Private Training Sessions

I've done a great many stupid things in my life. My life seems to be a seamless quilt of those stupid moments and I'm wrapped up in without a way out. The little moments bind it together, but the biggest ones are the things that hold me back. It seems the biggest ones have been committed as I've gotten older as well.

The first mistake in my life that I will always regret is ever having started fighting. I fought because I was angry, still am. My entire life has shifted because of the violence I start and the fights I finish. I started using my fists to solve my problems when my parents died. Before that, my father had always been there to help me keep my rage at bay. He would take me outside, down to the shore, and tell me to scream out every feeling I had. I would scream for what felt like hours, my voice gone hoarse and my face gone red as I expelled all of the air in my lungs and all of the feelings in my heart. The sea swallowed it up without question, without judgement, just as my father did. He'd hold me as I came back down from the emotional high, tears spilling from my eyes and breathing labored with exhaustion. When I was especially wound tight, he would let me strike at his chest over and over until I collapsed against him. When he was gone, I felt as if there was nothing I could do to let go of my anger. The ocean held no more promises. It held no drawn for me any longer, not until many years later when it stole the thing I loved most. Everything that others did made me angry. Every step I took coiled that spring in me a little tighter until one day, I snapped. I've been unable to reign it in ever since.

The second mistake was ever loving Penelope Libertine. From the moment I met her, I was taken in by her wide eyes and spilling hair. I was more entranced by the way she walked carefully across the ground, as if trying to tread water. I only found out in time that she was trying not to slip into the ocean of her dreams and drown in real life. She held in her body the most beautiful and entrancing of souls, one that would forever haunt me from the day she left without a word. I didn't go and see her because I couldn't. I couldn't bear to see her for 'one last time' before she would be left to drown in an Arena somewhere where I couldn't follow. Fitz was supposed to send her home, so it wouldn't be the last time. I should have seen her again. Instead, I watched her break the surface for air one last time before being consumed by the ocean she had dreamed in, lost to my heart and hands forever. She gifted me with her ocean and every morning I drown in it, just as she did. I will do so until the day I die and sink beneath the waves to join her.

The third mistake was one that was not my own, but it hold such sway in my life that I'm not sure I'll escape intact. It was Reaping me. That morning, the morning before my life was decided and my body was drawn from the crowd, I had little life. I had my mornings of drowning, my afternoons of fighting, and my nights of digging. I had routine, not purpose. The only purpose I had was to find a means to an end in time, but even that was not enough to keep me from sputtering against the waves. Now, as I sit in a room full of teenagers waiting to be judged and sent to their deaths. Soon, only one of us will be coming back here and even at that, they will not be alive any longer. The Games has a way of killing everyone who is touched by it, which would explain why all of Panem has purished. I have already died with the deaths of Penelope and Learna, but I will die again in the arms of this God forsaken Arena.

My fourth mistake will haunt me for the next two weeks, or until I am consumed by the ocean, and longer still. My words fall upon deaf ears, but my lips fall upon fire and anger and everything Pyrian Keeni is. They fall upon his mouth and ears and neck and every inch of skin he allows me and I am terrified by the openness he shows to me when I can give so little in return. My ocean and his wildfire mix into steam until all we are is spent of life. We damned ourselves from the start of whatever this is. Even if one of us lives, the other dies. Either way, we are torn from hope and drowned anew. Every moment is a last moment, for the second we step into that Arena, we are starved dogs on a hunt for relief. It is a game of chance and brutality and no one will be spared, not even friends, or siblings, or lovers. In the end, all will be broken.

"Noah Ripley!"

I blink into existence, my head trying to find its way out of the hold of the drugs I'd taken. Patrick had been slipping me little vials several times a day. In private, when River has gone out to meet up with others and I have grown tired of the smell of smoke for the nostalgia of it, we meet in his room and just talk. For a crazy old man, he has more sense than I thought possible. When we're especially taken out of our bodies and minds, he talks about his days in the Arena and how he wishes he had died there, how he wishes he had given up at the very beginning before he met his best friend in a fight, before he was forced to live alone. He's tried time and time again to forget his annoying laugh and his stupid optimism, but he is haunted day in and day out by the memories of a past life long since ended. The only thing I can manage in comfort is to accept the vial and drink, just as I had this morning before going out to get judged upon my skills. Now, I am starting to regret that. I'd never drunk an entire vial on my own, had usually shared it with someone. The blurry vision and clouded mind of my high has left me disoriented and confused, but there is no going back. Instead, I stand and move toward my damnation. Just one more step on the path.

