he would take a step back and would feel like he had nothing left to fight for. He would spend long nights lying awake, wondering why he was here, but he only kept reminding himself of Peara. He knew that, even though he felt terrible pain in every situation, she felt it just as bad. They were all either had left.
He stared across the cheap wooden table into his sisters' eyes. They were in this together even more now than before... If that was even possible. He looked down to his hands that were cuffed at the table and watched as a plate of food was placed in front of him. He hadn't eaten in so long... yet today he wasn't hungry.
"Eat." Mr. Munrow barked at him. "You need your strength for the days to come."
"No." Saul spoke firmly. He saw that Pear… [view original content]
Chapter 11: The Last Supper
Saul Arrem
Saul had been through a lot in his seventeen years on the earth. He'd lost his parents... Lost … morehis girlfriend... He'd killed before. Sometimes he would take a step back and would feel like he had nothing left to fight for. He would spend long nights lying awake, wondering why he was here, but he only kept reminding himself of Peara. He knew that, even though he felt terrible pain in every situation, she felt it just as bad. They were all either had left.
He stared across the cheap wooden table into his sisters' eyes. They were in this together even more now than before... If that was even possible. He looked down to his hands that were cuffed at the table and watched as a plate of food was placed in front of him. He hadn't eaten in so long... yet today he wasn't hungry.
"Eat." Mr. Munrow barked at him. "You need your strength for the days to come."
"No." Saul spoke firmly. He saw that Pear… [view original content]
It looks like I am the only one who voted to refuse Munrow's training. It's not that I want Saul to die, quite the contrary, but I deeply and viciously loathe Munrow, enough to refuse his offer. In Saul's case, I would never accept help from someone like him. However, after voting, I realized that maybe Saul even gets an opportunity to kill Munrow during this training, so I am glad that the rest voted to accept it. With a bit of luck, Saul gets an opportunity for revenge on that fucker.
Chapter 11: The Last Supper
Saul Arrem
Saul had been through a lot in his seventeen years on the earth. He'd lost his parents... Lost … morehis girlfriend... He'd killed before. Sometimes he would take a step back and would feel like he had nothing left to fight for. He would spend long nights lying awake, wondering why he was here, but he only kept reminding himself of Peara. He knew that, even though he felt terrible pain in every situation, she felt it just as bad. They were all either had left.
He stared across the cheap wooden table into his sisters' eyes. They were in this together even more now than before... If that was even possible. He looked down to his hands that were cuffed at the table and watched as a plate of food was placed in front of him. He hadn't eaten in so long... yet today he wasn't hungry.
"Eat." Mr. Munrow barked at him. "You need your strength for the days to come."
"No." Saul spoke firmly. He saw that Pear… [view original content]
It looks like I am the only one who voted to refuse Munrow's training. It's not that I want Saul to die, quite the contrary, but I deeply an… mored viciously loathe Munrow, enough to refuse his offer. In Saul's case, I would never accept help from someone like him. However, after voting, I realized that maybe Saul even gets an opportunity to kill Munrow during this training, so I am glad that the rest voted to accept it. With a bit of luck, Saul gets an opportunity for revenge on that fucker.
86% of readers chose to [A. Accept Munrow's training.]
He reached his hand forth, dragging the other one cuffed behind. He shook Munrow's hand hard and hoped he squeezed tight enough to cause the man discomfort. "I don't know how you live with yourself, you coward." Saul sneered.
"It's easy once you get past your childish assumption that everything is about you." Munrow peered him down. "I'm doing this so the rest of the district doesn't have to suffer knowing that they betrayed one of their own. I'm bearing that burden for them. So, yes, I am able to sleep with my cowardice."
Saul let go of the man's hand and slumped back in his seat. Mr. Munrow did the same. "I will begin your lessons tomorrow. We won't have much time, with the deadline for our choice of tributes being in less than a week, but for now, I will teach to the first lesson of swordplay. Empty your mind, and calm the hell down."
"Calm down?" Saul spat back at him. "You're telling me to calm down after you set fire to your own orchard, blamed me and my sister for something we didn't do, and then decided to send us off to die in a war we didn't start. How the fuck can you tell me to calm down?"
"It beats throwing a tantrum like you're doing." The man shook his head. The tassels on his beard swayed a bit from side to side. "If it helps, I'm going to leave you alone to speak with your sister for a little while. Don't try to escape. If you do, things will be a lot worse for you."
Saul wanted to speak again, but was so consumed by his own raw hatred that he couldn't bring himself to do so. Munrow got up and began to leave. As soon as he closed the door, Saul leaned forward to the table. "Peara, are you all right? Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine." Peara replied. She let out a sigh of relief now that Munrow was gone. "Saul... I don't like that man. How did you work for him for so long?"
He sighed. "Back then I had no idea what kind of a piece of shit he was..."
"Is what they're saying true?" Peara asked. "We're going to be in the Hunger Games? How can that be? They didn't do the Reaping this year."
"It's true... It's all true." He slammed his hand on the table in frustration. He just couldn't believe he had let this happen. If only he had kept quiet about the fire in the first place. Then there would be nothing to pin on them and Munrow would have been the one blamed... Goddamnit! He hated to say it, but he would have happily watched his home burn to the ground if it meant he and his sister would not have to put up with this today.
"I'm going to die, aren't I...?" She cried from across the table. Saul felt a need to crawl across the table to give her a hug, but his hands and feet were bound. It was terrible, since he'd hardly ever seen the girl cry before... He was on the verge himself. "That's what he said..."
"You're not going to die. I'll make sure of it."
"But... Only one of us can make it out." Peara responded. "There's only one victor."
"And it's you."
"What will happen to you?" Saul didn't answer her. She knew what he meant, and he did as well. Saying it out loud would have just dug a deeper hole in her heart. "Saul... Why do you stick up for me?"
"What?" He asked. "Why would you ask something like that?"
"The world hates me... Everyone hates me, just because I was born with this thing that makes my skin really light-toned. So, why do you look out for me? Because then... They try to get you too."
"Peara, look. You're my sister." Saul reassured her. "I love you more than anything. And you may not realize this, but you're there for me just as much as I'm there for you. Both of us are all each other have left."
Peara looked to the side at one of the more sturdy walls in the room. "But... If I win the Hunger Games... What will I have left?"
Saul legitimately froze for a moment. He'd been so focused on Peara making it through the games that he hadn't stopped to consider what she would do afterward. When he found his answer a couple seconds had passed. "You'll be alive. I'll look out for you, even from wherever I'm at. I'll be there. Don't you worry."
"I'm already worried, Saul..." She picked up her knees onto her chair and hugged them close to her.
"Me too..." Saul was having trouble speaking with her. He was never the most fluent with words, but normally he was able to get the job done. But this time, he kept choking up. "I just..." He sighed. "I just wish that whatever happens in your life, people would see you as you... And not just one of the Albars."
"I want to live..."
"So do I..."
"I want it to stop..."
"So do I..."
A few minutes in silence passed before the door behind them cracked open. "Oh my god!" He heard a familiar voice. It was the director of their orphanage, Ethel Jugby. She came around the side of the table into Saul's field of vision, holding a small wax candle. Munrow followed behind her. "Peara! Saul! I came as soon as I heard about this... This can't be happening."
"You speak to them as though they are equals..." Munrow spat at her. "They are prisoners. Our tributes..."
"I've known these kids for far longer than you, asshole!" Ethel chanted back. "Learn some manners." Ethel was just a little over thirty years old, and she still looked old as a teenager. Her black hair was tied in a pony tail on her shoulder and she wore a hot pink blouse with dots in white. "It's true, isn't it...?" Ethel asked, bending down the table. "You're the new tributes..."
"May the odds be ever in your favor..." Saul repeated, slumping down into his chair. "You heard?"
"Virtually the whole town heard, Saul. Most of them are in relief over the fact their children didn't get chosen... They said you were being imprisoned by a local tender of orchards... Just lucky I knew where you were..."
"You can't just burst in here like this." Munrow shouted at her, putting his hands on his hips. "This is a private establishment."
She frowned at him. "It stopped being private the minute you turned it into a prison. These kids don't deserve this."
"Neither do any of the other kids in District 11... Am I the only one looking out for the common interest here?"
"Yes." Ethel shot back at him. He was taken aback for a few moments, but then regained his composure. He took Ethel by the arm and began to forcefully shove her from the room. "Let go of me, you son of a bitch!"
"Ethel!" Peara shouted, coming forward from her chair as far as she could with her chains.
"Peara! You're gonna be okay! Just never leave Saul's side! Never leave him!" The more she struggled, the more Munrow tightened his grip. Saul could see white marks where his hands were cutting into her arms. "Let go of me, creep!" She managed to get one of her hands free and slapped him hard across the jaw.
Munrow frowned in anger as he turned his face back toward her. He raised his own Palm in the air and brought it down hard on Ethel's cheek, knocking her onto the ground. "Learn your respect." He told her. It somehow intensified Saul's urge to leap from his seat.
Munrow started to drag Ethel from the room. She put up much less of a fight on the ground. Once he came back. He slammed the door and walked into the center of the room, halfway between Saul and Peara. "You're a monster..." Saul muttered under his breath.
"I know..." He replied with heavy breaths. "But so are you."
86% of readers chose to [A. Accept Munrow's training.]
