Jonathan Feconick D9 {fin}

Name: Jonathan Feconick

Age: 16

Gender: M

District: 9

Jonathan Feconick wasn’t the most physical specimen. Life in District 9 had taken its toll on the boy, and although a normal 16-year old would be expected to be relatively fit, Jonathan was significantly more on the skinny side. If he really tried flexing, one could see the beginnings of small biceps, but other than that, he had no muscles worth looking at. His ribs protruded outwards slightly, another sign of his malnutrition.

By observing his hands, one might think that Jonathan was a fighter. After all, they were covered in plenty of scabs and calluses. His angled face often made him look tougher than he felt. His cheekbones were high, whereas his nose stooped low, creating the impression of a predator waiting to attack his prey. This was only accentuated by his bushy black eyebrows, close together and sloped inward, sitting atop his deep brown eyes. In fact, on the surface, everything about Jonathan was dark. His complexion was clear, free of any blemishes, color the same as that of faded copper, dark but not yet turning green. His pitch black hair, quite long, sat on his head in an unruly mane. Looking at him, an observer would draw the conclusion that the kid was troubled, angry, or dangerous.

Such a conclusion couldn’t be further from the truth. Jonathan valued life in all of its glory. He knew he didn’t belong in District 9, where every corner was filled with metal and everything just felt so dead. The constant whirr of machinery was a parody of life, an attempt to make manmade creations resemble the beauty of nature. Jonathan found it disgusting. Metal almost never brought anybody any good. Every year, in the annual Games, metal only brought death upon 23 innocent tributes. Every year, 23 beautiful spirits were extinguished by the tools his district created.

Jonathan wanted no part in it. He felt the pain of every life going out, could empathize so clearly with all living creatures. Overly sensitive, they called him. Not his parents, but the kids in school. “Cry-baby,” they whispered. “You don’t even have to insult him,” they jeered, “Just mess with one of his friends, and they’ll both be miserable. Two for the price of one!” They weren’t wrong. It was too easy to make Jonathan upset, but that quality also made him a good, loyal friend. He would never leave those he cared for, and he would go out of his way to ensure they didn’t get hurt.

Whenever he did get upset, though, Jonathan couldn’t bear to be around people. That was when he needed to be alone. Alone, in his room, with nothing but his knives and rocks.

Jonathan’s father was a metalsmith, a prized job that required much more skill than the average factory worker, but which didn’t allow for much free time or too many benefits. After all, the quotas for each type of weapon were purposefully placed high enough to make sure the smiths didn’t make any weapons for themselves. Instead, everything was shipped off to the career districts or redistributed amongst the various active Peacekeepers. When Jonathan was 12, however, his dad set to work on a project, spending extra time at the forge so he could present his son with a gift on his 13th birthday. When the day came, Jonathan received twin knives, each engraved with his name on one side and one parent’s on the other. He wasn’t sure what to think. On one hand, here was his dad, giving him weapons of destruction, which he knew Jonathan despised, right? On the other hand, they had beautiful carvings and obviously symbolized Jonathan’s parents’ love for him.

How could he make his parents proud without using the knives for the gruesome purpose metal weapons were created?

The answer came to Jonathan while he was walking through the District Square one day, as his eyes fell upon the statue in the center of the plaza. Of course, here was a creation, made of what used to be dead stone, radiating life.

From then on, whenever Jonathan got the chance, he would pick up large stones and rocks and bring them home. There, he would spend hours carving away, until what lay in his hand was no longer a dead stone, but a figurine resembling a live animal or plant. His first few attempts were crude, almost impossible to make out, but over time, Jonathan became quite adept at using his knives, honing his ability to make precise cuts and incisions, so that the final product always looked like a masterpiece. The work was long, for some it would have been tiresome, but Jonathan learned to be patient. Nothing could stop him from achieving his goal once a knife was in one hand and an unworked piece of stone in another.

That’s why Jonathan couldn’t understand why his parents kept asking him about when he wanted to start working at a forge? Why couldn’t they understand he wanted nothing to do with weapons development? His knives were an exception; he used them to bring life. He knew, however, that his father’s mandated creations led only to violence and death. He understood so many people, could empathize with any creature, so why couldn’t his parents understand his decision to pursue another field, anything but this one?

Jonathan wanted to go into carving as a profession. Since he was 15 years old, he’d been selling his figurines, not just making them for his own amusement. Sure, he wasn’t making too much from the profits, but he was still learning how to hone the art, and he was still in the school. If his skill level rose to rival his father’s, Jonathan was sure he’d be able to make enough money to survive.

But it wasn’t about survival, was it? No, it was a matter of pride. Jonathan’s father would feel like a failure if his son refused to follow in his footsteps, which Jonathan could understand, especially since his field of interest was much less “manly” than his father’s.

But, for once, Jonathan didn’t care. He was going to be selfish. He loved and respected his parents, especially his father, but that did not mean he would let them dictate his life. Confronted with the choice between being a creator of life and a deliverer of death, Jonathan would choose the former option every single time.

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As Jonathan put the touches on his latest figurine, a stone bird in mid-flight, he smiled to himself. “A tool of death becomes one of life when placed in the right hands. And whereas death is ugly, life is beautiful.”