you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus

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✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Nov 29, 2014 1:31:30 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Nov 29, 2014 1:31:30 GMT -5

T E D D Y S E R A P H I M
♂ ☆ 15 ☆ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

They come after lights out like savages in the dark. I'm sleeping, or trying to. I can hear Castor across the room from me, shifting on her own metal shelf. I'm trying to be quiet but I miss Tate and Teva and Tripp and I want to be back home with my brothers. The want makes my chest feel tight and I'm holding my breath, trying not to let her hear me cry. Teva always says that we gotta do what mom said, that we gotta treat women like the queens they are because they never get enough respect. She said that we gotta be tough and stuff for them because otherwise they might be afraid and that's no good. A woman likes to feel safe, she said so. You gotta make them feel safe.

Right now I've got snot running down my face and I'm curled in on myself like a big baby. How could I believe that I was as tough as Teva and as immovable as Tate? How could I think that I could ever be as cool as Tripp. I'm just stupid kid who never realized how lucky he was to have brothers like I do. I was stupid and spoiled. My brothers doted on me. I was too dumb to realize how lucky I was and now I'm here. I don't know if I will ever see them again. I bite my lip, squeezing my eyes up tight.

I take in a deep breath, trying to keep the shake out of my voice as I whisper, "..Castor? A-are you still awa-"

The cell door opens with a loud bang and I jump, twisting on my metal bed to look at the door but there's nowhere to get away to. The figures come in their white armor and helmets, anonymous and utterly terrifying. They march across the cell, unyielding to the way I try to burrow into the wall in fear. I don't know what they want with me. I don't want them to take out my tongue like they did Cal's father and I don't want them to kill me in the square like they did to my mom and force my brothers to watch again. I don't want them to. I'm afraid.

They grip me tight, one on each side and drag me off of the cold metal shelf. I grunt, yell as they drag me across the floor. I kick at the linoleum, trying to gain purchase but it's too slippery and I'm such a little weakling. I barely seem to bother them as they take me away. The cell door shuts behind us as they take me and I yell, loud. "CASTOR" I shout, voice shrill. The tears come faster now and I'm sobbing in fear. I don't want to die, not yet. I don't want to leave my brothers and everyone else, I don't want to go and see Mom yet. I don't want her to be sad to see me too early and I don't want Tate or Teva or Tripp to blame themselves for this either.

I want to survive and get home.

"CASTOR," I shout again, desperate. There's nothing she can do, the cell door is locked. I don't think I'm ever gonna see her again. I knew her for barely a day but she was kind and she was nice. I'm scared. I'm scared for both of us.

"TEDDY?" she yells back at me and I swallow. I don't want her to be scared for me. I don't want her to be thinking what I'm thinking, that I'll never see her face again or that cell. She's all I've got in this hellhole, all I've got and I'm all she has too. We're cellmates and I'm afraid and I bet she's really scared too. I try to think about what Teva would say. I try to think about the cocky grin on Tate's face and I screw my eyes up tight, mustering all my strength, all my resolve up before they drag me around the corner and it's too late.

"I..I'LL BE OKAY CASTOR," my voice cracks, I don't know what I'm saying. I never was a good liar. I try again, "I'LL....CASTOR!" I sob. I tried. I tried to lie and say I'd be fine but I don't know. I'm scared, I'm so scared. I scream again as they drag me off and the door of my cell is lost from me. I don't know what's gonna happen next.

I want to go home.

Last Edit: Dec 16, 2014 21:06:07 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Dec 3, 2014 18:35:12 GMT -5

Post by Python on Dec 3, 2014 18:35:12 GMT -5

Amadeus Vaux

It was an unforeseen turn of events, to say the least. An average morning spent sifting through books in Seven’s dusty collection – which was nestled in the very corner of the District and owned by a family known for their poverty – had somehow ended with the arrest of a fugitive and his reassignment to the Detention Center. It was such a bizarre sequence of events, quite the opposite of his what his usual routine entailed. And on a day off, too. It was a pleasant surprise. Not arresting the girl, of course – that was simply business. Whether he was off duty or not, Peacekeepers had an oath to keep and a system to follow. Consistency was key, loyalty was absolute, and Castor Karmichael’s face was among many he had been forced to memorize upon his arrival at District Seven. Every District had their batch of wanted criminals. Her twin brother had been on that same list too, but as far as he knew Jano had not been located. An attempt probably hadn’t even been made.

After verifying Castor’s identity, one of his coworkers had called for a train. Clad in a black suit among doves in white, he had been prepared to take his leave and return to the shelves of old literature. However, a guard from the Detention Center – one of the superiors, he imagined – had phoned in at the last second, requesting Amadeus’ reassignment. Evidently it was some form of reward for a job well done, although in his eyes it was hardly an impressive feat. Yet he simply couldn’t refuse such a drastic change in his schedule. His duties were dull in the Districts, and a day spent locked away in his bedroom scanning the old, wrinkled pages of a book was better spent on train, travelling to a place he had never been before. Every district between three and twelve had been his domain at one point. The Detenton Center in Two was new territory, it was change. He needed change.

Upon his arrival they escorted Miss Karmichael out of his train car and led her down the corridor opposite of his. He was to report to Psyche, one of the superiors in charge of running the facility. Rumors of her punishments – and the Detention Center’s policies in general – were not quiet. He knew partially what to expect in an environment riddled with captured prisoners. Many of them would be Avoxed. Others would be interrogated, and physical methods were often utilized for optimal effect. Amadeus had participated in his fair share of public whippings, but something about this place was quieter, more subtle. Behind these walls were secrets – secrets that he could soon uncover. This place was capable of hiding more than just criminals, and for the first time in months – perhaps in over a year – his veins buzzed with excitement.

There were guards, and then there were interrogators. Amadeus was assigned the latter. His subject: Teddy Seraphim of District Nine. Crimes: pick pocketing, illegal possession of a weapon, threatening a Peacekeeper, assault of a Peacekeeper, and theft. Psyche had apparently encountered this criminal in person and detained him herself. His file reported a heart condition, and with this information in hand Psyche had written a “torture regiment” so to speak, entailing how she wanted his punishment to unravel in a step-by-step process. Amadeus scanned it vacantly and memorized its instructions. This facility definitely granted the Peacekeepers a greater freedom for punishment. As soon as all of his tasks became clear, he dismissed himself and called for Teddy Seraphim to be brought into interrogation room #12. It was a room specialized for the first procedure.

Helmet removed, he stood stiffly in the corner of the barren room until the guards dragged his subject inside. The boy’s face was streaked with tears. ”Strap him down,” he said, gesturing to the empty table at the center of the room. There were metal cuffs for the subject’s wrists and ankles, and there was an extra restraint for the skull if needed. As soon as the boy was safely and securely bound, he dismissed the guards and locked himself inside. The machine positioned beside the table hummed quietly.