He reached his hand forth, dragging the other one cuffed behind. He shook Munrow… more's hand hard and hoped he squeezed tight enough to cause the man discomfort. "I don't know how you live with yourself, you coward." Saul sneered.
"It's easy once you get past your childish assumption that everything is about you." Munrow peered him down. "I'm doing this so the rest of the district doesn't have to suffer knowing that they betrayed one of their own. I'm bearing that burden for them. So, yes, I am able to sleep with my cowardice."
Saul let go of the man's hand and slumped back in his seat. Mr. Munrow did the same. "I will begin your lessons tomorrow. We won't have much time, with the deadline for our choice of tributes being in less than a week, but for now, I will teach to the first lesson of swordplay. Empty your mind, and calm the hell down."
"Calm down?" Saul spat back at him. "… [view original content]
The only thing Marten could feel was regret. It bled through his conscience like water through a strainer. Today was the first he'd ever killed. If he was lucky, it would be the last. He kept wondering why he couldn't get upset. After all, he'd just flushed his life away in a single choice that was made in thirty seconds. He wasn't sure if he would ever see his sister or mother again, and he knew it was entirely his fault. Yet, every time he wanted to bend over and let the feelings wash over him, all he felt was regret. It was a lonely feeling... cold...
It was dark in prison. He couldn't see, and it smelled of rancid odor. He tried to hold his breath to stop himself from vomiting, but the more he held in, the more he wanted to simply let out. Both arms were chained on eiher side of him. The chains were fastened to the walls of his cell, and his shirt had been torn clean off. Marten's legs ached like hell. The Peacekeepers had put him on a forced march into town, easily spanning at least ten miles. He was used to hiking, but with the weight of his actions on his shoulders, his footprints sunk even deeper into the ground.
He lifted his head just enough to watch strands of his curly blonde hair fall in front of his eyes. The iron bars in front of him were very thick, and were spaced apart closely enough that even the thinnest of people would have a hard time sticking anything more than their arm through. Every other wall in the cell was made of brick. This prison was the most sturdy place in all of District 4.
"Ah, the young killer..." There was a voice of a Peacekeeper just behind his field of vision. When he walked into the picture, Marten could see he was the same who'd knocked him out in the river. He had dark gray hair and a nose bigger than most any other aspect of his face. "Does it make you feel good, knowing that somewhere out there a family is going to sleep with one less member than it woke up with? Does it make you happy that there is blood trickling down your hands?"
Marten stayed silent. He had lost the purpose of speaking. Every word he said was only turned around at him and used against him.
"Not a talker, huh?" The Peacekeeper asked. He pulled a small knife from the pouch on his right leg and began caressing its sides with his fingers. "My name is Poole. I am the uncle of the boy you killed... He was full of ambition. He was going places with his life you could only dream of. Places that I could only dream of... And now he's gone... because of you."
Marten looked away and to the side. He couldn't meet the man's condescending glare. He already had enough guilt in his heart. He didn't need the man adding any more. Poole slid open the gate to the cell and stepped inside. The sunlight from the window behind him was slowly fading, but he could still see the particles of dust separating as the Peacekeeper strode through them. "I want you to know that you have been sentenced to life in prison. No trial... No anything. You will spend the rest of you solitary life within these walls. I didn't agree with their decision. I told them you had to die. An eye for an eye, right?" Marten shook his head slightly, trying as hard as he could to not let his words in. Poole reached down and grabbed the boy by the chin, jolting it to the side. "Look at me... You are nothing."
Marten slowly put his knee in front of him and used it to climb up to a standing position. He stood at least six inches taller than the man, but Poole didn't back down. He drove a well maneuvered fist into Marten's rib cage, and he could feel it crack slightly. He cowered in pain, but eventually fought through it and repositioned himself. Poole shook his head and frowned. "At least you've got courage. I'll give you that much." He delivered a swift blow to Marten's ankle and sent him spiraling back to the ground. He hit hard, and coughed out the dust he'd inhaled. "Do you know what I'm going to do with this knife?"
Marten shook his head, sweat dropping off his chin and onto the ground. Poole spit on the ground in front of Marten and it only added to his wish to vomit. He walked around to behind him and bent down to his level. "I want you to say it... Say what you said to Ronn as you bashed the life from his skull..."
Marten shrugged, closing his eyes. "Don't you fucking tell me you don't know, dammit! You remember exactly what you said! Don't insult me by playing innocent..."
"You are nothing..." Marten muttered softly.
"Louder!"
"You are nothing!" He repeated, jerking his head to the side.
"No, you are nothing." Poole said. Marten felt a jolt of intense pain above his left shoulder blade, and screamed as it slid downward just past it. Although it wasn't a deep cut, it was deep enough to leak blood. It was one of the most painful things Marten had ever experienced, but he bore through it and kept firm. "Say it again."
"You are nothing!"
Poole slid the knife along his back again, causing him to yelp in pain. It was on his right shoulder. This time rather than a line, there was a bit more of a shape to it. It covered more surface than the last cut, and hurt ten times more. Once more, he fought through the immense pain to control it.
"AGAIN!"
"YOU ARE NOTHING!"
The Peacekeeper moved into his lower back and made many small cuts, spanning from the left side of his torso all the way to the right. Marten collapsed on the ground, finally beginning to leak tears. It felt as though his back had been lit on fire. The pain wouldn't go away. All the skin on his entire back felt like it had been ripped off. "You still don't understand pain." Poole barked at him, crossing around to his front side and dropping the bloody knife in front of his face. He had an urge to break free of his chains and steal the knife away from him, but the chains were too strong... stronger than even he. "You lay there in your own puddle of blood feeling sorry for yourself. It hurts doesn't it... Now just imagine what it feels like on the inside..."
"I know what loss is..." Marten choked through his heavy breaths.
"Bull. Shit." Poole whispered back. "You have no idea what it's like to be surrounded by death every day. It's haunting. Everywhere I look, I have to deal with another case like yours. Another asshole feels entitled to another man's life. Then they don't get what they deserve. I'm sick of it... so it's going to end today."
"Think of what they'll say..." Marten whispered back. He couldn't raise his voice any more. "They'll throw you in here with me..."
"Does it look like I give a shit?" Poole shook his head.
With a lot of effort, Marten managed to lift himself back into his kneeling position. He tried to peer back to his back to see the damage, but the moment he spotted the first sign of blood he was queasy. He could tell that the Peacekeeper carved words into his back, but he didn't have the strength to look to find out. "What did you do to me? What does it say?"
Poole stood back up onto his feet, dusting off his pant legs. "What do you think it says?"
Marten didn't respond. He knew exactly what it said, but he didn't want to think about it, so he forced it from his mind. Yet, when the thought left, the regret leaked back through. Now, mixed with the pain on his back, it was more present than ever.
"You're weak..." Poole uttered, gritting he teeth through his unshaven beard. "You can't even hold your own against the damn pain. A man endures the suffering..."
"Is that what you're doing here? Enduring?" Marten scowled up at him. "You're a hypocrite. You're going to kill me, and then talk about how wrong killing is..."
"Yes... I'm weak too..." Poole barked. He picked up his knife from in front of him and wiped the blood off on the cloth in his armor, staining it red. "But it doesn't bother me, knowing I will avenge my nephew's murder. Do you have any last words, Marten Lewis?"
I do like Marten slightly more now. I found him a bit meh in his introductory chapter and I am still not sure what to think of him, but I am interested in where his story is going. For this choice, I chose to ask for forgiveness, because I think this shows that he is still capable of compassion and regret. Sure, Poole is a dick, but I can understand his anger and I also don't want Marten to become some sort of cold-blooded murderer.
As for the last part, I had no time to comment yet, but I fully agree with Stan. Munrow has to die. That guy is a complete bastard and by far my least favourite character in the story.
Chapter 12: The Dimmer Light
Marten Lewis
The only thing Marten could feel was regret. It bled through his conscience like water throu… moregh a strainer. Today was the first he'd ever killed. If he was lucky, it would be the last. He kept wondering why he couldn't get upset. After all, he'd just flushed his life away in a single choice that was made in thirty seconds. He wasn't sure if he would ever see his sister or mother again, and he knew it was entirely his fault. Yet, every time he wanted to bend over and let the feelings wash over him, all he felt was regret. It was a lonely feeling... cold...
It was dark in prison. He couldn't see, and it smelled of rancid odor. He tried to hold his breath to stop himself from vomiting, but the more he held in, the more he wanted to simply let out. Both arms were chained on eiher side of him. The chains were fastened to the walls of his cell, and his shirt had been torn clean off. Marten's legs ac… [view original content]
Ah, yeah. The whole murder aspect is going to be a part of Marten's character, but it's not going to be all of him. And like I said before, Munrow is not safe forever, but he has a while to go in the story. Also, in Chapter 10, I noticed nobody commented on the plot point about the Lynona and Theo thing. Do you have any thoughts on that?
I do like Marten slightly more now. I found him a bit meh in his introductory chapter and I am still not sure what to think of him, but I am… more interested in where his story is going. For this choice, I chose to ask for forgiveness, because I think this shows that he is still capable of compassion and regret. Sure, Poole is a dick, but I can understand his anger and I also don't want Marten to become some sort of cold-blooded murderer.
As for the last part, I had no time to comment yet, but I fully agree with Stan. Munrow has to die. That guy is a complete bastard and by far my least favourite character in the story.