I poke my head through the door first, peering up at the Gamemakers before making myself known. My entire body trembles as I step back, breathing in deep and trying to shake the nervousness that builds in my stomach. My fingers are balling up and relaxing quickly over and over again until I finally gather enough courage to push the doors open and strut in.

"Walk into the club like, 'what up, I got a big cock!' I'm so pumped bout some shit from the Cap shop," I call out, smirk lifting across my face as I continue to stroll leisurely towards their loft above the training center. My fingers trail across the tables full of swords, picking one up and looking at it a moment before dropping it onto the floor. It clatters loudly, but my voice rings out farther than it ever could. "Ice on the fringe. It's so damn frosty that people like, 'damn, that's a cold ass honkey!' Rollin' in hella deep, headin' to the mezzanine, dressed in pink, 'cept my gator shoes, those are green. Draped in a leopard mink, girls standin' next to me. Probably shoulda washed this. Smells like Gamemaker's sheets."

I'm standing just below them now, my eyebrows low and my teeth bared like a feral animal on the streets. I am out of my element, but the buzz running through my veins is making the shock of strangeness fade into a light whisper in my ear. It's hardly there and that's the only reason I can hiss out my next word. "Piss. But shit, it was ninety-nine cents."

The cocky smirk on my face drops into a menacing frown, lips pulled tight and jaw clenched hard. These bastards don't give a damn at all. I'm just putting on a good show for them, like I undoubtably will in the Arena. Someone else's death is always a good game for those who can make money off of it. I'm no exception. I shift on my feet for a moment before walking swiftly over to the many knives that glitter against the wall on a case. I pull a few from their perches, stuffing two into my belt and one in between my teeth, and another in my right hand. My eyes search wearily for a moment until they find a dummy. As I'm walking over, I am caught off guard by the weapon that is lying against the wall. A long pole extends a curved, hook-like point, and in a second, I am letting the knife in my hand clatter against the floor in favor of the gaff. I hold it carefully in my hands, staring at it in a mixture of awe and anger before I send it spearing into the head of the life-sized doll, right through the eye. She has died again and again in my head and now at my hands because I could do nothing to stop her destruction. All I can do is stare.

When I finally regain what little composure I have, I pull the sharp knife from my mouth and frown at the metalic taste that drips from my lips. I am no stranger to the feeling, nor the taste. I turn slowly, my blurry eyed vision clearing as the tears fall freely and let me see. They are all very much alive, just as happy with their Games as ever, and she is dead and I am too. "Two years ago, a girl was in the Games by the name of Penelope Libertine. I doubt you remember her, but she was my everything. That..." I say slowly, turning to point at the dummy. "...is how she died. And this..." The words roll from my mouth slowly as if I'm tasting them, testing their truth with my tongue, but all I can taste is blood. I turn and throw the knives on me, relishing the soft sound of each thudding into the chest of the figure. My eyes close for a moment before I look up, staring at the corpse of my life embedded with knives in the chest and stomach. "... This is what it has done to me, everyday, since she's been gone."

My legs give out suddenly and I am left to lay against the cold floor, my tears spilling quickly as the ocean fights for release. I am drowning more fully than every before, the waters surging in me and swirling through my lungs. It fills me up so completely that all I can do is sob breathlessly into the air, wishing for some kind of escape. I can understand now, already, why Patrick wishes he had died long before he could ever lay a hand on someone else. He suffocates every day under the weight of Robert Sponge's death, the loss of the one person he held dearest. I know that pain so easily that it comes as naturally as fighting to me now. It falls down upon me like a hurricane of destruction and ruin, coursing through my veins and leaving me battered and exhausted in the wake of its total eradication of my life.