Without acknowledgement of the restrained criminal, he began to follow through with the procedures. It had required a few minutes of additional training to learn the mechanics of the machine, and how to apply the patches. He briskly lifted the subject’s shirt to apply the wire-connected patches to his bare skin. Few would function to monitor his heart’s activity, whilst the others served a crueler purpose. He could disclose the punishment at will, but thought it best to remain silent. Moments of preparation were spent distancing himself from morality, and disconnecting himself from the world of humans and their emotions. He had to observe this criminal through a superior lens, as if he were a boot with every right to crush the ant trespassing in his home.

The beeping commenced. The subject’s heart rate traced itself across the screen.

Step one: Shock therapy.

Without warning, he flipped on the switch and left the machine to channel its energy into the nervous system.

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you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Dec 16, 2014 20:52:58 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Dec 16, 2014 20:52:58 GMT -5

T E D D Y S E R A P H I M
♂ ☆ 15 ☆ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

It's a room that they bring me too and it's worse than the cell that they took me from because there's a man inside. It's not that he doesn't look pleasant, he's dressed real nice and his hair is combed and everything. It's more like he doesn't look particularly bad either and that's the scary bit. He just looks like a man that's there to do his job. I hate men like that. No. It's not hate. It's fear, more like fear. He holds his helmet primly to one side, as if to show off his status as a man of the law. The helmet speaks to me more than his neutral expression, it says, "Everything I am about to say and do to you is entirely legal and I do not feel sympathy."

I taste my fear bitter and sick in my mouth as I'm pulled into the room, body stiff with fear. I gave up on struggling. I'm not getting out of here, not today. There's a weird table in the center of the room with a machine with a single line across the screen beside it. Another machine sits on the table with wires protruding from it and I have no idea what it is but I do know that I'm afraid. I'm so afraid. I've got to be brave, like Tate would want me to be, like Teva and Tripp are. His words are muffled in my ears as the man gestures to the table and the guards pull me forward and nearly slam all of the air out of me as they lift me up and put me on the weird table. Pain sharpens my vision, but not my wits.

They tie the straps around my wrists, my ankles, my forehead. I can't move.

Tears leak from my eyes, unbidden and my lips are numb with horror. I don't know what to say. I don't know if I have words for this feeling of complete fear. I've only felt it once before. I couldn't do anything the other time too and there was blood that time, that time they killed mom and I was screaming after and Teva got his ribs broke. I watch from the corner of my eye as the man steps neatly forwards and begins his work.

He pushes my shirt up and my empty stomach curls into my spine in acknowledgement. I squirm slightly as he places sticky things on my chest but it's the only movement I can make. I can't move anywhere and he doesn't offer to free me. He also doesn't offer any explanation. He moves out of my vision and my eyes desperately search for him. I don't know what this is. I've never heard of anyone being strapped to a table before. No one I know who's gone to the Detention Center has ever returned either, not even Cal's Dad. He was tough, I remember him, he was tough. I've gotta be tough. Tougher.

A hard bit of plastic is pushed into my mouth and I nearly gag on it in surprise. I want to spit it out but it's made with the bigger piece on the inside of my mouth, I'd need to pull it out with a hand. My hands are strapped down. Discomfort grips me as a beeping begins. My eyes crawl to the side and I watch in confusion as the machine that had the single line starts to blip about, up and down, up and down. It's going unsteady and fast. Like someone running, like when I run because the way my heart is. It's me running. Like a beat, it's a beat. It's a heartbeat?

It's my heartbeat.

What is this?

A sound of confusion tries to escape from around the bit of plastic but it can't make it out. I work my tongue against it, trying to get it out so that I can ask what he's gonna do to me. It becomes important, really important to find out. I struggle against the restraints, working t break free as panic grips me tight and there's a charge in the air, like the moment before a battle cry. Whimpers escape from around the plastic and I think I've almost got it free, my tongue presses it against it with all my might when it comes

and comes

and comes

and comes

inevitable and sharp like a knife pressed down over and over into every nerve I've ever owned and I scream past the plastic without meaning to, as if the pressure needs somewhere to go. I erupt like the volcano in the sixty-sixth games and I can hear the beeping going crazy in response, like an angry neighbor and I don't know what I'm screaming I don't know what I'm saying, what am I trying to say, what am I-

Mom.

Mom, please.

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you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Jan 1, 2015 19:01:56 GMT -5

Post by Python on Jan 1, 2015 19:01:56 GMT -5

Amadeus Vaux

Screaming was no foreign song to him. Humans were vocal creatures, always in protest when they weren’t prepared to lose something precious to them. Screaming especially was a natural defense designed by evolution. It was an alert, a warning, a beacon of sound to summon a hero. Amadeus knew it well. The cries of innocents under attack by muggers and rapists were branded inside of his trained ears. He responded to those quite often, more-so in lowers Districts than upper. His coworkers sometimes joked about how it was due to their savagery. Amadeus knew the true reason, but he never once voiced it.

Poverty.

It was a sickness, and a reason for most committed crimes. It was accepted by the majority when in reality, Amadeus knew that it was an easy fix if the Capitol would simply participate. But he knew better than to openly question his leader’s decisions. That was a sure way to be executed or worse.

His subject’s screams reminded him of many others. It wasn’t a warning or an alert or a beacon of sound to summon a hero – it was channeled agony, it was blowing off steam. It was a physiological reaction to Amadeus’ assigned torture. He had heard womens’ cries of despair at the loss of their children, and a man’s shouts of plea beneath the weight of his whip. Nothing was as raw as this. Pure, unaltered torture was what this was, and all under the command of the dreaded Detention Center. The rumors had been true after all, more-so than he originally thought. This was a graveyard, a prison, and an asylum all in one. How many of his subjects would maintain their sanity, after all? Let alone their lives.

The restraints were bearing against the force of Teddy Seraphim’s limbs. He could see the mouthpiece dislodged between his lips, and perhaps it would fall out. The device was present only to prevent him from biting his own tongue. He couldn’t imagine a boy Avoxing himself accidentally from a bout of torture, but his perspective was biased. He knew nothing of the pain of being electrocuted. The boy’s heart was weak on top of that. What did he know?

The heart monitor beeped in rapid protest. If this were a medical center, nurses would be piling into the room to save his life and soothe his panicked heart. But the only thing it meant right now was the possibility of an acceptable death. According to Psyche, Teddy was allowed to die, and if the heart lines fell flat he was not to interfere. This was a stress test and a punishment all in one. He had his suspicions that it was for entertainment purposes as well, but that was no matter to meddle with. He had to follow orders.

Amadeus flipped the switch and powered down the voltage. The subject’s body would only be allowed ten seconds to recuperate, which wasn’t much. As the monitor continued to shout the beeps in rapid fire, he turned the dial up to a higher setting of voltage. Surely it could kill him. His organs were putting up a fight so far, that much was certain. How long it lasted was exactly the point of the procedure (so it said). He was not curious to see the result. He was emptying himself, hollowing himself out to think nothing more of what was happening right in front of him, under his control. He was not allowed to care if the subject died or not. He was not allowed to feel sympathy.

Expression blank, he flipped the switch back on and sent another dose of pain into the subject’s nervous system.