Chapter 12: The Dimmer Light
Marten Lewis
The only thing Marten could feel was regret. It bled through his conscience like water throu… moregh a strainer. Today was the first he'd ever killed. If he was lucky, it would be the last. He kept wondering why he couldn't get upset. After all, he'd just flushed his life away in a single choice that was made in thirty seconds. He wasn't sure if he would ever see his sister or mother again, and he knew it was entirely his fault. Yet, every time he wanted to bend over and let the feelings wash over him, all he felt was regret. It was a lonely feeling... cold...
It was dark in prison. He couldn't see, and it smelled of rancid odor. He tried to hold his breath to stop himself from vomiting, but the more he held in, the more he wanted to simply let out. Both arms were chained on eiher side of him. The chains were fastened to the walls of his cell, and his shirt had been torn clean off. Marten's legs ac… [view original content]
Chapter 12: The Dimmer Light
Marten Lewis
The only thing Marten could feel was regret. It bled through his conscience like water throu… moregh a strainer. Today was the first he'd ever killed. If he was lucky, it would be the last. He kept wondering why he couldn't get upset. After all, he'd just flushed his life away in a single choice that was made in thirty seconds. He wasn't sure if he would ever see his sister or mother again, and he knew it was entirely his fault. Yet, every time he wanted to bend over and let the feelings wash over him, all he felt was regret. It was a lonely feeling... cold...
It was dark in prison. He couldn't see, and it smelled of rancid odor. He tried to hold his breath to stop himself from vomiting, but the more he held in, the more he wanted to simply let out. Both arms were chained on eiher side of him. The chains were fastened to the walls of his cell, and his shirt had been torn clean off. Marten's legs ac… [view original content]
Yes, I had a bad feeling with Lynona ever since we learned about Theo's plan in Chapter 8. This definitely explains her reluctance to join Theo's conspiracy group. I am not sure if she is fully on Snow's side, or else I think he would already now, but I guess she could end up ruining the plan in some way, sooner or later.
Ah, yeah. The whole murder aspect is going to be a part of Marten's character, but it's not going to be all of him. And like I said before, … moreMunrow is not safe forever, but he has a while to go in the story. Also, in Chapter 10, I noticed nobody commented on the plot point about the Lynona and Theo thing. Do you have any thoughts on that?
Hey guys, I just made a wattpad version of the story if you ever want to go and reread it without the trouble of the comments. I tidied it up a bit, editing and such.
Hey guys, I just made a wattpad version of the story if you ever want to go and reread it without the trouble of the comments. I tidied it up a bit, editing and such.
https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/53519819-the-hunger-games-the-pawns
Okay that'd be cool. If they want to participate in the vote though, you should forward them the first halves of the parts from here because I'm only uploading whole chapters to wattpad.
"No." Marten said back. He summoned the rest of his strength and placed his leg in front of his chest. He pushed off the ground and lifted himself onto his feet. From an upright position, he could feel the blood from the cuts on his back trickling faster than before. "Kill me and be done with it."
Poole looked into Marten's eyes, and then back down at his knife. It was obvious what he was feeling. Marten had felt it too, right before he killed Ronn. It was hesitation on whether to kill or spare the victim... It was a tense feeling, as if it defined the man behind it. Poole's face hardened after a moment and raised the knife behind his head. Marten clutched his chains and prepped for death.
"My boy's got a pair on him. That much is certain." There was another voice in the room. It came from Marten's right and was husky and thick. He didn't get to hear it much nowadays, but could recognize it anyway. The man coughed. "He takes after his old man..."
The Peacekeeper turned and exited the room for just a minute. He peeked over into the cell adjacent to him. "You, shut up!" He yelled. "This is happening one way or another. Your son killed my nephew. He has to die! It's the natural order of things..."
"Then why haven't I died yet?" Marten's father replied. He couldn't see the man, yet he could tell there was a smirk on his face. "Tell me, bitch... I've killed four or five in my time. What makes him so special he gets the chopping block before I do?"
Poole disappeared from view completely, and into the argument. All that Marten could hear was the two of their voices, yet he could see what was happening without the sight of it. "You wanna die, Zak?" Poole shouted at him. "I can make that happen!"
"What makes you the one to do it?" His father yelled back in haste. "You think you got a right to take the place of District 4's vigilante executioner? You kill me or my boy... you oughtta be locked up in here with us."
"I will accept the consequences of my actions fully." Poole sighed. "This is what I was meant to do. I am the justice this District needs."
"Does the district need revenge... Or do you?"
There was a long pause in which no words were shared. Poole was so evidently hesitant to be here in the first place. He had only just talked himself into doing this. All the extra voices in his head seemed to confuse him further. "My... my nephew is..."
"You're nephew is dead?" Zak barked. "Yeah. You've said that more than a few times now. Don't excuse it though. You kill him... What do you think my family's gonna do to you? And what will your family do to them. Kill if you have to. In this shit world, killing is necessary, but it ain't revenge. It only leads to more revenge."
"I can see your point, but how am I supposed to just let this go...? He needs to feel the pain he brought me."
"You dragged a knife through his back..."
"Not deep enough..."
"Just drop it." Zak snarled. Marten could hear footsteps, sounding like he was walking toward the bars of the cage. He must not have been chained in restraints like his son. "Right now. And this whole thing ends right here. You let justice take its natural course, and you'll get your vengeance someday."
"I know..." Poole said. More regret started to flow into his sentences. "I'm in the Peacekeeping force... I know the damn law, but... He has no respect. Acts like we're equals..."
"Shake on it." Zak replied. "You take this handshake, and chuck this in the river. No one needs to get any more hurt."
"I suppose you're right." There was a sort of clapping sound, which Marten assumed was the sound of the handshake taking place. He let out a sigh of relief, knowing that his life would be spared. "I'm sorry... I was just so angry, I didn't know-"
There was a metallic slam that echoed through the chamber. The sound of a struggle lasted for five seconds, with clawing sounds, and banging against the iron bars. Then, there was a loud snapping, and a thud on the ground. Several moments later, Zak appeared from the cell into Marten's field of view. He held a chain of keys and found the right one to open the door.
"You didn't..." Marten said to him.
"Didn't what?" Zak walked through and began to undo his metal cuffs. The clothes he was wearing were tattered, and looked as if they were made from random scraps of cloth found on the street. He was barefoot to match. His blonde beard was three times as long as the last time he visited, and even had a bit of gray in it. The man still had on an expressionless face with the glowing green eyes of a man who hated the world. "You know exactly what I did. And I did it for you, Marten."
"You killed him..." Marten looked him in the eye, rubbing his swollen wrists.
"He would have killed you." He turned and exited the cell. Marten followed him closely behind. It was the first time he and his father had walked so close since he was very young. "I may be a piece of shit for leaving your mother to raise the two of you, but I try to do the most I can from that cell. Don't have to no more though."
"Pop..." Marten whispered. He still had trouble processing what had just happened. "Where will you go? You're a fugitive."
"And so are you." He responded, taking the tattered shirt off the desk and handing it to his son. "You learn to play the hand you're dealt, son... We were stacked against."
Marten looked to his right when he stepped out of the cell, and the scene was grotesque. It disgusted him. Poole laid hunched over on the ground. His eyes were wide open and face held a distressed expression. His head was tilted to the side farther than the human head was meant to go. "He was mourning his nephew. He had every right to be angry."
Zak coughed, threw on a pair of combat boots and began suiting into a Peacekeeper's uniform. "Look, it may have been a ploy just to get out of that fucking cell, but I meant everything I said to the man. Vengeance ain't the answer. I know you think I'm a monster because of the stuff I've done... But all of it. Every single act, I've done out of necessity or in self-defense. He stopped having the right to get mad when he carved words into your body."
"But..."
Zak interrupted him as he zipped up the last part of his suit, pushing open the doors to the outside. It was far brighter out there, even with the night descending down on them. "I'm gonna leave. You may never see me again, but I want you to know I love you, boy. Got it?"
"...Yes." Marten replied, confused at the quickened rate he was talking. The way he adorned his disguise in a split second, he had been thinking about this escape for quite some time.
"Go back to Willy and your mother." He commanded. "Let them know you're safe, but don't tell them anything about where I am. They'd just get overly upset. Not like you. You're a tough kid... Standing up to the face of death like that... I know I ain't been around a lot, but I see a lot of myself in you."
"Ok, Pop..." Marten told him. He wasn't sure how not to obey, with the forcefulness in his father's tone. "They'll find me though... They'll take me..."
"Yes. And they'll kill you. Just like they'll kill me." He put the white helmet on his head and the only thing Marten could make out of his face was strands of his beard slightly from the neck. "But you need to get one last goodbye in before you bite it. Me... I have a few things I gotta do."
Zak picked up the electric gun that was mounted on the wall by the security desk. He loaded it and held it like he always knew how to operate it. He ran outside swiftly, and just before he disappeared into the woods, he looked across his left shoulder and waved for the last time to his son. Marten found he couldn't wave back... He didn't like to let things go... Especially when they were important to him.
Marten threw on the tattered white shirt he wore before he was thrown in the dungeon. It provided very little warmth now, but it covered the ugly scar on his back that he knew was there. It still hurt like hell, and it needed to get bandaged quickly, but he knew he could make it home before he bled to death.