They've apparently had enough of my drowning, because I can feel my body being hauled into the air. I balance precariously against my dragged feet, my lungs gasping for air and my mind trying to clear itself. I am being dragged further under by these hands, by these Games, and I will not breathe at all soon, but there is a raft waiting out there somewhere. Penelope cannot have me now because my soul is in Pyrian's clutches for the time being. I would have given anything to drown in her memory just days ago, but now there is fire in my vision and not even my ocean can douse it. It wants me to swallow it whole, but I cannot. The only thing that will drain us both are these Games, and I'll be damned if he is put out first.

I feel heavy, but my body knows what to do in times like this. Their hands are firm, but when has that stopped me before? I twist myself hard out of the two pairs of hands that hold me, falling upon the hard floor. My legs swing to take out the first person, knocking them breathless upon collision as they scramble for purchase on solid air. They fall without fault, slamming against the surface beside me and I am on them in an instant, fists flying without a thought. I am pulled away before I can break anything, but I throw my head back and revel in the sickening crunch of cartilage and the scream of pain. Their throat is in my hand and I shove them up against the wall with little effort. He is pale canvas painted red, like art to my soiled hands. This is what I am made for. I am pulled away again and I let my elbow slam back into the fragile ribs of my attacker. His frame crumples beside the canvas man and I straddle him quickly to strike blow after blow against his face until his eyes roll back and his breathing levels out to that of unconciousness. Beside him, the other man groans and holds himself with shaky hands. I stand slowly, legs unsteady as I try to find my balance through the haze of red. My foot connects kickly with the private area of the man once before I step away. Neither move, whether out of fear or complete loss to the world.

I look up once at the Gamemakers, eyes traveling across them quickly and settling on their leader. For just a moment, I stare at him. My stomach is still wound tight, the coil within me begging to let go, to spring up and attack until I am sated, but no. There will be plenty of time for that later. I am playing into their hands, just like they want. I extend my middle finger in farewell and walk out.

I'm a little more bloody, a little more broken than I was before I committed all of my mistakes that cover me, but I wouldn't give them up. I am a fighter, a lover of Penelope Libertine, a tribute of the 63rd Annual Hunger Games, and the ocean to fuel a fire. I have committed sin after sin, cause my own problems from day one, but now I have a purpose: I will put on a show for Panem.

Benat Izar

•••
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
•••

Benat’s hand trembled as he sat out in the hallway, waiting for his turn. The week of training had come and passed—a blur of sparring, face plants, and aching muscles. He’d learned no more about survival than he’d known before arriving at the capitol, though one could argue this was his plan all along. Benat talked during lessons, poking at instructors and trying as hard as possible not to become competent. Perhaps it helped him to keep his mind far and away from it all—a goofy grin always dotted his face, as though he wasn’t just days away from his own death. He’d frustrated his mentor and escort when he stayed up late drinking alcohol and arrived late at his sessions.

But if they had known anything about the boy from eleven, he was doing his very best—it was not unlike him to make something less serious than it really was. That frustrated Benat the most: they never saw him as anything more than a tool—an instrument of the game

It was about time. Not the time where everything you put on the line comes into play. But the time that you know something important is about to happen. Axel knew he had to try to impress someone who mattered. But who was a wild question to ask. No one ever gave him the info of who he had to impress. If he knew then that could make it easier and easy was not the way of the games. He knew he had to start thinking of something to do.


Because today is the day that I've waited for
Patiently, painfully out the door
But I'm here now and I can't wait for the first drop
All I have is the time and I won't stop

He paced around in the room he was in. It was like watching a mouse in a small four by four box. It knew it was being kept hostage, but the mind kept thinking it could escape. But his mind was racing at the same time, different ideas were running through it. He knew he could try and show some skills from the district he had. Making objects out of hay or something like that. But he didn't know if that was a normal thing here, or if it was impressive at all. He knew he could try to behead one of the dummies, but it was such old fashion thinking. He knew careers would try to show brute strength because that is all they knew. Strength supposedly goes far.


