sticks&stones [uprising combat/defense - group 1]

Daemon Apache

The line, curiosity killed the cat, couldn't be more true. Except for the fact that I'm not a cat, nor am I dead. Yet.

All that it took to get me here was curiosity. I was at a library, reading a book about District 13, when a man who seemed barely older than me approached me. He asked me if I would be willing to help him with a project. I, of course, agreed, thinking he meant research. The only thing I remember after that was hitting the hard, marble floor.

After that, maybe a good four hours later, I awoke in the ruins of what used to be District 13. I almost screamed, when I realized it would only hurt me. I was strapped down, as if my captor couldn't afford my escape. I guess it was true, for he told me his story, one I would soon be a part of. I was told that I was now in a group called the Uprising, a group of rebels in 13. Their numbers had dwindled to a dangerous low, and I was going to be one of their new recruits. I told him I can't fight, that I never have wielded a weapon. He told me I could still be of use.

Here I am now, with the supposedly co-leader, standing with a small group of eight. I listen to her call roll to herself and try to not to freak out at the fact that most of the name's belong to girls. I take in the group, confirming my suspicion. I'm surrounded by girls. Lovely.

She splits us off into even smaller groups, and if it wasn't for a bit of gravel smacking me in the face, I wouldn't have even known my group. I hear my name before the words "first group." I can only pray one of my few male acquaintances is in the same group as me. I snap my head back to our leader, and can tell that she's been lecturing us in a sense.

"So here's what we're doing. Two of you will stand at the center of this clearing, and throw rocks at the other two. After a few minutes, we'll switch off. Try not to throw too hard - this is training after all, and we don't have an infirmary.

Seriously."

As if given a cue, we split into our groups. I can't think of how to signal my fellow comrades that I will not throw rocks at any of them, considering that two of them are girls and the other is a tough looking guy. The guy and one of the girls take a few steps back, indicating that me and one of the girls will be throwing rocks at each other.

I shift uncomfortably, not sure what to say, what to do. Yes, I should go to the center and pick up a rock, but my brain refuses to transfer that message to my feet. It feels as though a wind has pushed me forward, forcing me to the center. I shudder and pick up a rock, turning it over in my hand. I watch the girl glide over to a spot across from me. She looks my age, if not a year or two older. I don't even know her, but something tells me to let her be the first to throw. I don't want to throw first, anyways. The thought of hitting a girl, causing somebody pain, is too much. I've never done anything like that to a girl before. I haven't even talked to one in about eight years.

A sigh leaks from my mouth, persuading the girl to throw the rock with her best strength, to give it her all. I'm ready for the pain that will come with it. I can only silently thank my mother for making me wear a jacket.

ooc:Sorry it took so long to post, I've been so busy lately!

"You two are supposed to throw at us, man! And make sure to pick a small stone so you don't hurt yourself."

Furious, I whip around and glare at the man. What age does he think I am? Sure, I misinterpreted our leader's instructions, but the remark about picking up a small stone was unnecessary. I flit my eyes over to the rock in my hand, quickly glancing at its size. If I were to throw this one, it would only compliment the man's insult. I drop it and pick up a relatively large rock.

I roll it around in my palm, feeling the weight. It's a tad bit heavier than I expected. I put it in the pocket of my jacket. I want to make some conversation before striking. I want to waste as much time as possible. I kick a pebble and turn to look at the other guy, a smirk beginning to form.

"So, why are you here, huh? You look to be around five years older than me. I'm guessing you're about twenty-five years old, give or take a couple, correct? You should be old enough to know how to defend yourself right? So why are you here? I suppose if you came from one of the lower districts, you might have thought you would get paid. So, Tyler, why are you here? And where are you from?"

I suppose from a distance I could be looking too friendly and/or too chatty. I laugh at the thought of me looking too friendly or too chatty. I've only been here for a couple of days, and I've already seen a change in my personality. Only once have I thought of home. I don't want to go back to m terrible life in 3. I don't care if my parents miss me. I hope I scared them. I hope I've scarred them.

They don't need to worry or be sad, though. They can always have another child; they can always adopt. Heck, they will adopt. I know they have always wanted a girl. I know I disappointed them the second I was born. I've heard my parents crying at night; I've heard the things they've said. I know that they've thought about abandoning me, and I know that they've thought about it more than once.

Thinking of my parents makes me furious. I remember about the exercise I'm supposed to be performing, and it takes me what seems like an hour to take the rock out of my pocket. My hands are trembling with rage, and I'm trying to remember what happened before I began striking up a conversation with one of my so called partners. Yes I remember, more rage, more fury. All the combined anger inside of me makes me feel like I'm about to explode.

I pull my arm back. I collect all the anger and strength I have, and then I let go. It was that fast. I watch the rock soar towards Tyler. I've possibly thrown it in the best position. It's not too high where he cold duck, and it's not too low where he could jump out of the way. It's straight in the center, and I now I'm beaming with pride.