As he stepped out into the warm spring night, the light of the day had all but vanished. At least he had a task to set his mind to now, but he felt more alone now than ever before. It was dark in prison, yet the dimmer light felt like a beacon in the fog compared to the walk home.
71% of readers chose to [B. Stand back up.]
"No." Marten said back. He summoned the rest of his strength and placed his leg in front of… more his chest. He pushed off the ground and lifted himself onto his feet. From an upright position, he could feel the blood from the cuts on his back trickling faster than before. "Kill me and be done with it."
Poole looked into Marten's eyes, and then back down at his knife. It was obvious what he was feeling. Marten had felt it too, right before he killed Ronn. It was hesitation on whether to kill or spare the victim... It was a tense feeling, as if it defined the man behind it. Poole's face hardened after a moment and raised the knife behind his head. Marten clutched his chains and prepped for death.
"My boy's got a pair on him. That much is certain." There was another voice in the room. It came from Marten's right and was husky and thick. He didn't get to hear it much nowadays, but could recognize … [view original content]
Somehow, the moonlight lit up his house just as well as the sun did. It was one story, but wider than a normal home, as they had to cram more family members inside than the normal District 4 home. Marten opened the rickety wooden door slowly, not sure what he would find inside. He had lived here all his life, yet it felt new to him today.
When he stepped in, his step caused the floor to creak, and he was shocked to find the place was unlit and empty. Normally at this time, his cousins were jumping around the living room. His uncle would be playing poker at the table with his wife and Marten's mother. It was eerily quiet.
He stepped through his house for a few moments wondering where everyone had gone. He was willing to settle with the fact that they were not there though, when the searing pain in his back jumped back to him. He walked quickly to his kitchen, and through the door to the bathroom. With a thrust of his hand, he pulled open the medicine cabinet and found a brown bottle of liquid. He wasn't sure of what it was called, but he knew his mother used it whenever one of the family was bleeding. He tore his shirt from his shoulders, he took the bottle and poured a bit down his neck.
It stung harshly in every place where the knife had drawn a wound. He couldn't take it, and buckled over, gripping the rims of the sink with enough force almost to crack it. For the first time, with every bit of the wound aching like hell, Marten could finally tell for sure what Poole had written into his back. "I AM NOTHING." It felt awkward to read words by touch rather than by his sight, but he couldn't see anything transcribed on his back. The cuts opened slightly when he poured the brown liquid onto them, but the way he felt them close again, he knew it was going to leave a scar...
Marten looked back into the cabinet above him and found a roll of gauze. He found the end of it, and pressed it down to his lower chest using the sink. He passed the roll around him over and over until his entire back was covered in white. He took the small medical stapler on the top shelf and clipped the end to one of the other strands beside it. He felt blood soak into the back of the bandage, but not nearly as quickly as it had stained his shirt. He moved his arm around in every direction it could slowly. It hurt like a bitch, but far less than it would have if it had not been treated.
Satisfied with his job, he closed the cabinet and looked into the mirror he uncovered. He saw a man whose sweat had made his once curly blonde hair droop into almost straight form. His round, firm face was coated with dust from prison. He saw a man who had been beaten to death by the world around him. He saw a murderer in that mirror. When he was young, he used to come in this room and look himself in the eyes. He used to wonder whether in his later years, he could look at himself and be proud of who he had become. Now, with Ronn's blood on his hands, he wasn't sure whether he ever would again.
He opened the door and was startled to find a woman standing outside. She had a short kitchen knife aimed in Marten's direction, but she was so shaky, he wasn't sure whether it could be trusted to hurt him very badly. Her hair was light black with some gray in it, and her eyes were the same shade as Marten's. Once either of them realized who the other was, all the hostility was dropped. It was his mother.
She wrapped her arms hard around him. He wanted to grunt in pain from the cuts on his back, but he fought through it and hugged her back. "I thought you were gone..." She cried into her son's chest. She was one of the shorter members of the family.
"I'm right here, Mum." He replied. She didn't let go just yet.
"I was so sure when they announced you'd been arrested, we would never be allowed to see you very much any more... Like what happened with your father... How on earth did you get out of prison?"
Marten thought back to the events that took place. His father had sabotaged the Peacekeeper's attempt to execute him, but in doing so, he had cost another life. Salla was already worn so thin... He wasn't sure if unleashing the truth on her might just break her down completely. It felt as though she were on thin ice.
Ah damn, I missed the chance to comment on the last part, so let me just say that I agree with Stan. You did a good job in making Marten more likeable with the last two chapters. Sure, he still can't compete against Aura and Saul when it comes to my favourite, but nonetheless, I like him a bit more now, perhaps as much as I like Theo. For this choice, I chose to tell his mother the truth, because I think he should be honest with her about what happened.
Chapter 13: House Arrest
Marten Lewis
Somehow, the moonlight lit up his house just as well as the sun did. It was one story, but wider… more than a normal home, as they had to cram more family members inside than the normal District 4 home. Marten opened the rickety wooden door slowly, not sure what he would find inside. He had lived here all his life, yet it felt new to him today.
When he stepped in, his step caused the floor to creak, and he was shocked to find the place was unlit and empty. Normally at this time, his cousins were jumping around the living room. His uncle would be playing poker at the table with his wife and Marten's mother. It was eerily quiet.
He stepped through his house for a few moments wondering where everyone had gone. He was willing to settle with the fact that they were not there though, when the searing pain in his back jumped back to him. He walked quickly to his kitchen, and through the door to the bathroo… [view original content]
Chapter 13: House Arrest
Marten Lewis
Somehow, the moonlight lit up his house just as well as the sun did. It was one story, but wider… more than a normal home, as they had to cram more family members inside than the normal District 4 home. Marten opened the rickety wooden door slowly, not sure what he would find inside. He had lived here all his life, yet it felt new to him today.
When he stepped in, his step caused the floor to creak, and he was shocked to find the place was unlit and empty. Normally at this time, his cousins were jumping around the living room. His uncle would be playing poker at the table with his wife and Marten's mother. It was eerily quiet.
He stepped through his house for a few moments wondering where everyone had gone. He was willing to settle with the fact that they were not there though, when the searing pain in his back jumped back to him. He walked quickly to his kitchen, and through the door to the bathroo… [view original content]
Comments
Oh, just generally. You wrote him excellently though.
Oh thanks.
For some reason, I have Neil Patrick Harris in my head when I write him.
75% of readers chose to [A. Appeal to Snow.]
"Yes." Theo told him. "If I had any children, this is the kind of world I would bring them into."
"It's not like you have a choice, right?" Snow patted him on the back, and laughed for a moment. "I like you, Theo. And all the Gamemakers... You're like toymakers, endlessly trying to make a new toy for the Capital to play with. I've heard you are good friends with the Head Gamemaker."
"Yes." Theo replied. "Roman and I have been friends for as long as I can remember."
"Then, I'm sure it won't startle you to know that he has been taking a keen interest in these particular Games. I gave him the idea of the Quarter Quell, and he ran away with it... at the speed of light. I was told you gave him the idea for the arena. A jungle was it?"
"Yeah. The jungle is a good place to practice stealth; Roman seemed to be leaning toward it." Theo nodded, staring back toward the cafe that the two of them used to meet every day. He could see half the city from here. "The Quarter Quell was your idea?"
"Anything related to the Hunger Games must be approved by me first." President Snow responded. "Yes, the Quell was my idea, but Roman's imaginative mind has taken it far in ways I did not intend at first. I was taken aback at first, but there was a reason I appointed him Head Gamemaker. The man has an eye for detail. He can see art where the world before him is bare...
"But now it comes to the question of, your allegiance. I like you, but there's still a very likely possibility that you don't think the same of me. That would be... disheartening to say the least. I want to know where you stand, because there's nothing that can ruin a perfectly good day more than a betrayal."
"I stand with you." Theo did his best not to say it through his teeth. "I have nowhere else to stand sir. If you haven't noticed, I haven't been much to stand recently. My leg is just too weak... It's just about the only weak part of me though."
"That's good." He turned and leaned against the railing with his back and took a sip of his white wine. "This world has too many spineless people in it. A man with a good backbone always has a place on the panel of Gamemakers. Your position is...?"
"I handle the sponsors, sir." Theo sat down in the chair beside the long conference table. As he did, he noticed a small flower garden hanging from the railing. It brought a bit of color to this otherwise drab room. Every now and then, Snow would take another glance at it. His presidential garden was world-famous as the best garden ever grown. Theo had never seen it. He'd only heard stories. However, given all the other stories about Snow, it may as well not have been true.
President Snow looked at him and frowned. He wore a look of apathy, but Theo knew it was only a mask. He turned back to the city below. "Can you not stand in front of your President?"
"Will all due respect, no I can't."
The young man did not waiver in his gaze upon the sea. He simply pulled a small white rose from his breast pocket and laid it among the other flowers in his garden. "What does it mean to you, Gamemaker?"
"What does what mean, sir?"
"The concept of hope?" He took the rose and dropped it from the balcony into the fountain below. "Because to me, and to any quality citizen of the Capital, it is nothing more than a word. But like any word... If it is used incorrectly, in harmony with its brothers and sisters, it can mean your death. So choose them carefully."
"I respectfully disagree, sir." Theo shook his head. "If hope is anything, it's glue. It doesn't reduce civilization to dust... It raises it higher."
