PTS. YOU KNOW.

Stare
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and i will hold you tight / like the moon in the arms of the sky

PTS. YOU KNOW. Oct 11, 2011 18:20:20 GMT -5

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Post by Stare on Oct 11, 2011 18:20:20 GMT -5

Made by the wonderful and amazing Shrimp<3

Strings, strings, strings...

It seems more are being attached every hour. Move this way, do that. Eat this, smile at them, wave your hand, glare. Every order is followed without any hesitation because I'm just so unsure that it is all I can really do to follow. And they are glorious puppet masters, dressing me up and combing my hair and painting my face so that it lacks a single flaw. And then they attach their strings, and drill into me my lines so that they are in my mind when they aren't standing near me- I feel myself slowly transforming from a girl into a tribute, when before I couldn't even tell the difference.

This morning, at breakfast, my escort cornered me. She said that I can't mess up today- no more making enemies when I should be making friends. She told me that I need to show them my strengths- I'm a natural at Self Defense (it's all reaction, and when you jump from dizzying heights with only a rope to keep you from hitting the ground, reaction is a matter of life or death). But will it be good enough? She told me to play my strengths, but what strengths do I really have? I asked her this, and she looked at me in disgust and stormed out of the room, finally giving up on me.

My Self Defense trainer was far nicer. While I can't say that we are friends, I do feel as if I've started to get past her hard shell to a softer, warmer core. Yesterday, she told me that my ability to respond so quickly to the oncoming blade amazed even her. “I... I jump out of trees,” I had said quietly. She hadn't heard me, and I don't know whether I should be grateful or disappointed.

I now find myself with a racing heart and unsteady hand as I sit in silence in the Dining Hall. I'm completely alone at my table, as would be expected- I'm the strange girl from District Seven, after all. And really, I don't look very impressive- thin, pale, and delicate without mud smeared on my face and cuts decorating my arms. Did I really think that I looked pretty like this? Because now all I see is weakness. The first name is called, and I jump, my heart racing even faster. I bite on my thumbnail nervously as the numbers fly by.

Finally, my name is called, and I feel like I'm at the Reaping again. Those four syllables dooming me to almost certain failure. Before I stand, though, I take a deep breath, angry at myself for being afraid. I jump out of trees, kept alive only by a single rope. I fear nothing.

Yet my legs are still shaking when I walk through the doors.

Being so near the middle on the list of tributes they are seeing, I know that I'll have to be truly spectacular. I don't make a first impression, and I'm not the last thing they remember. I'm just one of twenty four, and only my ability to impress can change that.

But how? Sure, I learned more than just Self Defense, but Fire Making won't make me stand out, and though Trapping came easily (my ability to tie knots is far better than the Trainer thought it would be), watching me make one will only bore them to tears. I know what they want- a show. And that's what all of these strangers have been preparing me for- I'm dressed up and the strings are tied, but now I find that there are no puppeteers above me ready to help.

Still, as I walk in, I keep my head help high and steps even and slow, though I can't wait to get this whole things over with. Stopping in the center, I make eye contact with each Gamemaker in turn, giving each a small, polite compliment, and then turning my back on them and allowing panic to appear in my eyes. Where do I start? What do I do? There's nothing I'm good at. Nothing except...

I look up at the ceiling, but find that it is far to high for me to reach. My heart sinks- I will not be able to impress them with my brilliant falling today. My eyes land on the Fire Making station, and I slowly walk over to it, inspecting the materials carefully and finally picking a few- quartzite and the steel blade of a knife from another Training Station, as well as some char. Taking some dry twigs, I organize them into a neat little nest, with wood set in a tipi above them. The setup is tiny- hardly larger than my hand- but I do not wish to burn the entire Training Center down. I strike the quartzite with the knife a few times, causing sparks to float off and onto the char, which begins to glow faintly. Acting quickly, I hold the char near my pile of wood and twigs, pressing my lips together.

A flame suddenly captures a twig, and then the entire thing has burst into flames. I leap back, smiling in delight and stepping away from my creation so the Gamemakers can clearly see it. I then quickly grab the bucket of water that has been set out for the purpose of putting these things out, and throw it onto the fire.

Only nothing happens.

I look inside the bucket, my heart racing, and find it totally empty. Without hesitation I throw it aside, not even looking to see where it hit, and fly over to the camouflage station. A bright blue tarp has been set out around it to prevent the 'paints' from staining the floor, and I quickly rip it up and rush back to the fire, frowning in concentration. Slamming the tarp down on top of my tiny fire, I breath in the smell of smoke and wait, wait, wait because there is really not much else I can do.

But the terrible yellow flames do not claim anything more, and I sigh in relief, leaving the tarp where it is for fear that if I lift it, I will still find a fire burning underneath. And then, as I'm straightening up, my eyes land on something. Several buckets along side the training station that are filled with crystal clear water.

I merely sigh at my stupidity.

Walking over to the Trapping station, I quickly find my preferred rope and set to work tying knots. The rope feels so natural in my hands that it calms me slightly, and for the few seconds it takes me to set the trap, I am back at home. I smile warmly at my final creation, gesturing to it proudly but saying nothing.