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you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Jan 18, 2015 2:02:04 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Jan 18, 2015 2:02:04 GMT -5

T E D D Y S E R A P H I M
♂ ☆ 15 ☆ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

The searing white pain fails to send me to hell and somehow i feel lost here, in the middle of this room with the scariest man I have ever had the discomfort of meeting. Tate isn't here, neither is Teva or Tripp. They aren't here and they aren't coming. For the first time in my life, I am so very alone and there is no one coming for me, there is no one, no one, no one. I sob against the bracken of my mistakes, struggling to get free from them. It paints my skin a raw red colour and I am breaking from the insides. Tears stream down my cheeks and soak into the white of my t-shirt, making the fabric stick to the skin with my sweat.

I beg, voice cracking as I ask him to stop. Please, just stop, please, please, please, I'll be good. The tingle of electricity flows through me and I am so alive. I am alive and I don't want to be dead, not anymore. Not ever again. He moves back to the switch and I bite down on the plastic, fear making my body tense, afraid. Being shocked is the most intense thing I have ever felt in the entirety of my life. It isn't like death, or the feeling of my heart stopping inside of my chest, it is the feeling of knowing that this man means to kill me and knowing that I could let him.

No one is going to save me.

I left that behind me, back in nine, where my brothers are, where tate and teva and tripp are, where cal is, where my mother is buried, where my home is, where my school is, where everyone i know is, where it all is. I left my life behind and I'm an idiot because I thought I was ready for this, I thought that I could be something better than just the kid who follows his brothers around and is constantly in the way. I thought i could be of use, I just wanted to prove it to them, I never wanted to end up here, in this place. I never thought that there would be repercussions. I didn't think. I didn't.

He flips the switch and my brain short circuits. I am aware of a crooning sound, escaping from my lips around the plastic like cold fire. I am aware of this feeling of overwhelming peace breaking into my nervous system and shutting everything down. I am dying, I am dying, I am dying. I didn't want it to be here, so far from home, like Cal's father who they took away and never returned but I didn't want it to be like mom either, in the District square fro my brothers to see and for a moment I swear I see them.

They're bursting in the door, Tate and Teva and Tripp is shooting the man who's doing this and Teva is beating the hell out of everyone and Tate. Tate, Tate, Tate, thank-you. They're rescuing me, loosening the bonds and taking me away, out of here and they're taking me out. They're saving me. I bury my head in Tate' shoulder and I screech as Teva shoves a knife through the man's head for what he's done to me and Tripp is in front of us, and they're taking me away.

Away, away, away.

Last Edit: Jan 18, 2015 2:06:37 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Feb 9, 2015 22:35:36 GMT -5

Post by Python on Feb 9, 2015 22:35:36 GMT -5

Amadeus Vaux

The second jolt of electricity produced similar results. The fabric of his clothing was damp with sweat, and his tears remained abundant. The beeping monitor – not once – alerted him of a silent heart, only a frantic one pleading for the stress to cease. Amadeus knew not of weak hearts and conditions, but this one was sturdier than anticipated. Despite his need to become apathetic, perhaps he should've been relieved that he wouldn't be disposing of a corpse. It was a grim task to perform, even if it accompanied an undying loyalty to the Capitol and his duties. After exposure to such trauma, it would be a waste of a body if he didn’t survive.

Then again, there was much more trauma to be delivered.

He ended their session on schedule, and not a minute later. After removal of the sticky patches, he eliminated the restraints and tossed the subject over his shoulder. He returned to his cell, where his female cellmate had apparently been waiting for him on the edge of her mattress. She wrapped her arms around him like a frantic mother, and Amadeus left them there in cold silence. He had a few other subjects to interrogate before he clocked out and return to his quarters. There, he would read his second book into the dead of night, and sleep when his body demanded it.

---

Morning duties were simple. He had been assigned a sweep of several sections before reporting to his first subject, Teddy Seraphim, for the commencement of day two. The consecutive days would grow more and more brutal. It would not be so easy and impersonal like the day before. It would be hands-on, dirty work, raw and savage, similar to some of the beatings he had delivered in the Districts. Whippings as well, except there was no whip on this agenda. There were pliers instead, a tool he had never once considered appropriate for any sort of punishment. The superiors here were undoubtedly creative and unorthodox in their methods.

He approached the subject’s cell with two armed guards. They dragged him out by his arms and Amadeus followed suit to interrogation room #3. It was vacant save for a single chair set in the corner of the room, facing the two-way mirror. The guards shoved him to the floor, and Amadeus dismissed them in a prompt whisper. The tense silence that followed was always his least favorite part. It was the moment he was forced to decide where, how, and when to begin. There were too many options, and the dramatic reaction following the first blow was never a reward.

He stood quietly for a few moments, frozen like a feline predator crouched in the bushes. Then all at once he glided to subject Teddy Seraphim, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and punched him in the throat almost nonchalantly. He could feel the pliers in his back pocket – solid metal, and a cold reminder of what was to come. He had yet to be a participant in torture for the sake of torture. It felt different than torture for the sake of punishment. There was a difference, he knew it. It was in the methods. The duration, the intensity, the frequency, and the enjoyment of the punishers themselves. Amadeus didn’t enjoy punishing; he would rather the world be purged of crime. However, the world was corrupt on both sides. Suffering was imminent.

The next four blows to the face felt light, so he switched to his torso. He remained balanced as he delivered kick after kick into the subject’s spine, abdomen, and ribcage. A final boot to the face prompted him to pause and slip his hand into his back pocket.

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you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Feb 18, 2015 17:20:49 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Feb 18, 2015 17:20:49 GMT -5

T E D D Y S E R A P H I M
♂ ☆ 15 ☆ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

I woke up in arms.

-not the weapon kind

-not my brother's

I woke up in Castor's arms. She was smoothing my hair back and rubbing my arms as if she were trying to rub life back into them. I was shaking and my fingers were twitching of their own violation, which was curious. I guess it was the electricity, still in free reign of my body. She helped me drink some water because I could barely move. My body was too heavy. Tears were leaking from my eyes and I tried to say thank-you but my lips weren't cooperating. I was trapped in my own skin. I kept crying even after the lingering pain slowly left, snot and drool mixed together with my tears and Castor wiped them away with a bit of her shirt fabric.

He came again in the morning for me.

This time I don't make a sound as the guards drag me out of my cell. I only look back at Castor, over my shoulder. I don't say a word to her and she doesn't say a word to me. I guess it's because now I get it. Mom always said I was really smart. I don't know if she'd still agree after the events that led me here, but I do pick up on stuff fast. I can learn anything if you give me a bit of time. He isn't going to kill me. So I'll be seeing Castor again. In what state, I don't know. Next time I might not be seeing, seeing her. I don't know what the plan is today but we're heading back to the same block as yesterday. It won't be more electric shock.

That thought is confirmed when the guards open the door and shove me in, their boot on my back. I sprawl across the floor, eyes watering as my wrist bends at the effort of catching me at such a weird angle. It doesn't break, yet.