President Snow spun around with a hint of malevolence in his piercing blue eyes. No one seemed to notice it except for Theo. "Well..." He chuckled lightly after a few seconds of shared silence. "I suppose we shall agree to disagree..."
Theo knew without a doubt that his disagreement was one way to make President Snow an enemy, but he was too tired of sucking up to the man. The world shouldn't, so why should he? While the Capital was busy sitting on their asses and whining about things that don't matter, he would be making something of the world. Theo would be the difference. President Snow wasn't going to beat down his determination with an intimidating demeanor alone.
"I have to say, I've enjoyed our talk here today, Gamemaker Warrik..." He laughed in a kind of way that made it impossible to tell if he was lying or not. "I hope we would have more soon... And I hope your strong suit is making the Games rather than wording your sentences."
"I'm sorry, Mr. President. I haven't been known to think before I act."
Snow smiled slightly and placed a hand on Theo's shoulder. Theo stood slightly taller than the man, yet when he looked down into his eyes, he really could sense evil in him. Theo liked to tell himself he wasn't afraid of the Capital... But looking directly into the eyes of the man who'd made his life hell put a kind of fear into him.
"You're a good man, Theo." Snow nodded. "I would love to keep it that way... We'll be watching your progress towards the Games from here on out."
"You're monitoring me?" Theo raised the eyebrow that was not burdened by his monocle. "Will I have no privacy?"
"What is privacy when compared to security?" He shrugged. He looked out towards the Capital city below, scanning over it for the thousandth time with his greedy eyes. "This city is full of dark places. No matter how many lamps you hold, you always cast a shadow. Don't be the man who cowers in the shadows, Gamemaker."
"I don't even know where to look for them." Theo lied. "This is the Golden City, after all."
"You seem to have reacquired your way around words." The President laughed quietly. It was a cold laugh... A scornful laugh... "Only a month ago, I had a woman here such as you. She went by the name Lynona Williams. Quite an eye for detail, that girl. If I remember correctly, she was a prodigy in engineering. The youngest Gamemaker on the panel, at 25. And you are the oldest. Are you familiar with her?"
"Yes. We've been friends for the past few months." Theo said. He didn't find anything to gain from lying here. He was growing nervous, remembering how she had left the meeting earlier that day.
"Are you...close?"
"No." He replied. "We've talked briefly about the games, and news issues, but our conversations never deviate above small talk."
"Oh really?" Snow asked. He seemed as if he knew exactly where the conversation was going. Theo didn't like its direction. "I have an eye witness report of the two of you being... more than friends to say the least."
"That's not true." Theo frowned. He truly wasn't lying this time. He'd never felt anything for Lynona, and didn't understand the accusation. They'd never been together. "Where was your source?"
"You question my source?" Snow seemed slightly angry. It was the only true emotion Theo had seen on his expression thus far. "I believe that information is behind a wall of strict classification, but what I saw was the two of you walking behind an alleyway dragging one another along by the hands. It was quite a romantic scene."
He pulled a holographic device from his jacket pocket. He set it down in the garden, pushed a button and watched as the scene unfolded. It was like he said. Theo met Lynona just outside the coffee shop. He was becoming very close to her as he spoke, and for the first time, Theo noticed she didn't back away. He took her by her hand and led her into the alleyway behind them. It did look as though it were true but it was not.
Theo remembered that day clearly. It was the first day he'd talked to her, trying to express his ideals against the Capital. Luckily, this footage was not shot from a security camera, as it was too shaky, and no audio could be heard. It meant, however, someone was behind it. Theo admitted he'd gotten a bit close to her that day, but it was only because that was always how he demonstrated his point. It was not romantic in origin, yet, he could see how President Snow could mistake it for such an action.
"Yes." Theo sighed, admitting something that was not the truth. "We became involved through the past month. Even so, is this a bad thing, what say do you have to intervene?"
President Snow looked shocked at first, but quickly shed that mentality. "She is my second cousin."
"What?"
"Lynona Williams is my second cousin and only living relative. I would ask that you stay away from her."
How could this happen? In one sentence, Theo's entire world began to unravel. Lynona was related to Snow... She had his trust... She had his plan... She had his hope... If what Snow said was true, it would only be a matter of time before his true intentions were discovered. "I'm... I'm sorry."
"I know this must be frustrating or shocking to you." He nodded. "But, it's the truth. It's more than what you gave me. I do not like being lied to, Gamemaker Warrik. Do you understand?"
"I understand, sir..." He said, shrinking into his place. He felt smaller now...
"Normally, there would be discipline involved, but I have a proposal for you." Snow extended his hand for a handshake, and Theo glared down at it. "You leave my cousin in piece, and I will forget we had this discussion. Are we clear?"
Theo took the President's hand and shook firmly. He was surprised to find his grip was very tight and his hands were as pale and as cold as ice. There was something unsettling about the texture of his handshake alone. "We're clear sir."
"Now, leave my company, Gamemaker." He commanded stiffly. "With luck, the next you'll hear from me will be congratulating you on a Games well done. I haven't lost my hope in you."
Theo turned and walked down the seemingly endless table of the conference hall. As he passed leather chair by leather chair, he thought to himself about how his plans had changed. He would need to notify Kirt and Rhetora about this."
President Snow had spoken to the Gamemaker about his hope in the Games. Theo laughed when he thought about it one more time. After all... Hope was only a word.
End of Chapter 10..
Damn. I love how you write these parts about the Capitol, it's honestly like the book.
Wow thanks.
Well, for me, this is better then what we got in the books. Becuse there Capital was like: Everyone is bad*, much terror, such decadent
*Of course the guys helpin' our heroes are not, but the majority are.
Awesome chapter! I loved the Capitol part!
Well the majority of capital citizens are still bad, it's just I'm putting to light the good ones.
I disagree, they are just living in a different world. And that is something which the book(s) did not explain enough.
Well, the Capitol kinda forced the Games on each and every one of its citizens, thus resulting them into having a belief that the Games are, overall, an entertaining "game".
Oh I get what you mean now.
Chapter 11: The Last Supper
Saul Arrem
Saul had been through a lot in his seventeen years on the earth. He'd lost his parents... Lost his girlfriend... He'd killed before. Sometimes he would take a step back and would feel like he had nothing left to fight for. He would spend long nights lying awake, wondering why he was here, but he only kept reminding himself of Peara. He knew that, even though he felt terrible pain in every situation, she felt it just as bad. They were all either had left.
He stared across the cheap wooden table into his sisters' eyes. They were in this together even more now than before... If that was even possible. He looked down to his hands that were cuffed at the table and watched as a plate of food was placed in front of him. He hadn't eaten in so long... yet today he wasn't hungry.
"Eat." Mr. Munrow barked at him. "You need your strength for the days to come."
"No." Saul spoke firmly. He saw that Peara had already begun scarfing down her mashed potatoes. That was like her. Even a grudge against the man who'd sent her off to die wouldn't stop her from what really mattered. Saul couldn't find the same strength in himself.
"You're going to eat it, boy." Munrow pushed the plate further toward him. He admitted the fluffy mashed potatoes and steamed green beans looked very appetizing, but his will to get the cuffs off weighed more than the pit in his stomach. "If you don't eat, you're gonna lose weight. And trust me, you do not want to be in the arena on an empty stomach." Saul didn't respond. "Well I guess I'll eat it then, if you're so persistent on getting yourself killed."
Saul sucked up his gut and spit as much he could into the plate before Munrow had a chance to take it from him. "Eat up..."
Saul didn't gaze up from his cuffs to see his former master's expression, but judging from the tone of his voice, he was angry. "This is more than I eat in three days, Saul. How hard can it be for you to take a fucking bite?"
"I'm. Not. Hungry." Saul barked at him.
"You just don't understand do you?" He sat down in the seat next to himself and his sister, rapidly waving his arms. "You're whining because you got suckered into the Games! I have news for you, boy, you're going in because the rest of your District deserved it more than you. They had something to live for."
"Say that again."
"Okay, the rest of District 11 has something to live for, you asshole." He repeated himself. "You're two orphan children who have no chance of ever being adopted. Everyone is too full with their own kids to take on two more. And the girl here's an Albar. They don't have any place in our society, even when they're of fucking age."
"We've gone through too much of your shit to have to hear about the color of Peara's skin." Saul scowled. "She isn't even a true Albar."
"And then there's you, defending her." He shot back. "If she doesn't have any place, than what does that make her older brother? You get it now? We were removing a weed in the district. We were allowed to select for ourselves who would be our tributes for the Games this year. There was no other option than the outcast and her pathetic guardian."
"Fuck off." Saul turned his head to the side. He saw in his sister's eyes she was too scared to even speak.
He looked around at the room. It was the same room as he had spent countless hours in before, with its deteriorating walls and faded floors. He wondered how he'd gone so long in his life without realizing the man whom he served as apprentice to was never a man at all, just a backstabbing traitor. This was how he was repaid for all his work in the orchards: getting sent to the Capital to die.
There was a ring at the door as it creaked open. Mr. Munrow jumped up and found his way into the front room where the business transactions were held. There were a few sentences shared at the counter, none of which could be made out by Saul. It was most likely the daily pickup for the market.
Once he was done, Munrow walked back into the room where he was keeping the prisoners. "Sir, when are we going to go to the Hunger Games?" Peara asked.