It was just a lucky shot. You were angry, and that gave you power. There's no need to show any emotions. When you switch out, Tyler could easily throw a shot like that at you. The girl could easily throw a shot like that.

My smile falls. I know I need to stay emotionless through this exercise, and I could end up with a rock splitting my forehead open.

Tyler refuses to answer any of my questions. I'm not sure if I came off as intimidating or not; it wasn't like I was trying to or anything. I wanted to squeeze the information out of him like squeezing toothpaste from a tube. I wanted to know why somebody so much older than a handful of us is here. He's an adult; he should know how to defend himself. I eye him carefully, for maybe there's a reason that only I would think of. Maybe he's really a peacekeeper, and he's keeping watch on us, making sure we don't try to do anything.

It's the most logical reason I can come to. I know I shouldn't be worrying too much about this guy, for I'm sure in a short amount of time I won't have to work with him again. I'm wondering about the two girls who we are supposedly working with, wondering if they've even started. I know I can simply turn my head and look at them, but I feel it would be better to just focus on the task at hand. I search the ground for another rock, one with less mass.

I find a rock that's a tad bit on the small size, but I snatch it up anyways. I didn't even notice that Tyler had caught the rock instead of dodging or ducking or jumping. I hear his voice rushing towards my ears.

"Good aim but you could throw a little harder."

I shrug, not knowing how that was supposed to be directed. He motions for me to take another shot, and I smile mischievously, ready to release the rock. I pull my arm back and let the rock fly. It hurdles towards Tyler with incredible speed. I look down, not wanting to see where it hits him, if it hits him at all. I'd rather hear the impact. I know it's stupid, but right now I'd rather be the one pelted with rocks. I don't like being criticized on things I've never done before.

I don't know why, but I feel like pestering him for information again. It will be my only chance to learn about whatever district he's from most likely. It seems like most people here are already from Thirteen or from One.

"So, Tyler. I'm guessing you aren't answering my questions because you don't trust me, correct? Well, here, let me tell you about myself first. I'm seventeen. I bet that surprised you, right? Anyways, I'm from Three. It's nothing exciting. It's filled with super smart technological people. There's always a smoky haze in the air that makes you wish you lived in a district filled with trees and flowers and fresh air and tons of space. I guess I can't say that's why I'm here, considering barely anything has grown back."

I run my hand over a pile of small rocks, sighing as I do. The cool, smooth feeling of the round objects remind me of marble. It reminds me of both the smooth counter top that runs through my family's kitchen and the glass toys I enjoyed so much when I was a child. I find a pebble in the pile of rocks, one that looks just like a marble I would have had when I was younger. Tucking it in my pocket, I turn back to Tyler, still not looking directly at him.

"Cmon, Tyler. Tell me where you're from. Tell me what it's like. Tell me it's better than where I'm from. Prove to me that it's better than where I'm from."

I know I've probably annoyed the crap out of him, but right now I'm craving knowledge. I want to know what it's like outside the wretched walls of Three.

"You really like to hear your self talk, don't you?"

I laugh and nod. It's true I suppose, considering that when I do actually talk, I ramble on and on. I never have been outgoing or courageous, so talking with a cocky attitude to this guy is something I'm not used to. A small smile creeps on my face as I roll a rock in my hand. I trace the rough edges with the smooth surface of my fingers when Tyler probably does something he's not used to as well. He gives me what I want.

"I'm from district 7. We have the clean air, you're keen on, and we have lots of trees. But we have no technologies, well, not enough. Why do you want to know?"

District 7! My small smile stretches into a large grin. District 7 is a district I wish I could live in. It's one with trees and green grass and fresh air. I sigh in frustration and in amazement. I'm not sure how to answer his question when he adds one last thing.

"Just throw some more stones. You're supposed to practise not chat."

I bite my lip and nod. He motions for me to throw more rocks, but I can tell he would rather be working with the girls by the looks he keeps casting. I haven't even bothered to notice them yet. Maybe when I have to actually talk to one, then maybe I'll put as much thought into it as Tyler is. I have a feeling Tyler's probably a good few years older than either of them he keeps glancing at, and the thought makes me want to spit out the small amount of food in my stomach.

I throw a rock at him, but I still have a nasty feeling lingering in my stomach, which causes the rock to swerve to the left. I grab a handful of relatively small rocks and begin pelting Tyler with them. One after another, they fly quickly at him, some flying over his head, some aimed at his head. I sigh in frustration and turn around, noting that all that surrounds me is pebbles. Pebbles don't go to far.

I shake my head, my curls bouncing across my forehead, and make a waving motion with my hand that indicates he can throw rocks at me now. I know I'll probably end up regretting my decision, for I know I don't have quick reflexes. I'll come out of here with cuts and scraps and bruises and maybe a broken bone or two.

