Marlboro McFadden D10 // Mayor {FIN}

I jolt awake, the sound of a rooster crowing driving sleep away from my eyes like the wind blowing away the clouds that chose to linger for a longer time than they were allowed after a storm. My legs, I swing over the side of the bed carefully, slowly as one of them just doesn't work the way it used to anymore. Not since the accident. The cane is propped up on the wall by my headboard and I grip the horse head shaped marble top and lean heavily upon it as I rise. All is quiet in my house, the rays of the morning sun glistening in shafts coming through the dull grey curtains that hang from my window. I walk quietly across the weathered floorboards, and wonder how I could feel so old and yet so young at the same time. I have nearly half a century under my belt and have sat through more than forty reapings, all of which have blended together in my mind.

I make my way to the bathroom with a yawn, brushing my teeth with vigor to get the scent of morning breath expunged. I stare at my reflection as I do so, wondering where the names and faces have gone as time continues its slow roll into infinity. Another fifty years from now and there may be no one who remembers the name of Marlboro Mcfadden, save as a page in the annals of the districts history. I have no children to carry on my name, and I rather doubt that I'd want to. I wanted some years ago, but the season for that had passed me by more surer than anything else. My wheat colored hair has yet to turn grey, though I suspect that it has gotten lighter in recent years. I spit the toothpaste into the sink and place the brush back in its holder. My brilliantly azure eyes have always seemed cold to me. Shocking in a way. The first thing people always claim to notice is that, while I am forming a reply in my mind, they say that I have a tendency to stare off into the distance.

I neglect to shave this morning, more from habit than anything else, but then again no one has ever complained about my stubble before. I am a bachelor, and as such there are little things about my personal appearance that I no longer pay any great attention to. It is to be expected. Today, I cannot wear my more comfortable clothing, rather, I start pulling on my freshly starched suit, aware of its constricting nature. Required attire has never sat well with me. There is only time for a quick breakfast this morning, and so I spread a bit of cream cheese onto a golden brown bagel, munching on it as I wait for the coffee to boil. I have taken it the same way every morning for fifteen years. Two teaspoons of cream, a quart of milk and one generous spoonful of cinnamon. When my beverage is done, I assemble it and down it while it cools.

There is something to be said about days like this, the kind of day that makes you wonder how you've managed to wind up at the current point. I leave my house early, intent on making it to the district square on foot. I could ride one of my horses there and leave far later, but it is hard to dismount without looking like a fool with a bum leg. I blame myself for what happened. I've been a rancher for as long as I can remember with no ill fortune, the tools in my hands intelligence and a strong work ethic. People have far too little common sense in this day and age, but the people of ten have always been among the most industrious. Not the strongest, or the swiftest, but I believe that we are the most honest district you can find in the whole of Panem.

I suspect that is also why I won the Mayoral election this year. Shakti was a bit of a schemer and that did not exactly endear her to the public, nor the Capitol. As I make my way across the square, I briefly think about our districts sole victor, the young man named Mace Emberstatt. It has been four years since he took the crown home and he has largely been forgotten by most of the other districts, even here in ten the name doesn't seem to carry as much weight as it used to, but the fact remains that he did far more than anyone in our district had before. He gave them hope, and I respect that. It is something that in the years to come I hope I can give the people too. They chose me and now I dare not let them down the way I let down my ex-wife. Wisteria.

But I do not care to dwell on what was. Now, now I must steel myself to be the hand that sends two children to an almost certain doom. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. But the only weapons I have are a forced smile and a pair of slips engraved with the names of those chosen to participate in the Capitol's version of survival of the fittest. The morning passes swiftly, and before I am truly aware of it, the time has come to walk across the stage. I speak the words that I am required to say; they feel foreign on my tongue, words not born of my mind, but of my duty. And once more, I am left wondering about everything that has led up to this point. Of how the Mcfadden boy could go from rancher to cowboy to mayor.

Since the time I was a small boy, I always had a an affinity for animals. That has changed in recent years, but I still hold a great love for them. Wisteria never understood the care and attention I gave my horses, which only contributed to her reasons for leaving. I only tried to explain myself a single time and when she did not understand I never did again. There is no reason to speak to those who will not listen, nor to say anymore than you have to. Idle banter is the pollution of polite society and I have never felt that long speeches were necessary to get my points across. I wouldn't say that my marriage was a loveless one, but it was one that suffered from poor communication. After several years of feeling like I was sharing my bed with a stranger, she announced that she was leaving, something I had been expecting for far longer than she would have ever guessed.

I couldn't see to her needs for constantly going into the middle of the district, couldn't stand any of her empty headed friends or her nosy family and in turn, she could never fully grasp what the ranch meant to me, the place of my childhood. She couldn't understand that each of the mounts I tended to had their own personalities to go with their names, that they felt and lived and thought more deeply than she gave them credit for. And so, I had nodded, watching her pack her bags and prattle on about how I cared more about the stupid ranch and the stupid horses than her. Calling me selfish and idiotic. I did not bother trying to point out that if she couldn't care for the things I did, then she wasn't really caring about me at all was she? Everything is a two way street. At the end of her rant she pressed me to say something, anything.

The only word I had for her was "Goodbye."

The stage beneath my feet creaks with age as I approach the bowls and I lean my cane on the side of their stands before reaching in. A lot of things have led up to this point. So many things left unsaid and so many of those same things better left unsaid to begin with. The choices of the many people in my life have helped to shape who I am, but in the end, they can only shape as much I as let them. Wisteria is out there in the crowd somewhere, probably still in as much shock as I am because of where I now stand. Also out there, is one youthful boy and one exuberant girl whose lives will be forever changed by what I do next. By the choice I will make from the bowl. But it goes far deeper than that. Because life isn't just about your choices."Its about action." I mouth quietly, and curl my hand around the folded piece of paper.

Marlboro McFadden
Forty-eight years of age
Male
Mayor of the Tenth District of Panem
odair
Fc is Daniel Craig