"In one week." Munrow answered. "See, at least your sister is polite. She asks the important questions instead of sitting there, useless. Just look, both of you are going into the Games one way or another, so the way I see it, might as well be prepared."
"What are you saying?" Saul moved his head up, since his neck was getting tired of slouching. He still didn't give Munrow the honor of eye contact.
"I'm saying I will personally train you, Saul." He said, waving his hands in the air as if he was holding a sword." You needs to get to the top and win. This District is on the verge of bankruptcy. A victory could bring us enough money to get our economy back to speed."
"What could you possibly have to teach us that we don't already know?"
"Have you ever had a lesson in fencing?" He replied. Saul shook his head slightly. "It's a sport of art and mastery. There's not much I can teach you in a week, but it's better than going in bare-foot."
"...What about Peara?" He looked to his sister. Her pink eyes went wide. "You'll train her too?"
"No." Munrow answered his question. Peara seemed like she was very overwhelmed. Saul didn't blame her. "I need to focus on the one who really has a chance to make it through. Peara won't survive the first night."
"Take that back, right now."
"Or what? You'll spit in your own damn food again?" He scoffed and sat back down. "I'm the only one here who is thinking logically. This is the only right way to win." Munrow reached his hand forward for a handshake and Saul had every bit of motivation to push it away, but didn't do so just yet.
Saul looked back to her sister. Every word Munrow said put another feeling of spite into his heart. Peara would survive far past the first night. He would see to that. Yet, he knew in one way, the man was right. He needed training if he ever had hope to survive. Being able to climb trees isn't always the greatest skill, since it's possible the environment wouldn't have any trees. Still though, the man was a prick. Saul was still hesitant to shake his hand.
http://strawpoll.me/5880714
I say accept the training. It's possible that with this training, Saul is increasing his chances of making it in Games along with Peara by his side (if they stick together). Plus, if someone were to come at him with a knife, he'd have a better chance of surviving, I guess.
Train your heart out dude, Train until your arms fall off. Because in the arena, they probably will.
Train! Even if he is ass, it could help. But still, fuck him.
It looks like I am the only one who voted to refuse Munrow's training. It's not that I want Saul to die, quite the contrary, but I deeply and viciously loathe Munrow, enough to refuse his offer. In Saul's case, I would never accept help from someone like him. However, after voting, I realized that maybe Saul even gets an opportunity to kill Munrow during this training, so I am glad that the rest voted to accept it. With a bit of luck, Saul gets an opportunity for revenge on that fucker.
Ah so it was you. I was wondering who that voter was.
86% of readers chose to [A. Accept Munrow's training.]
He reached his hand forth, dragging the other one cuffed behind. He shook Munrow's hand hard and hoped he squeezed tight enough to cause the man discomfort. "I don't know how you live with yourself, you coward." Saul sneered.
"It's easy once you get past your childish assumption that everything is about you." Munrow peered him down. "I'm doing this so the rest of the district doesn't have to suffer knowing that they betrayed one of their own. I'm bearing that burden for them. So, yes, I am able to sleep with my cowardice."
Saul let go of the man's hand and slumped back in his seat. Mr. Munrow did the same. "I will begin your lessons tomorrow. We won't have much time, with the deadline for our choice of tributes being in less than a week, but for now, I will teach to the first lesson of swordplay. Empty your mind, and calm the hell down."
"Calm down?" Saul spat back at him. "You're telling me to calm down after you set fire to your own orchard, blamed me and my sister for something we didn't do, and then decided to send us off to die in a war we didn't start. How the fuck can you tell me to calm down?"
"It beats throwing a tantrum like you're doing." The man shook his head. The tassels on his beard swayed a bit from side to side. "If it helps, I'm going to leave you alone to speak with your sister for a little while. Don't try to escape. If you do, things will be a lot worse for you."
Saul wanted to speak again, but was so consumed by his own raw hatred that he couldn't bring himself to do so. Munrow got up and began to leave. As soon as he closed the door, Saul leaned forward to the table. "Peara, are you all right? Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine." Peara replied. She let out a sigh of relief now that Munrow was gone. "Saul... I don't like that man. How did you work for him for so long?"
He sighed. "Back then I had no idea what kind of a piece of shit he was..."
"Is what they're saying true?" Peara asked. "We're going to be in the Hunger Games? How can that be? They didn't do the Reaping this year."
"It's true... It's all true." He slammed his hand on the table in frustration. He just couldn't believe he had let this happen. If only he had kept quiet about the fire in the first place. Then there would be nothing to pin on them and Munrow would have been the one blamed... Goddamnit! He hated to say it, but he would have happily watched his home burn to the ground if it meant he and his sister would not have to put up with this today.
"I'm going to die, aren't I...?" She cried from across the table. Saul felt a need to crawl across the table to give her a hug, but his hands and feet were bound. It was terrible, since he'd hardly ever seen the girl cry before... He was on the verge himself. "That's what he said..."
"You're not going to die. I'll make sure of it."
"But... Only one of us can make it out." Peara responded. "There's only one victor."
"And it's you."
"What will happen to you?" Saul didn't answer her. She knew what he meant, and he did as well. Saying it out loud would have just dug a deeper hole in her heart. "Saul... Why do you stick up for me?"
"What?" He asked. "Why would you ask something like that?"
"The world hates me... Everyone hates me, just because I was born with this thing that makes my skin really light-toned. So, why do you look out for me? Because then... They try to get you too."
"Peara, look. You're my sister." Saul reassured her. "I love you more than anything. And you may not realize this, but you're there for me just as much as I'm there for you. Both of us are all each other have left."
Peara looked to the side at one of the more sturdy walls in the room. "But... If I win the Hunger Games... What will I have left?"
Saul legitimately froze for a moment. He'd been so focused on Peara making it through the games that he hadn't stopped to consider what she would do afterward. When he found his answer a couple seconds had passed. "You'll be alive. I'll look out for you, even from wherever I'm at. I'll be there. Don't you worry."
"I'm already worried, Saul..." She picked up her knees onto her chair and hugged them close to her.
"Me too..." Saul was having trouble speaking with her. He was never the most fluent with words, but normally he was able to get the job done. But this time, he kept choking up. "I just..." He sighed. "I just wish that whatever happens in your life, people would see you as you... And not just one of the Albars."
"I want to live..."
"So do I..."
"I want it to stop..."
"So do I..."
A few minutes in silence passed before the door behind them cracked open. "Oh my god!" He heard a familiar voice. It was the director of their orphanage, Ethel Jugby. She came around the side of the table into Saul's field of vision, holding a small wax candle. Munrow followed behind her. "Peara! Saul! I came as soon as I heard about this... This can't be happening."
"You speak to them as though they are equals..." Munrow spat at her. "They are prisoners. Our tributes..."
"I've known these kids for far longer than you, asshole!" Ethel chanted back. "Learn some manners." Ethel was just a little over thirty years old, and she still looked old as a teenager. Her black hair was tied in a pony tail on her shoulder and she wore a hot pink blouse with dots in white. "It's true, isn't it...?" Ethel asked, bending down the table. "You're the new tributes..."
"May the odds be ever in your favor..." Saul repeated, slumping down into his chair. "You heard?"
"Virtually the whole town heard, Saul. Most of them are in relief over the fact their children didn't get chosen... They said you were being imprisoned by a local tender of orchards... Just lucky I knew where you were..."
"You can't just burst in here like this." Munrow shouted at her, putting his hands on his hips. "This is a private establishment."
She frowned at him. "It stopped being private the minute you turned it into a prison. These kids don't deserve this."
"Neither do any of the other kids in District 11... Am I the only one looking out for the common interest here?"
"Yes." Ethel shot back at him. He was taken aback for a few moments, but then regained his composure. He took Ethel by the arm and began to forcefully shove her from the room. "Let go of me, you son of a bitch!"
"Ethel!" Peara shouted, coming forward from her chair as far as she could with her chains.
"Peara! You're gonna be okay! Just never leave Saul's side! Never leave him!" The more she struggled, the more Munrow tightened his grip. Saul could see white marks where his hands were cutting into her arms. "Let go of me, creep!" She managed to get one of her hands free and slapped him hard across the jaw.
Munrow frowned in anger as he turned his face back toward her. He raised his own Palm in the air and brought it down hard on Ethel's cheek, knocking her onto the ground. "Learn your respect." He told her. It somehow intensified Saul's urge to leap from his seat.
Munrow started to drag Ethel from the room. She put up much less of a fight on the ground. Once he came back. He slammed the door and walked into the center of the room, halfway between Saul and Peara. "You're a monster..." Saul muttered under his breath.
"I know..." He replied with heavy breaths. "But so are you."
End of Chapter 11
What the fuck. Okay, Munrow needs to die. Now. Honestly, he just loves using unnecessary violence doesn't he? pls kill him off somehow pls hes an ass
Haha there will be a lot more assiness from him unfortunately.
-_-
Chapter 12: The Dimmer Light
Marten Lewis
The only thing Marten could feel was regret. It bled through his conscience like water through a strainer. Today was the first he'd ever killed. If he was lucky, it would be the last. He kept wondering why he couldn't get upset. After all, he'd just flushed his life away in a single choice that was made in thirty seconds. He wasn't sure if he would ever see his sister or mother again, and he knew it was entirely his fault. Yet, every time he wanted to bend over and let the feelings wash over him, all he felt was regret. It was a lonely feeling... cold...