It's quiet and nothing is happening. I kneel, head drooped, hesitant as I cautiously look around. There's no weird electrocution chair with the machine beeping at me in here. IT's quiet. I don't know what that means. I glance around slowly, so as not to alert him. My breathing is already heavy with fear and it's like I can feel it in the air. Today is a different sort of thing.

My hair is yanked and it brings my head reeling back, exposing my neck. (That's where his fist will go, Teddy.) His knuckles gouge into my neck, it takes away any breath I had and I cough, spitting blood onto the man's sleeve. Agony rips through me, not the same as the shock from yesterday but nearly as worse. I let out a yelp of pain, all I can give as I fall backwards onto my back. My head slams against the tiled flooring and the room spins.

(But he's not done yet, kiddo)

I'm hearing Tripp in my head like it's a Wednesday night and we're sitting high up in the rafters of the warehouse, watching the gang members tousle. This time it's me on the floor and I am severely outmatched. I'm still my mother's son though. So I pull myself to my feet, tears running from my eyes. I wipe my mouth and push my foot forward to fix my stance and I clench my fists an-

His fist comes flying at my face, twisting my head to the side. Then the other side. Again, before I have time to react. I'm screaming in my head, the alarms are going off, full throttle and once again, I'm wondering where my brothers are, when they're gonna get here. They've never not saved me before. I forget that I'm not home anymore, that I'm here, they can't reach me here, I put myself here.

(TEDDY, THOSE HITS WERE LIGHT ON PURPOSE, WATCH OU-)

His leg meets my sternum and my body thinks he's distasteful because it nearly breaks in half. I'm fifteen years old and I have a weak heart. I'm small and weak. Those are my weaknesses. I wasn't made for this stuff, Tate was right. Adrenaline pumps through me, and somehow the hits seem duller because of it. I know he's painting my body black and blue right now but at the same time it's like I can't comprehend it. Tripp is silent in my head. I can't think. I don't know what to do, it's like being caught in a loop. I hear it as something in me snaps with his kick but I don't feel the pain until he hits the same spot again.

I gasp, stumbling backwards, face going white as a sheet. My eyes are wide with pain and panic but I still don't see his foot coming. It hits me square in the face and my nose snaps like it's made from nothing at all. Blood comes gushing out immediately and between that and my throat I can barely breath. The tears are falling openly now and my nose is swelling fast, I can barely see.

I'm on my back and the light fixture above me is bright and happy.

He kicks me in the side and I curl into his boot, turning. He's guiding me onto my back. I don't know why. I should be afraid. I can't feel anything right now but pain, there is no emotion there. I let out a cry as his knees find my back. He's kneeling on me, snatching at my hand and I let him have it, weak and afraid, I let him have it because I know he'd only be taking it anyway.

I can't see what he's doing but I know it, I know it when he tears the nail off of my pinky on my left hand. I scream. I scream and scream because it's a different pain and it burns. He doesn't give me time to recover, immediately pulling the nail off of my ring finger. I squirm beneath him but it's like trying to move the earth off of my back. Even Atlas couldn't do that. My nails fall to the ground right in front of my face, cracked and dirty. Like me, like me.

Before he even takes off the nail of my middle finger, I'm pissing in fear. My already dirty pants go dark with my fear and I'm lying in a warm puddle on the ground. It doesn't seem to faze my torturer. He pulls the next nail. It takes a moment to realize that I've been shouting through it all. I listen to myself for a moment - "PLEASE, PLEASE, STOP IT, STOP PLEASE," - I go on like that, like a record stuck on repeat. He takes the next nail anyway.

It somehow hurts even more than the last, despite the fact that I knew it was coming and that I'd already felt my nail being ripped from my skin bed three times before. I scream, something unintelligible and my body convulses beneath him as I try and escape with all that I have. My heart is beating too fast, the edges of my vision is so white. I'm going to die from this, it's going to kill me and I'm sobbing, trying so hard to hold onto consciousness as if I've ever had the power to do so before.

But I don't want to leave them just yet. My brothers, I don't want to be without them.

I'm crying, my right hand scrabbling for purchase at the tiles as if I can hold on that way. He takes my thumb nail and it's like someone has taken a whole patch of skin from my body. It hurts so much that I try to throw up but there was nothing but water in my stomach anyway. The putrid smell of stomach acid mixes with sweat, blood and piss and I'm going to give up, I'm going to give up, I'm gONNA GIVE UP I'M SORRY.

He starts on my right hand and I can barely stand it. There is nothing to feel anymore but pain, visceral and bright. I am dying, I am dying here in this room and my brothers won't know what happened to me. I'll die here.

As he starts on my ring finger on my right hand, he tugs too hard. My finger dislocates. The world goes stark white and I can't hold on anymore, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wanted to live.

I want to-

Last Edit: Feb 18, 2015 17:33:44 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Mar 1, 2015 2:06:37 GMT -5

Post by Python on Mar 1, 2015 2:06:37 GMT -5

Amadeus Vaux

He could imagine pain. The sensation of bruised flesh, broken bones, and throbbing wounds were all familiar to him. It had been incorporated into his Peacekeeper trainee days; ”You can’t deliver a punishment unless you understand the severity of its consequences,” his instructor always regurgitated, right before socking an unsuspecting trainee square in the jaw. Amadeus’ own body had been marked with pain. He learned to maintain a stoic visage and distinguish the different bodily reactions to particular blows. Bruises pulsed, bones throbbed, wounds stung. As he mapped the subject’s body with different colored patches, he imagined the pain inflicted on himself. He knew exactly what it felt like.

The incoming events, however, were new territory. After compliance in response to his kick, he settled himself on the subject’s spine, knees against fatigued muscle. He was heavyweight in comparison, and the press of his bone into the subject’s back would most likely strain his frantic breaths. As long as he didn’t fall unconscious, anything was acceptable. He just needed to follow the written instructions.

The pliers fit awkwardly in his right hand. He was not experienced with its grip, nor its utilization. The subject was too weak and winded to resist his reach; he snatched the boy’s hand and tried to fit the plier’s claws around the tip of his nail. It was sloppy work. The removal was too sluggish, but he supposed that didn’t matter to his superiors. It prompted an identical result; his screams. Amadeus stared at the flushed, exposed tissue where his nail once resided, following the trickles of fresh blood as the subject squirmed beneath him. He imagined a burn, like the fire of a match shoved beneath his own fingernail. He couldn’t quite replicate that sensation in his mind. He would most likely never feel such agony.

The next nail was larger and easier to grip. It tore from its roots with ease, earning more desperate cries. He caught wind of something odorous, and realized an instant later that the subject had soiled himself. Amadeus’ uniform would not allow the substance to deep through the cloth. A typical reaction, nothing he had never witnessed before. It didn’t faze him.

A toxic melody of screams filled his ears like fluid. Over the course of his evening, it drained drop by drop, scream by scream. He heard it as he flipped the pages of his book. He heard it as he switched his lamp off. He heard it the next morning at breakfast. They were everlasting echoes, and followed him every which way, even as he returned to the subject’s cell and found that he was not in fact, screaming. The subject’s cellmate watched him with one dead eye as he fastened the electric dog collar around Teddy’s neck. It was simultaneously degrading and torturous. The boy wouldn’t sleep for over a week.

