United We Stand {We Are Titans}
Sept 29, 2011 19:24:36 GMT -5
Post by Ev on Sept 29, 2011 19:24:36 GMT -5
[/size]Narration-19C1C1
Thoughts-128787
Dialect-0000FF
My scar was pulsating off my face, the flush of the red embarrassment coalesced with my burn. I felt nervous, my heart pounding in an odd series of patterns. I was not nervous about being strong enough, being intimidating enough, facing the tough, bloodthirsty careers, but nervous about finding an ally. Every year we would watch the games on television, ignoring the sickening reality that we stared at every night. Now I was that cold reality, that walking corpse, being watched walk into the slaughterhouse. In past games, tributes that went solo and tried to brave the elements alone either went nuts of were picked off like flies. I knew that my best chance of living was finding a partner. In this lonely circumstance, I desired a security, a temporary bodyguard to help me find my way out.
Immediately a few people catch my eye. Of course, the career boys with their bulging muscles and tall bodies seem like very good bodyguards, but they would be the first to say no. I was used to the company of testosterone, growing up in District 11 surrounded in rambunctious boys. My dad raised me well, but I never received the influence of a womanly touch, a girlish spirit, and charm that I will never have. But why would I? I don’t want to be one of those annoying, perky girls with squeaky voices and perfect hair, I want to be me. I want a male ally, someone who I can match up to, and someone up to my caliber.
I hate girls, stupid emotional wrecks of brains. They shed more tears than they’ll shed blood in the arena, small, weak, and too pretty. They’d never win. But who was I kidding? I was a girl too, not a typical estrogen case, but a strong mix of femininity and bravery. The other girls had beautiful long flowing hair, petite figures, something I never had, and never wanted to have. I stood at six foot one, towering over the other girls. My hair was shoulder length and choppy, my tan skin contrasting with their delicate, porcelain. I normally would feel ugly with this masculine appearance, beautiful girlish face but a horrifying red scar, but I felt superior, like the other girls couldn’t touch me. They could swing all they want; slice all they want, but they would never kill me.
I remembered finding Paedar wandering through the street near my house, lonely and crying. We were only six, but we immediately connected. His mother had just died he told me, died of a horrible infection. His dad was devastated, morphing into a sad, broken robot of a human. Little did I know that my dad and I would be put in the same place a half a decade later, but we weren’t exactly upset about my mom. I didn’t want to think about her, a mix of grief, pity, and hatred. She was both a disgrace and a blessing, and she would always be the bane of my dad’s existence. I hoped to find an ally worth Paeder’s loyalty, yet I expected the best choice to be of my mother’s trust.