It was dark in prison. He couldn't see, and it smelled of rancid odor. He tried to hold his breath to stop himself from vomiting, but the more he held in, the more he wanted to simply let out. Both arms were chained on eiher side of him. The chains were fastened to the walls of his cell, and his shirt had been torn clean off. Marten's legs ached like hell. The Peacekeepers had put him on a forced march into town, easily spanning at least ten miles. He was used to hiking, but with the weight of his actions on his shoulders, his footprints sunk even deeper into the ground.
He lifted his head just enough to watch strands of his curly blonde hair fall in front of his eyes. The iron bars in front of him were very thick, and were spaced apart closely enough that even the thinnest of people would have a hard time sticking anything more than their arm through. Every other wall in the cell was made of brick. This prison was the most sturdy place in all of District 4.
"Ah, the young killer..." There was a voice of a Peacekeeper just behind his field of vision. When he walked into the picture, Marten could see he was the same who'd knocked him out in the river. He had dark gray hair and a nose bigger than most any other aspect of his face. "Does it make you feel good, knowing that somewhere out there a family is going to sleep with one less member than it woke up with? Does it make you happy that there is blood trickling down your hands?"
Marten stayed silent. He had lost the purpose of speaking. Every word he said was only turned around at him and used against him.
"Not a talker, huh?" The Peacekeeper asked. He pulled a small knife from the pouch on his right leg and began caressing its sides with his fingers. "My name is Poole. I am the uncle of the boy you killed... He was full of ambition. He was going places with his life you could only dream of. Places that I could only dream of... And now he's gone... because of you."
Marten looked away and to the side. He couldn't meet the man's condescending glare. He already had enough guilt in his heart. He didn't need the man adding any more. Poole slid open the gate to the cell and stepped inside. The sunlight from the window behind him was slowly fading, but he could still see the particles of dust separating as the Peacekeeper strode through them. "I want you to know that you have been sentenced to life in prison. No trial... No anything. You will spend the rest of you solitary life within these walls. I didn't agree with their decision. I told them you had to die. An eye for an eye, right?" Marten shook his head slightly, trying as hard as he could to not let his words in. Poole reached down and grabbed the boy by the chin, jolting it to the side. "Look at me... You are nothing."
Marten slowly put his knee in front of him and used it to climb up to a standing position. He stood at least six inches taller than the man, but Poole didn't back down. He drove a well maneuvered fist into Marten's rib cage, and he could feel it crack slightly. He cowered in pain, but eventually fought through it and repositioned himself. Poole shook his head and frowned. "At least you've got courage. I'll give you that much." He delivered a swift blow to Marten's ankle and sent him spiraling back to the ground. He hit hard, and coughed out the dust he'd inhaled. "Do you know what I'm going to do with this knife?"
Marten shook his head, sweat dropping off his chin and onto the ground. Poole spit on the ground in front of Marten and it only added to his wish to vomit. He walked around to behind him and bent down to his level. "I want you to say it... Say what you said to Ronn as you bashed the life from his skull..."
Marten shrugged, closing his eyes. "Don't you fucking tell me you don't know, dammit! You remember exactly what you said! Don't insult me by playing innocent..."
"You are nothing..." Marten muttered softly.
"Louder!"
"You are nothing!" He repeated, jerking his head to the side.
"No, you are nothing." Poole said. Marten felt a jolt of intense pain above his left shoulder blade, and screamed as it slid downward just past it. Although it wasn't a deep cut, it was deep enough to leak blood. It was one of the most painful things Marten had ever experienced, but he bore through it and kept firm. "Say it again."
"You are nothing!"
Poole slid the knife along his back again, causing him to yelp in pain. It was on his right shoulder. This time rather than a line, there was a bit more of a shape to it. It covered more surface than the last cut, and hurt ten times more. Once more, he fought through the immense pain to control it.
"AGAIN!"
"YOU ARE NOTHING!"
The Peacekeeper moved into his lower back and made many small cuts, spanning from the left side of his torso all the way to the right. Marten collapsed on the ground, finally beginning to leak tears. It felt as though his back had been lit on fire. The pain wouldn't go away. All the skin on his entire back felt like it had been ripped off. "You still don't understand pain." Poole barked at him, crossing around to his front side and dropping the bloody knife in front of his face. He had an urge to break free of his chains and steal the knife away from him, but the chains were too strong... stronger than even he. "You lay there in your own puddle of blood feeling sorry for yourself. It hurts doesn't it... Now just imagine what it feels like on the inside..."
"I know what loss is..." Marten choked through his heavy breaths.
"Bull. Shit." Poole whispered back. "You have no idea what it's like to be surrounded by death every day. It's haunting. Everywhere I look, I have to deal with another case like yours. Another asshole feels entitled to another man's life. Then they don't get what they deserve. I'm sick of it... so it's going to end today."
"Think of what they'll say..." Marten whispered back. He couldn't raise his voice any more. "They'll throw you in here with me..."
"Does it look like I give a shit?" Poole shook his head.
With a lot of effort, Marten managed to lift himself back into his kneeling position. He tried to peer back to his back to see the damage, but the moment he spotted the first sign of blood he was queasy. He could tell that the Peacekeeper carved words into his back, but he didn't have the strength to look to find out. "What did you do to me? What does it say?"
Poole stood back up onto his feet, dusting off his pant legs. "What do you think it says?"
Marten didn't respond. He knew exactly what it said, but he didn't want to think about it, so he forced it from his mind. Yet, when the thought left, the regret leaked back through. Now, mixed with the pain on his back, it was more present than ever.
"You're weak..." Poole uttered, gritting he teeth through his unshaven beard. "You can't even hold your own against the damn pain. A man endures the suffering..."
"Is that what you're doing here? Enduring?" Marten scowled up at him. "You're a hypocrite. You're going to kill me, and then talk about how wrong killing is..."
"Yes... I'm weak too..." Poole barked. He picked up his knife from in front of him and wiped the blood off on the cloth in his armor, staining it red. "But it doesn't bother me, knowing I will avenge my nephew's murder. Do you have any last words, Marten Lewis?"
http://strawpoll.me/5908189
I do like Marten slightly more now. I found him a bit meh in his introductory chapter and I am still not sure what to think of him, but I am interested in where his story is going. For this choice, I chose to ask for forgiveness, because I think this shows that he is still capable of compassion and regret. Sure, Poole is a dick, but I can understand his anger and I also don't want Marten to become some sort of cold-blooded murderer.
As for the last part, I had no time to comment yet, but I fully agree with Stan. Munrow has to die. That guy is a complete bastard and by far my least favourite character in the story.
Ah, yeah. The whole murder aspect is going to be a part of Marten's character, but it's not going to be all of him. And like I said before, Munrow is not safe forever, but he has a while to go in the story. Also, in Chapter 10, I noticed nobody commented on the plot point about the Lynona and Theo thing. Do you have any thoughts on that?
Okay. Screw Poole. That guy's a dick. The end.
Great chapter!
Argh, why does everyone have to be a douchebag? :c
Anyways, I voted to stand up.
"This world is just a bunch of dead people, looking to find life in the wong place."
Yes, I had a bad feeling with Lynona ever since we learned about Theo's plan in Chapter 8. This definitely explains her reluctance to join Theo's conspiracy group. I am not sure if she is fully on Snow's side, or else I think he would already now, but I guess she could end up ruining the plan in some way, sooner or later.
Hey guys, I just made a wattpad version of the story if you ever want to go and reread it without the trouble of the comments. I tidied it up a bit, editing and such.
https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/53519819-the-hunger-games-the-pawns
I'm definitely gonna share this link with my friends. :P (they love the hunger games and there's no doubt they'll love this one too^^)
Okay that'd be cool. If they want to participate in the vote though, you should forward them the first halves of the parts from here because I'm only uploading whole chapters to wattpad.
71% of readers chose to [B. Stand back up.]
"No." Marten said back. He summoned the rest of his strength and placed his leg in front of his chest. He pushed off the ground and lifted himself onto his feet. From an upright position, he could feel the blood from the cuts on his back trickling faster than before. "Kill me and be done with it."
Poole looked into Marten's eyes, and then back down at his knife. It was obvious what he was feeling. Marten had felt it too, right before he killed Ronn. It was hesitation on whether to kill or spare the victim... It was a tense feeling, as if it defined the man behind it. Poole's face hardened after a moment and raised the knife behind his head. Marten clutched his chains and prepped for death.
"My boy's got a pair on him. That much is certain." There was another voice in the room. It came from Marten's right and was husky and thick. He didn't get to hear it much nowadays, but could recognize it anyway. The man coughed. "He takes after his old man..."
The Peacekeeper turned and exited the room for just a minute. He peeked over into the cell adjacent to him. "You, shut up!" He yelled. "This is happening one way or another. Your son killed my nephew. He has to die! It's the natural order of things..."
"Then why haven't I died yet?" Marten's father replied. He couldn't see the man, yet he could tell there was a smirk on his face. "Tell me, bitch... I've killed four or five in my time. What makes him so special he gets the chopping block before I do?"
Poole disappeared from view completely, and into the argument. All that Marten could hear was the two of their voices, yet he could see what was happening without the sight of it. "You wanna die, Zak?" Poole shouted at him. "I can make that happen!"
"What makes you the one to do it?" His father yelled back in haste. "You think you got a right to take the place of District 4's vigilante executioner? You kill me or my boy... you oughtta be locked up in here with us."