The next time he visited the subject, he simply brought him up by his arm and led him out of the cell. His body was like putty, riddled with exhaustion and drained of resistance. Broken was a gentle way of putting it. Ruined was much more accurate, yet Amadeus would never say his thoughts aloud. He would only perform his duties.

Alone, he escorted the subject into one of the interrogation rooms. It was a proper arrangement this time – a table with two chairs on either side. Amadeus sat him down on one side, and took perch on the other. There were files on the table, unlabeled. He pulled a recording device out of his pocket. It wasn’t meant to remember Teddy’s voice. It was meant to relay the lies designed by a sadistic mastermind.

He had a script, so to speak, and he began promptly. There was no reason for build-up or beating around the bush. He wasn’t that type of man. ”We have your brothers in custody,” he said flatly, opening the file to withdraw the forged paperwork. He pretended to read it with disinterest. ”Two of them, at least. The third one resisted arrest by withdrawing a weapon, so we executed him immediately.” There were words printed on the paper. Amadeus knew little of the subject’s actual family, but he only needed the basics. ”That was Tripp, I believe.” He didn’t even glance at the subject. He was meant to portray a condescending authority figure that held no regard for human lives. Not so tricky a façade to create, but it wasn’t pleasant. Amadeus never spoke in such tones. He had been conditioned not to.

”The other two are receiving punishment for their crimes.” He slid the recording device forward and pressed “play.” The audio mimicked the brother’s voice perfectly.

”I’m sorry, Teddy,” It was a strained, hoarse whimper, dampened by tears and regret. ”I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Shuffling could be heard in the background, and the sharpening of a blade.

”Bring him back! Bring Teddy back!”

Amadeus chipped in. ”We told him you were dead.”

”It was supposed to be me! I was going to die first. Bring him back!” The squelch of steel biting against thick flesh was clear between the victim’s panicked breaths, but he didn’t scream. ”Kill me,” Tate said. The chains that bound his wrists rattled. ”Just fucking kill me! Please..” He was sobbing, loud and without restraint, bubbering like it was the end of the world. Amadeus could almost believe it was real. ”He was a good kid, the best kid. Better then all of us.” The strangled sound that followed was laced with rage and despair, then the audio cut out. With it came a brand new recording for a brand new brother.

”Fuck you, asshole,” he spat, literally, and a male Peacekeeper’s voice – one of the guards and not Amadeus – grunted. There was an abrupt “oof” afterward, the guard landing a shocking kick to the ribs, he imagined.

”I’ll be nicer to you if you beg,” the guard said. Amadeus could hear his smirk.

”How about you suck my dick first?”

He knew what was about to happen. The audio had been described to him somewhat, and he waited for the echoes of sizzling flesh. Amadeus had never heard of acid torture, and part of him hoped that it didn’t exist.

It reminded him of frying eggs in a greasy pan. Teva screamed, raw and red until his voice cracked. It was a continuous stream, like a downpour of rain from dawn to dusk. Amadeus hit the “fast forward” button until it reached the appropriate moment. It was meant to emphasize how long the torture actually lasted, and how it reduced his brother to a mass of pathetic whimpering.

”Don’t, don’t do it again,” he begged, his breaths heavy with exhausted sobs. The footsteps of the guard could be heard clearly. ”Please stop, please get it away, please don’t not again NOT AGAIN PLEASE—“

He screamed again and Amadeus stopped the recording.

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you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Mar 4, 2015 1:13:18 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Mar 4, 2015 1:13:18 GMT -5

T E D D Y S E R A P H I M
♂ ☆ 15 ☆ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

I might be dead.

I could be.

I mean I wish I was.

I know that it's bad to but I really wish that I was.

I know that I should be hoping still, that I should be thinking about getting home to my brothers but all I can think about is how much I wish that I was dead. I could stop hurting if I was dead, stop feeling, stop being afraid. It'd be nice I think, to do that, to die. I was scared of t for a long time because when my mom died it was terrible, she never came back. She was just gone. I don't want to be like that for my brothers, I don't want to just stop being but I do.

I do.

My fingers hurt, they bleed still. Slow and wilting like flowers and I wonder if my nails will ever grow back or if I'm going to have no fingernails until the day that I die. That could be soon if I'm lucky.

I'm not really lucky.

I used to think I was. Even with my bad heart I thought that I was lucky because I had a loving mother and three older brothers that loved me. Even though Dad left when I wasn't even born yet, that never bothered me. I was happy before. I was innocent.

I was an idiot who knew nothing about this world.

Maybe there were things that I was better off not knowing. I should have listened to Tate. He was right. I didn't want to know this sort of thing, this ugly pain. Tate must have known about it, he was trying to protect me all of those times but I never listened. I thought that I knew better, that I could handle things. I wanted him to be proud of me, I wanted to pull my weight but I'm going to die here.

I'm going to die here.

Today or tomorrow, I'll die.

It's been two days since I've slept.

Everyday, I am taken from my cell to be interrogated. On the first day, the Peacekeeper, the man with the pliers, came in and he put a collar around my neck, like I am a dog. It's black and tight and whenever I started to fall asleep, it would shock me, waking me up. It was nothing like the first punishment I received, nothing like the feeling of electricity running throughout my entire body but it still stings. It jolts. It doesn't let me sleep.

I started counting sheep but it didn't work.

Someone stabbed me with hundreds of tiny needles where I lay counting and I sat up on my metal shelf, awake.

I was awake.

I have been awake since.

They take me out of my cell at the end of the second day, two ambiguous figures in white suits. They hold me against a wall and their fists find my stomach and their boots find my shins. They strip me of my clothing, leaving the collar. I am naked, a dog. Just a dog. I nearly beg like one when they take the hose and spray me, ice cold water turning my brain cold to the point of not being able to think. I'm crying helplessly by the time they stop and there I am, pitiful and shaking against the wall, hands clutching at my shoulders as if I can cover myself that way.

I don't want to look at myself.

I don't want to see what's become of me.

I got a scar once, when I was six I caught my leg on a bit of metal fence. I remember falling on the other side, clutching at the back of my leg where I was cut, bawling. Teva pulled me up onto his back and Tate held his sweater sleeve against the cut, staunching the blood. Tripp ran ahead, hollering for mom. The cut was an inch across, I thought it was really bad.

I will have many scars now.

I can see the disgust in the eyes of the Peacekeepers as they grab me, roughly handing me a grey jumpsuit to clamber into. It swims on me. It's a jumpsuit designed for someone bigger. There's just me.

When they put me back in, Castor is huddled up in the corner, facing away from me. When I left only half an hour ago, she was sitting on the metal shelf of her bed, arms wrapped around her knees. Now she hides.

I crawl over to her, the pain in my body felt all over like wildfire making walking nearly impossible. (Oh no, Tate, I think they've broken me.) I'm eleven years old again, watching someone I love become holy, right in front of my eyes. My hand finds her shoulder and I pull her close, gaze going to the blood red of her hands that cover her left eye. I tug gently on her hands and she screams, fighting me. I tug harder. I'm crying. I don't want to see it, I don't. I have to.