Tyler looks reluctant to switch, but I can't figure out why. We're the only ones that appear to be actually doing anything. I doubt the one running this whole thing will mind. He looks over at somebody; I can't tell who though, too many body's are blocking my view. Tyler nods and stares in the direction of the person, probably trying to get an approval. Once he turns his attention back to me, he lifts a medium size rock at me.

It doesn't have much power, but it's unavoidable. It bounces of my chest. The damage will be minimal; a small bruise most likely. I probably could have caught it, but I don't have very good coordination. The next rock sails at me harder and faster, but it doesn't have the same good aim as the first one. It slaps my left forearm. This one will leave a bigger bruise.

Tyler finally seems to light up. He laughs and smiles, surprisingly.

"Seems like I'm not the best pitcher myself. What are you good at?"

I open my mouth to answer, but close it when I see him pick up a rather large rock. I know he won't let me answer. He chucks the big lump at me. He aims a little too low, though, and the combined force of gravity and it's weight bring it to the ground. It skids to a stop at my feet, and I smile a little.

"Not sports, obviously. School, I suppose, but that won't matter in a year. I can draw, but I don't think that really matters. It's not special, really..."

My mind drifts to my dreambooks I left at home. I scold myself for not toting an empty one along with me for these special dreams. I didn't have much choice, though. I would still need a pencil, markers, crayons, paints. I think of all these dreams that will be wasted, never to be remembered again. It's a sad loss, but I doubt I would have ever felt good enough to even merely sketch a dream. I'll be training the whole time I'm here.

I wonder how long 'the whole time' will be. Until I die? Until this organization falls, if it ever does? Would I ever go home? I know I can't go home; my parents would dump me out on the streets. If they knew where I had been taken, what I had been doing, they would never speak to me again, if I was lucky. If they knew what I was doing, they would tell everybody how much of a disgrace I was. Thinking about my parents makes me feel sick. I shove my hands in my pockets and nudge the small amount of pebbles surrounding me with the tip of my shoe, waiting for Tyler to continue throwing rocks.

I shiver as my thoughts instantly return back to my parents. All my life I've tried to please them, but nothing has ever worked. Nothing has ever pleased the dictators that run my life. If I go home, and they don't know what happened, I know what my life will be like. They will take full control of my life, locking me up in the house every hour that I'm not at school. I know I have to make my decision now. The decision that even if this rebellion fails, I cannot go home.

"My strengths are definetly physical. What good is drawing going to be when you get into a fight?"

I shrug. I suppose he has a point. I've never had to get in a fight, nor have I ever been in one. Even though back at school I'd be considered a nerd, I've never been shoved in a trash can or been given a black eye. Drawing seems to complete me. It lets my imagination run wild to places where it won't be judged. I'm not sure why I told Tyler this because most people don't know about my talent.

I don't tell anybody because I know the will judge me even more than they already do. Plus, somehow it would get back to my parents, and they would take it away from me. I so wish I had some paper and some colored pencils, so I could draw theses scenes of Thirteen to take home with me, if I ever go home. It may not be the prettiest place, but it was still something breathtaking that I would never see again.

Tyler notices me daydreaming and shouts,"Hey, watch out!" I turn and see him pick up a rock that will be a good throw for him. It comes at me fast and hard that I don't even see it coming. I can't duck now, and catching it would probably screw up my hands. I let it hit me. It tears through my jacket, my shirt, and even my skin. I gasp at the sight of red blood trickling down my pale skin.

While I'm staring at my wound, he fires two more at me, which cut me up even more and producing more blood. "Shit, man." I yank my jacket off and lay it on the ground beside me. I peel of my sweat-soaked t-shirt and wrap it around my wound, tying it around my back. It seems surprisingly firm, but I don't know how long it will last until it's completely soaked with blood.

I don't know when it will stop bleeding though. Maybe if it has a lot of pressure on it, it will. I pick up my jacket and pull it back on. I zip it up all the way, making it as tight as possible. I hold a finger up towards Tyler, motioning to let me have a minute to myself. I sit down and try to breath normally. The blood on my fingers only quickens my pulse and breath though.

Even though the jacket adds more pressure, I'm insanely hot right now. I unzip my jacket a bit and peer at my shirt, which to my surprise doesn't even have a trace of blood on it. This calms me, and my breathing and pulse goes back to normal. I still stay down on the ground, though. I don't want to get up, nor do I think it would be good for me to.

Since Tyler wouldn't dare bother me now, especially since he's the reason I'm down here, I go back to dreaming about my dream book. Maybe I can remember this place long enough until I get home to draw it out. Nobody would ever believe that it was Thirteen, nor would they believe I had been to Thirteen. Maybe they would never even see me again. After all, we are planning an uprising, aren't we?