"I will accept the consequences of my actions fully." Poole sighed. "This is what I was meant to do. I am the justice this District needs."
"Does the district need revenge... Or do you?"
There was a long pause in which no words were shared. Poole was so evidently hesitant to be here in the first place. He had only just talked himself into doing this. All the extra voices in his head seemed to confuse him further. "My... my nephew is..."
"You're nephew is dead?" Zak barked. "Yeah. You've said that more than a few times now. Don't excuse it though. You kill him... What do you think my family's gonna do to you? And what will your family do to them. Kill if you have to. In this shit world, killing is necessary, but it ain't revenge. It only leads to more revenge."
"I can see your point, but how am I supposed to just let this go...? He needs to feel the pain he brought me."
"You dragged a knife through his back..."
"Not deep enough..."
"Just drop it." Zak snarled. Marten could hear footsteps, sounding like he was walking toward the bars of the cage. He must not have been chained in restraints like his son. "Right now. And this whole thing ends right here. You let justice take its natural course, and you'll get your vengeance someday."
"I know..." Poole said. More regret started to flow into his sentences. "I'm in the Peacekeeping force... I know the damn law, but... He has no respect. Acts like we're equals..."
"Shake on it." Zak replied. "You take this handshake, and chuck this in the river. No one needs to get any more hurt."
"I suppose you're right." There was a sort of clapping sound, which Marten assumed was the sound of the handshake taking place. He let out a sigh of relief, knowing that his life would be spared. "I'm sorry... I was just so angry, I didn't know-"
There was a metallic slam that echoed through the chamber. The sound of a struggle lasted for five seconds, with clawing sounds, and banging against the iron bars. Then, there was a loud snapping, and a thud on the ground. Several moments later, Zak appeared from the cell into Marten's field of view. He held a chain of keys and found the right one to open the door.
"You didn't..." Marten said to him.
"Didn't what?" Zak walked through and began to undo his metal cuffs. The clothes he was wearing were tattered, and looked as if they were made from random scraps of cloth found on the street. He was barefoot to match. His blonde beard was three times as long as the last time he visited, and even had a bit of gray in it. The man still had on an expressionless face with the glowing green eyes of a man who hated the world. "You know exactly what I did. And I did it for you, Marten."
"You killed him..." Marten looked him in the eye, rubbing his swollen wrists.
"He would have killed you." He turned and exited the cell. Marten followed him closely behind. It was the first time he and his father had walked so close since he was very young. "I may be a piece of shit for leaving your mother to raise the two of you, but I try to do the most I can from that cell. Don't have to no more though."
"Pop..." Marten whispered. He still had trouble processing what had just happened. "Where will you go? You're a fugitive."
"And so are you." He responded, taking the tattered shirt off the desk and handing it to his son. "You learn to play the hand you're dealt, son... We were stacked against."
Marten looked to his right when he stepped out of the cell, and the scene was grotesque. It disgusted him. Poole laid hunched over on the ground. His eyes were wide open and face held a distressed expression. His head was tilted to the side farther than the human head was meant to go. "He was mourning his nephew. He had every right to be angry."
Zak coughed, threw on a pair of combat boots and began suiting into a Peacekeeper's uniform. "Look, it may have been a ploy just to get out of that fucking cell, but I meant everything I said to the man. Vengeance ain't the answer. I know you think I'm a monster because of the stuff I've done... But all of it. Every single act, I've done out of necessity or in self-defense. He stopped having the right to get mad when he carved words into your body."
"But..."
Zak interrupted him as he zipped up the last part of his suit, pushing open the doors to the outside. It was far brighter out there, even with the night descending down on them. "I'm gonna leave. You may never see me again, but I want you to know I love you, boy. Got it?"
"...Yes." Marten replied, confused at the quickened rate he was talking. The way he adorned his disguise in a split second, he had been thinking about this escape for quite some time.
"Go back to Willy and your mother." He commanded. "Let them know you're safe, but don't tell them anything about where I am. They'd just get overly upset. Not like you. You're a tough kid... Standing up to the face of death like that... I know I ain't been around a lot, but I see a lot of myself in you."
"Ok, Pop..." Marten told him. He wasn't sure how not to obey, with the forcefulness in his father's tone. "They'll find me though... They'll take me..."
"Yes. And they'll kill you. Just like they'll kill me." He put the white helmet on his head and the only thing Marten could make out of his face was strands of his beard slightly from the neck. "But you need to get one last goodbye in before you bite it. Me... I have a few things I gotta do."
Zak picked up the electric gun that was mounted on the wall by the security desk. He loaded it and held it like he always knew how to operate it. He ran outside swiftly, and just before he disappeared into the woods, he looked across his left shoulder and waved for the last time to his son. Marten found he couldn't wave back... He didn't like to let things go... Especially when they were important to him.
Marten threw on the tattered white shirt he wore before he was thrown in the dungeon. It provided very little warmth now, but it covered the ugly scar on his back that he knew was there. It still hurt like hell, and it needed to get bandaged quickly, but he knew he could make it home before he bled to death.
As he stepped out into the warm spring night, the light of the day had all but vanished. At least he had a task to set his mind to now, but he felt more alone now than ever before. It was dark in prison, yet the dimmer light felt like a beacon in the fog compared to the walk home.
End of Chapter 12
Shit. I love the ending to this, I just love the way it's written haha. ^^ Good work with setting up Marten, I kinda like him more now:3
Thanks lol
Chapter 13: House Arrest
Marten Lewis
Somehow, the moonlight lit up his house just as well as the sun did. It was one story, but wider than a normal home, as they had to cram more family members inside than the normal District 4 home. Marten opened the rickety wooden door slowly, not sure what he would find inside. He had lived here all his life, yet it felt new to him today.
When he stepped in, his step caused the floor to creak, and he was shocked to find the place was unlit and empty. Normally at this time, his cousins were jumping around the living room. His uncle would be playing poker at the table with his wife and Marten's mother. It was eerily quiet.
He stepped through his house for a few moments wondering where everyone had gone. He was willing to settle with the fact that they were not there though, when the searing pain in his back jumped back to him. He walked quickly to his kitchen, and through the door to the bathroom. With a thrust of his hand, he pulled open the medicine cabinet and found a brown bottle of liquid. He wasn't sure of what it was called, but he knew his mother used it whenever one of the family was bleeding. He tore his shirt from his shoulders, he took the bottle and poured a bit down his neck.
It stung harshly in every place where the knife had drawn a wound. He couldn't take it, and buckled over, gripping the rims of the sink with enough force almost to crack it. For the first time, with every bit of the wound aching like hell, Marten could finally tell for sure what Poole had written into his back. "I AM NOTHING." It felt awkward to read words by touch rather than by his sight, but he couldn't see anything transcribed on his back. The cuts opened slightly when he poured the brown liquid onto them, but the way he felt them close again, he knew it was going to leave a scar...
Marten looked back into the cabinet above him and found a roll of gauze. He found the end of it, and pressed it down to his lower chest using the sink. He passed the roll around him over and over until his entire back was covered in white. He took the small medical stapler on the top shelf and clipped the end to one of the other strands beside it. He felt blood soak into the back of the bandage, but not nearly as quickly as it had stained his shirt. He moved his arm around in every direction it could slowly. It hurt like a bitch, but far less than it would have if it had not been treated.
Satisfied with his job, he closed the cabinet and looked into the mirror he uncovered. He saw a man whose sweat had made his once curly blonde hair droop into almost straight form. His round, firm face was coated with dust from prison. He saw a man who had been beaten to death by the world around him. He saw a murderer in that mirror. When he was young, he used to come in this room and look himself in the eyes. He used to wonder whether in his later years, he could look at himself and be proud of who he had become. Now, with Ronn's blood on his hands, he wasn't sure whether he ever would again.
He opened the door and was startled to find a woman standing outside. She had a short kitchen knife aimed in Marten's direction, but she was so shaky, he wasn't sure whether it could be trusted to hurt him very badly. Her hair was light black with some gray in it, and her eyes were the same shade as Marten's. Once either of them realized who the other was, all the hostility was dropped. It was his mother.
She wrapped her arms hard around him. He wanted to grunt in pain from the cuts on his back, but he fought through it and hugged her back. "I thought you were gone..." She cried into her son's chest. She was one of the shorter members of the family.
"I'm right here, Mum." He replied. She didn't let go just yet.
"I was so sure when they announced you'd been arrested, we would never be allowed to see you very much any more... Like what happened with your father... How on earth did you get out of prison?"
Marten thought back to the events that took place. His father had sabotaged the Peacekeeper's attempt to execute him, but in doing so, he had cost another life. Salla was already worn so thin... He wasn't sure if unleashing the truth on her might just break her down completely. It felt as though she were on thin ice.
http://strawpoll.me/5910137
Sorry for the short part guys, but the next one will make up for it.
Ah damn, I missed the chance to comment on the last part, so let me just say that I agree with Stan. You did a good job in making Marten more likeable with the last two chapters. Sure, he still can't compete against Aura and Saul when it comes to my favourite, but nonetheless, I like him a bit more now, perhaps as much as I like Theo. For this choice, I chose to tell his mother the truth, because I think he should be honest with her about what happened.
Good one.
What happened?
I haven't had time to write the past few days. I'll be getting back into swing though.