I am weak and small and nothing but Castor is hysterical and I tug her hands away and there is nothing to hide because there is nothing there.

It's gone.

Her eye is gone.

I swoon, falling against the wall and the collar shocks me. A strangled cry escapes my throat as the electricity explodes inside of my skull and we're both screaming, both with something other than pain. A whole other thing like being three years old again and not understanding.

We were summer once.

Now we're dying.

The rest of the week passes slowly. Like eternity. It drips through my fingers and I watch it, hands over my head, watching time drip down. Castor barely speaks and she sleeps a lot. I'm jealous. I want to sleep. Whenever I start to fall asleep, they shock me. It's barely even shocking anymore. I've become used to it. I wonder if I could make lightening bolts come out of my fingers. If I were like my brothers I'd find a way out of here for Castor and me.

I'm not like them though. It was stupid to ever think I could be.

I am weak.

I really am useless.

I wait for them to kill me and every time I hear boots pass by my cell door I tense up because I am tired of waiting.

The man with the pliers comes when I figure that it's been a week. He stops outside my cell and I watch him enter. I don't feel afraid. I have been waiting for this, for him to come get me. I wonder what the torture will be this time. Drowning? Burning? Yesterday I went along with some women in white suits and they stripped me to the waste down and then they whipped me. I counted. It was twelve times.

My back is still sore when the pliers man takes one of my arms and drags me out of the cell. I don't fight him. There's no point. My body is wonderfully numb. Everything aches so much that it has become a singular dull beat of pain based at the bottom of my stomach. I don't ask him where we are going, I don't make a sound. I just watch Castor's huddled form as we leave her behind.

He takes me to a room.

Maybe he'll kill me now.

He doesn't.

He puts me in a chair and I rest my elbows on the tabletop like I need it just to support myself. Maybe I do. I feel oddly detached from my body, like it doesn't belong to me anymore. Maybe it doesn't. Maybe it's his now. Maybe I never belonged to me in the first place. Time is different here. Everything else that came before this could have been a dream. Maybe I made up the idea of having older brothers so that I'd have something to keep me strong in the darkness. I don't know what's worse. I don't want to make that decision so I let Tate do it.

"Of course I'm real, Teddy," Tate says from the corner, where's been watching me since I came in. I don't like the way the three of them have been watching me lately. Like I'm made of glass. I'm not made of glass. I'm made of rotting wood. There's a difference. I won't shatter, I'll decompose, slowly. I am.

With that confirmed I let my eyes roll lazily to the man sitting across from me. I want to ask him where his pliers are today but the idea of trying to form words and sentences seems like harder work than it's worth. So I don't. He has a machine on the desk between us and I wonder what he's going to do to me. Only for a bit though. Dwelling on things lately has been hard. I prefer to remember things from before instead, from before, from when I was happy.

"We have your brothers in custody,”

Ha. I want to say. That's impossible. My brothers would never let themselves be caught, they're too strong and fast. They're too sneaky and quick. My brothers would never be caught by anyone, let alone a Peacekeeper. They aren't as dumb as me. My mouth quirks up into a lazy grin and I lean back in my chair. I won't give him the satisfaction of a response, not until he proves it.

He tells me that Tripp is dead. It doesn't concern me that they know his name because I'm sure that as a Peacekeeper he can get any information he needs. He can make up anything and I'm not so innocent anymore, not so gullible that I'll just believe him. I stare at him, stony faced as he makes up lies. I know about stuff like this. It's a torture tactic. It can't hurt me though, Teva's told me himself. I'm book smart. This is one of the oldest tricks in the book.

Then he clicks a button.

”I’m sorry, Teddy,”

That's Tate's voice. Coming out of the box on the table, that's Tate, clear as day, that's him, horse and broken and disintegrating, that's him in there. I tense, hands shaking at the unfamiliar tremor in my older brother's voice. I don't understand. I don't get why his voice is coming out of there. He can't fit inside of a box. He's too big. "Ta-te?" I whisper softly, hands curling up into tight fights against the wooden table. Sounds of distress follow his voice out of the little thing and I lean forwards, confusion giving me energy as I try to understand.

”I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

"Tate, no, I-" The sound of a blade being sharpened in the background interrupts me and I stare at the box, waiting for it not wanting to hear it. He's crying. Tate's crying. Nothing new, he cries a lot and pretends we don't know but he cries all of the time. This isn't the same, this is raw and animal, it's sobbing. He's sobbing. "Tate, stop?" I tell him but he can't hear me, where ever he is, he can't hear. The sound of a knife being sharpened becomes louder. "Tate?" I ask him and my voice catches in my throat and I'm crying, he can't hear me. He can't.

He tells whoever is with him to kill him.

"No Tate, no," I sob, "You shouldn't say that, you shouldn't, YOU SHOULDN'T" I scream but the audio cuts out with a strangled scream. I pound my fist on the table and scream, high pitched and angry. Tate's dead, they killed him. He's dead. He can't be dead. This is a nightmare.

Teva's voice fills up the room, angry and hateful and I start crying harder, "No, no no no," I mutter, hands reaching out weakly for the box, for where my brother's voices are coming from. I think of my brother, all those years ago, white faced with pain and stuck on the couch because of his broken ribs and I'm afraid, I'm so afraid. I don't want to hear this. I try to cover my ears but it's too loud and I can't block it out. I listen as Teva tells the guard to eff off in true Teva fashion, and I listen as something sizzles and the screaming begins.

I have never known this thing.

I thought that my ribs being broken hurt.

I thought that being electrocuted was painful.

I thought that my fingernails being torn off one by one was the worst pain I ever felt but I was wrong.

I clutch at the front of my shirt, snot running from my nose as I curl in on myself and sob, listening to the dying screams of my brother. I listen as one by one, as step by step I begin to realize the truth that the pliers man is trying to tell me. I am alone. I am alone, without my brothers. They are dead, I am alone in this world, no more mom, no more brothers. They died believing I was dead. They died thinking that my last feeling towards them was one of escape when I would give anything to be with them again.

"This is your fault, Teddy," my mom says, leaning over the table top across from me, directly above the device where my brother's screams are coming from. "This is your fault." I didn't know that this was going to happen.

My heart hurts. Worse than ever before, it hurts, like I'm being burned alive from the inside out and I try to breathe but I can't. Teva won't stop screaming in my ears and his screaming turns into begging. Teva begging for them to stop. Tate's dead. Tripp's dead. Teva is dying.

The device goes silent and it's just the pliers man and me. It's just my sobbing filling up the room now and I shut my eyes, gripping my head tight and I tug on my hair, pulling out tufts of it as I gasp from the pain that is so deep, so bone deep down beneath my skin and I was holding on for them, I was surviving for them.

I am dying too.

"I'll come too."

The corner of my vision goes white, and I open my mouth, a steady scream emerges and I don't know how to stop it. Pain. It envelopes me like a shroud.

They're dead.

They aren't coming for me.