Staring the clouds are bearing
All the weight of the ocean bottom tearing
And I'm very aware that I stand alone
And I can't compare when I feel at home

He heard someone call his name and he knew it was time to go into the elevator and head to the main area to do it. He stepped into the metal box and saw the doors close. His heart stopped for a quick second. It felt as if he was being closed into a coffin that he could not escape anymore. He then felt it move, it was a odd feeling moving, but at the same time not moving at all. It was a unrealistic experience. He felt the sudden jerk of the machine stopping, then he saw the doors open. He felt a little relieved that he was out of it because that meant he could live a little more and not consider himself dead already.


And time and time and time again
I'm a rewind as I define the wind
New rain, my face, this place is perfect
All in all it's all been worth it

He walked into the giant room that was the training center, he saw the people watching him. Some of them seem uninterested in him, some seemed interested. The ones who seem interested confused Axel a lot. He was a district ten person, he knew he wasn't special at all. Hell he was considered a joke to himself and possibly the other tributes. The only thing he knew he was was someone who cared about someone dearly. His mind went back to Reggie and how she was possibly in tears right now.


Streetlight, see it fine
But I won't head home time, time
Time is one thing I got today
Time time is the only thing to keep me sane

He looked around to find something that he knew he was decent at. He saw some sticks, string, and some cloth on a table. He knew perfectly well he could show something that had to do with first aid or something of that nature. But he had to show it realistically. It was hard for him to find something realistic, but then he saw the dummy that could be used to practice hand to hand maneuvers on. It was a full body one, so that was wonderful for him. He grabbed the supplies from the table he was at and walked over to the dummy. He set the dummy on the floor and the supplies down with it.

Got both my hands so planted deep
And I catch my breath as it catches me
And I take one step beneath the tree
And I take one step to set me free

And I try now to even find a little bit of hope
A little bit to hold, when I give up in the cold
And I fall down, I break out and I slow down
This time today is what I need now

Axel kept looking back at the blades, he knew he wanted to show something that could implement that into something, but what could he use it on. He waved it off right now and moved onto moving to the leg of the dummy. He got up and grabbed the leg with one hand. Then he stomped on the leg, showing what it would look like to break the bone of someone. He grabbed the supplies of sticks and cloth and string. He moved the leg to be centered again, he placed the sticks in the position to where the cloth would go right where the injury was suppose to be. He wrapped the cloth around the leg and then grabbed the string and tied it around the sticks and cloth. What he was doing was showing them what first aid to use when you seem to break the bone on a leg and can't walk anymore.


This is the place that I always dream about
This is the place that I never leave without

But he was not done for the judges. His intention to use the blades had gotten more urging. He left the dummy where it was and got up. He ran over to the blades and grabbed the one they would call a short sword. It felt light in his grasp. Not to heavy, but at the same time not so light. He had it and ran back to the dummy. Axel saw the dummy and knew what to do with it, he stood it back up and started to hack at it. Going for the less areas that would be considered vital. Then with one last stab at the dummy, he attempted to jam the short sword into the stomach of the dummy. He turned away from it and took a quick glance at the people watching. He didn't note any emotion from them. He just walked off, back to the elevator and up to his room to where he was not leaving because he knew he was not in the mental stand put to be seen by anyone.


I prefer not to sleep in
When the sun wants to keep in
That's when my heart is beatin'
Every, every time I love


His mind kept going to the girl he left back in district ten. Maces sister Reggie, he knew if he got out somehow. He wouldn't be the same. He could tell from mace alone that he was a changed person, he knew it was not in a good way. Axel noticed when he was in the training center he changed not for the better, but the bad. Something made him act a lot different then how he normally was, he was usually carefree and a heartwarming person, not someone who was kill a useless dummy. He whispered something to himself. I miss you Reggie, I can only hope that I will come back to you, but at the same time I know it is a long unlikeliness. So I hope that you can move on if the time comes., He knew no one could hear him, he was just saying that to comfort himself, not anyone else.


All the green and the fallen
Leaves will always be callin'
Looking up we're evolving
Every, every time I love

TEXT DEVIDER (if you wish, you could just not have one)