Me too, I'll die too.

Me too.

I fall from the chair.

My heart stops.

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you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Mar 7, 2015 21:34:49 GMT -5

Post by Python on Mar 7, 2015 21:34:49 GMT -5

Amadeus Vaux

Amadeus’ family was long gone - “gone” in the sense that they were separated miles apart from each other. His siblings all had their duties. He hadn’t spoken to any of them in over a year, and he hadn’t visited his parents in the Capitol since Ratmas two years ago. It was hard to hold any sentimental value to years he spent listening to sibling rivalries. All of the shouting and challenging for the sake of earning an intangible trophy of favoritism, there was nothing about it to miss. Amadeus liked the quiet. He liked to keep himself reserved. He was a tranquil man with simple tastes.

Bonds like the ones shared between these Seraphims, he didn’t understand.

He supposed he would feel some flare of anger if somebody were to harm his parents or his siblings (unjustified), but overall, his heart was cold in their presence. He had always been the “golden boy” by accident. Always over appreciated for his efforts in his studies and training. His siblings spited him for it. They wore ugly green shades of jealousy each time he earned his parents’ praise. It wasn’t his own fault, he knew that. His nature was to strive for his best, and his best happened to be what impressed his parents the most. It was all a matter of perspective. He wouldn’t miss their glares.

Perhaps if his family had been more nurturing, he could empathize with Teddy’s anguish. It was probably best that he didn’t. He was supposed to detach himself from his subjects, exist in his own impassive void. He drowned out his subject’s cries with the hum of his own musing. If he focused on outside topics, he could tune out the endless cries of little brother Teddy Seraphim. It was all familiar now; his screams, his voice, his tears. Now his family history had been planted in the back of Amadeus’ mind like a seed, and he was meant to tangle the roots. Reveal the truth after presenting all of these filthy lies. Voice changing technology was astonishing, a step further than he would’ve ever planned. The physical torture was enough. Teddy was lucky to be alive.

Perhaps that was the goal, to kill him another way. To stomp his will to live into the dirt. Amadeus didn’t condone such punishments, but he had his orders. He would follow through.

There was a one-sided conversations between the subject and the device. His panicked words would remain unanswered. Amadeus felt no need to say anything more. As the recording ended, he observed his subject’s behavior. Snot dribbled down his nose. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but that was expected. He retrieved the recording device and slipped it calmly into his back pocket. He reached for the files, knowing that there was still one last order of business to address. This one was an unfortunate truth. It was “icing on the cake” so to speak, but nothing about it was sweet. The subject’s bond with his brothers was clearly stronger than Amadeus could fathom. He couldn’t anticipate his reaction to the piece of information, stamped into a sheet of paper with the Capitol’s seal at the corner of the document.

He cleared his throat, and Teddy collapsed.

He knew what that meant, or its implications. He knelt beside his limp form and pressed two fingers to the pulse point on his neck. No response; his heart had stopped. The suffering organ had finally reached its breaking point, but this time Amadeus was allowed to intervene. He rolled back the cuffs of his sleeves and tilted Teddy’s head back to open his airway. He delivered two rescue breaths into his lungs, then began compressions. Thirty chest compressions for every two breaths. His shoulders were firm and straight, arms steady as he pressed life into a weak heart. A dead heart.

After the two minute mark, he would take more extreme measures. Fortunately, a breath escaped the boy’s lips before that happened. ”Good,” he muttered, collected and nonchalant. Despite his efforts to rescue him, he was to remain cold and uncaring as the subject regained consciousness. ”We almost lost you, Teddy Seraphim.” He rose to an upright position and reclaimed the document. He stared at the seal in the corner. It was authentic. This was the original. His superiors had gone to such lengths to torment this boy’s psyche. It was time to finish the job. Time to check the final item on the checklist.

”I shouldn’t call you that. It’s misleading. You’re not a real Seraphim.”

He stretched his arm and offered Teddy the document. The truth about his identity. Where he didn’t come from, and who didn’t share his blood.

”And these aren’t your real brothers. You were adopted.”

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you take your time, young lion .. Teddy/Amadeus Mar 9, 2015 19:52:58 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Mar 9, 2015 19:52:58 GMT -5

T E D D Y S E R A P H I M
♂ ☆ 15 ☆ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

"Teddy."

I sigh softly, barely shifting despite the insistent voice coming from above my head. The ground is cold but my body is heavy and warm so I'm alright. I don't think I have ever been this tired in my life. Not even that one time I stayed up all night with the triplets so that we could catch the frogs in the early morning as they jumped out of their muddy nests.

"Teddy? Come on darling," comes the voice again, coaxing me and I stir, a warm feeling overtaking everything. I try to open my eyes but it nearly takes too much effort like trying to tear apart paper that's been glued together. I place one palm against the floor, struggling to push myself up, blinking slowly against a brightness that isn't entirely correct. It's too much work but at the same time the way that voice sounds drives me. It's because I know that voice. I frown, trying to place it as I sit on the ground, palms rubbing into my eyes in an effort to get them to open.

"There's a good boy," she says, voice soft and I feel her hand on the back of my head, ruffling my hair. I yawn, leaning into her palm. It feels like it's been years since anyone held me so carefully and despite the fact that I've grown and many things have changed, it's still one of the most comforting feelings in the world. I arch my back, pulling my arms in towards my body as I do so in order to get a good stretch and she laughs, "There's my little teddysaurus rex."

My mouth breaks into a lazy grin and I blink slowly. The kitchen slowly comes into view like a Polaroid picture coming into view. It's bright. Sunlight streaks in through the window above the sink and I'm on the ground beside the kitchen table. I look at my hands and they are whole. There are no missing nails, no scars. It was a dream, it was all just a bad dream. Mom is standing at the counter, cutting up strawberries and lemons for the picnic that we'll all go on later in the afternoon. She turns her head to look at me and smiles, "Teddy, what have I told you about sleeping on floors?" It's not really a question, we both know what she's told me again and again.

"It's bad for my heart and it's going to give me a bad back when I'm older," I answer anyway. I smile sadly at the back of her head when she turns back around to focus on the strawberry that she's slicing. She starts to hum as she works. I look at the clock on the wall. It's two fifteen. My brothers will be getting off school soon and we'll go to the fields that surround the district center and we'll spend the rest of the afternoon out there. We'll wrestle in the grass and mom will nap on the picnic blanket, hat over her face and we'll play at gang members, guarding our boss.

I remember this afternoon.

"Mom?" I ask, and the question aches without having even asked it. It's been so long since I've addressed her, I forgot what it was like to. She stops humming and turns around to look at me. I nearly burst into tears when she does. We've got no pictures of mom at home, just wanted posters that make her look mean and terrible. She wasn't that. She could be that, but my mom wasn't like that, she was this way, hair done up in a messy bun, apron on halfway, smile tugging at her lips. Teva's got a smile like her's, like he's always got a smirk prepared for emergency reasons. I swallow sharply and my eyes begin to water, I don't want to ask. "Nothing," I say.

Ten minutes later we're heading out the door and mom's got the picnic basket in one hand and my hand in her other one. I grip her tightly but I don't think she notices how desperate I am, that or she doesn't care. I've got the picnic blanket tucked under my arm and the steps to school are familiar. I walked them everyday for the last six years of my life. She speaks to me and I listen, drinking in the sound of her voice, biting my lip so that I won't cry and ruin this. It feels like reality but can't be real. Mom is dead. She's dead. I'm in jail. This is a dream.

"You've grown so much," she says with a smile. She lets go of my hand to ruffle my hair, "One day I'm sure you'll be taller than me!" I duck my head, shy somehow, embarrassed maybe at a mother's attention. I don't know what to say to her. I don't know if anything that I will say will matter or change this vivid memory. So far it's going according to how it did so many years ago. We even step over the hole in the sidewalk, one that's been there forever, Mom makes the same comment she did before, ("Must be an ogre living down there,") and we see the same warning message on the games square screens about gang violence as we pass through the square to get to the school.

I hold her hand so tightly as we walk through the square that I'm sure I must be cutting off her circulation. Maybe she doesn't notice because she squeezes my hand just as tight as we walk. She always told me that it was because once when I was really small we were at the market and I went stumbling away from her without her realizing. She got into such a panic over the incident that she accidentally threatened some stallkeeper at gunpoint because she'd though that I'd been kidnapped. Ever since then she'd held on to me tightly, and me to her.

Mom.

I missed her so much.

We get to the school and the bell rings. We stand at the gates together, to the side as we wait for my brothers to get out. They were usually always first out, eager to get out of class and do some running around. Today we wait for ten long minutes and watch as the crowds of kids disperse in every and any direction possible. Mom doesn't say anything. She just stares at the school doors, eyes searching with expectation. We wait another five minutes. There are only a few stragglers left. We wait another ten, it's nearly three by the time Mom finaly sighs and looks down at her shoes before raising her head again. "Not today then," she says.

Confusion grips me.

I don't remember this part.

This isn't how it went, they're supposed to come running out of the school, ahead of everyone. Then they swarmed us and Teva swung me onto his back while I shrieked with glee. Tripp had stolen the blanket from me and mad it into a cape and Tate had gotten the basket from Mom so that she wouldn't have to carry it anymore. Then we'd all gone together.

Mom starts to walk away from the school and I am helplessly dragged along with her. "Hey," I say, glancing back at the school doors, now shut and silent again, "What about Teva, Tate and Tripp, Mom?" I ask her, turning to look at the back of her head.

"They can't come, Teddy," she says, voice wistful. That doesn't make sense. There's no way that they wouldn't be coming. This isn't how this memory goes at all. She walks faster and I try to keep up but I grow shorter and shorter with every step that we take as she grows taller and taller.

"Why?" I ask, desperately trying to pump my small legs fast enough to keep up with her alarming speed.

"They aren't dead yet darling," she says, voice matter of fact and suddenly she stops. I nearly smack into her as she bends down to study me. "Teddy, neither are you," she say,s voice slowly filling up with wonder. Gently, she places the basket on the ground and takes the blanket from my arms before cupping my cheek in one hand. Sweetly, she places a kiss on my forehead, like she used to, all the time. She turns me around then as I stare dumbly at her, pushing gently on my shoulders, steering me in the opposite direction and back to our house, "Go back baby, hurry now, go," she says, excited.

I've never disobeyed my mom once.

I step away from her and as my foot hits pavement, someone punches me in the chest.

I gasp, stumbling to my knees as the force hits me, face going white with pain. I move to stand again and the force hits me, I can't. "GO, TEDDY, RUN," she yells and so I do, forcing myself to stand. I glance over my shoulder bu mom is dissipating as I run and my feet aren't even hitting pavement anymore.

"TEDDY, DON'T LISTEN TO HIM, HE'S LYI-"

”We almost lost you, Teddy Seraphim.”

Ah, it hurts.

I forgot.

It all hurts.

I blink in confusion, exhaustion making me feel concave, or that's just the fresh bruising on my chest. I open my eyes and shut them again almost immediately, dizziness coming on in full force, angry and strong. I squeeze my eyes shut, completely lost. I don't know where I am. I can't remember who's speaking to me. I'm not home but this isn't school either. I don't think I've been to school for awhile. Tate's going to get annoyed when he hears I've been skipping.

Why am I skipping school.

I struggle to remember, breezing slowly, trying to get past the horrible pain in my chest. I don't know what's going on. I must have fainted again. Maybe I am at school and they've been trying to get me to do physical education again. Last time that happened, the triplets went to school and had a 'nice chat' with the principal. Something tells me that this isn't like that time at all. My brows knit together as I pull myself to a sitting position, immediately putting my head between my legs to deal with the disorientation.

”I shouldn’t call you that. It’s misleading. You’re not a real Seraphim.”

...Pliers Man?

Slowly it begins to come back, piece by piece. The pain helps. It works like an anchor. Sweat drips down the back of my neck as I slowly open my eyes to stare down at the linoleum floor between my legs. It's an interrogation room. Linoleum flooring is better for cleaning blood off of. I'm in jail. Tate and Teva and Tripp, they'r-

Dead?

I slowly lift my head and it feels like trying to lift a fifty pound weight. I'm so tired, so tired. I nearly cry from the effort and my cheeks are stained with salt. I must have been crying. Ahh, that's right, the little box on the table, it was telling me that they'r-

Dead?

I turn my head to look at the Pliers Man, who is giving me a paper. I reach out as fast as I can, which isn't very fast at all. My face screws up in effort and I shake with it. I stick out my tongue in concentration and nearly drop it as he gives it to me.

I don't know what I'm looking at. My thumb caresses the seal in the corner of the page, feeling the bumps and official coding marks that cover it. I look at the page. There is a picture of a baby in the upper left hand corner and the rest of the page is filled with boxes that have writing in them too, information about the baby. It's a birth certificate, like the ones that the triplets have. Mom always said that mine had never come in the mail, no matter how many times she had requested it, they wouldn't give it to her.

The baby was named Teddy too.

That's cool but I don't know why he's showing it to me.

”And these aren’t your real brothers. You were adopted.”

I don't understand.

How could they not be my real brothers? Mom said that we were all her's so he must be lying to me. I don't get what he's trying to tell me. I look at him over the paper, a confused expression painting my features in a silly way.

'Teddy La Roux to be known as Teddy Seraphim' the paper reads, 'Custody of 'Teddy Seraphim' goes to Mrs. Seraphim as of December 15th, in the year of the 54'th Games. Mrs. La Roux no longer may take legal action in the life of her son after this date.'

Understanding dawns slow like a winter sunrise.

"Oh," I say, unable to understand how to feel anymore, "Oh."

I sit there, bent over the piece of paper for the next thirty minutes as two Peacekeepers in medical masks pull my grey jumpsuit off of my chest to check on my heart, pushing cold stethoscopes against my skin.

They tell me that I ought to get more rest and eat a healthy meal, they can see my bones sticking out under my skin. Then they laugh.

I am back in my cell fifteen minutes later.