Finally, I step over to the self defense area, grabbing the proper sword and swinging it a few times to warm up. Then, I frown. How am I supposed to demonstrate my abilities at self defense if I have no one to fight? My eyes land on the sling shots, and I get a sudden idea. Walking back over to the camouflage area, I choose out a bright red hue and dip the spongy balls used by the sling shots in it, soaking up the red liquid. Then I travel over to the trapping stations, finding five strings. Finally, I grab the sling shots, and using a few knifes and some weights, I manage to create a setup where the knives hold the strings on firmly placed sling shots, and all I need is to pull the strings I've attached to the knives in order to release them. Smiling broadly, I walk over to my position, holding my sword in front of me steadily, taking a deep breath. Then, one, two, three, four, five! I yank each string a split second after the last, and my hand flies to the sword. The first red ball hits my shoulder, leaving a bright red stain on my nice white shirt. The other four are hit at a speed I didn't know I could achieve- my sword is red and gleaming, and the four balls lay on the ground, dripping softly. It happened so fast that I barely had time to comprehend it- all I know is that I reacted and that was all that needed to happen. Only one of the balls hit me, and that was the first one. My trainer would have been able to stop it, but I don't really care. This is a huge achievement for someone who only started training a few days ago.

I turn to face them, my face shining with sweat and a big red splat on one shoulder. But I'm smiling ever so slightly, confidence clear in my eyes. I broke a few of the strings they tied on and put on a show far better than they could have organized. And though I know that as soon as I leave this room, the strings will be tied right back on, I hardly care. I did something to make my life in the Arena slightly better and that's all that matters. I give a slight nod to tell them that I have finished, and walk away with a hammering heart and a crazy smile after they have dismissed me.

Dysis' training score was Nine [9].

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Last Edit: Oct 11, 2011 18:22:00 GMT -5 by Stare

Morgana
District Mayor

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<3

PTS. YOU KNOW. Oct 11, 2011 20:15:29 GMT -5

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Post by Morgana on Oct 11, 2011 20:15:29 GMT -5

This is just how awesome Sylvania is.

Sylvania Legend stepped into the room without quite knowing why she was supposed to be there. When she asked her stylist, she'd said to do something to impress these people, but Sylvania had no idea what that might be. She supposed others were showing off their archery skills, or demonstrating how easily they could kill someone with their bare hands. But Sylvania didn't know how to do any of those things. She'd taken the blades station, but she wasn't good enough that she thought she'd be able to impress anyone. So what was she good at?

She took a look at the judges and gave them a wide smile, self-conciously rubbing her useless left arm. Everyone would see it as a weakness, she knew. She hoped these people would think the same. After taking a deep breath, she began, "Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess with long blonde hair, who lived in a tower. Her hair was so long that if she threw it out the window of the multi-leved tower, it would almost reach the ground." She smiled again, them opened her mouth to continue the tale. No words came out. She scratched her head, racking her brain for words, but still she found none. "Um, that's all I can remember." As an afterthought, she added, "Sorry."

And for the rest of the time, she stood staring at the judges, a blush creeping across her face.

cass
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PTS. YOU KNOW. Oct 11, 2011 20:37:06 GMT -5

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Post by cass on Oct 11, 2011 20:37:06 GMT -5

Sperring Kapow

Sperring was empty, devoid of everything he had once wished to be.

It was difficult, sitting in the dining hall, as the other tributes filed one by one into the gym. Many of them seemed prepared for this, but not Sperring. He was at a loss, having no plan whatsoever. If he had only been from District Twelve, then he would have gotten to wait twenty-two people before he entered. With that amount of time, he could think up anything. But of course, being from District Four, he had only six people before him.

Sperring felt nothing as he waited. Everything left in him had vanished by now: emotion, pain, and even fear. Fear had overcome him during the reaping, but now, it was like it had never existed. Quite too many times, he had feared being alone, but that fear had passed him by when he realized, there was no hope in fearing it. Not if it was already his reality.

When it was Sperring’s turn, he stood up slowly, walking almost casually to the door. He slipped his hands into his pockets, feeling the eyes of the other tributes on him. When he reached the large double-doors that led to the gym, he took a hand out of his pocket, placing it on the cold surface of the handle. This was the last thing he needed: to be judged. However, he promised himself he would cooperate. He would give the Gamemakers what they wanted…and he would do it with confidence. Control yourself, he told himself. Control was the one thing he desperately needed.

Pulling open the door with little effort, Sperring walked into the gym. He took his other hand out of his pocket, letting both of them hang limply at his side. He didn’t need a deep breath, or a slight shrug to get him going. Those little methods didn’t help him. His head was already playing the game.

Being a quick thinker, Sperring wasn’t necessarily worried about how he’d do. He had always been one to improvise, so his training session was no different, was it? Sperring heard the door shut behind him, so he stopped walking. For a mere moment, he glanced around the gym, his eyes catching the line of dummies near the weapons station. He spotted the plants and berries station next to the dummies. Then, he noted the color of the walls: white. Taking all of the facts he had, he was able to piece together a plan. Sperring took a run towards the plants station, and knelt down, quickly rummaging through berries that he had seen during training. He finally found the berries he was looking for: the ones that came from Gray Dogwood trees. They were white as snow.

Sperring scooped as many as he could into one of the berry dishes, and mashed them with his hands, creating a white paint. He began smearing thick coats of it all over his clothes, his arms, his legs. Then, he repeated this method of mashing berries several times, until he was satisfied with the amount of paint on his body. He walked over to the blades station, picked up a sword and then rubbed paint down that too. It took quite a bit of time, but at least he was quick about it.

When he was finished, he stood up against the wall, closing his eyes, and doing his best to blend in. He was able to apply his learning in edible plants to stealth. He wondered if he was actually blending in at all. The Gamemakers were sitting farther away; obviously, anyone close up could see that he wasn’t a piece of the wall, but from where they were sitting, he had to at least hope it was working.

He inched slowly across the wall, closer to the line of dummies. He kept his sword at his side. After a while, he opened his eyes the slightest bit, to see if he was close enough. When he realized he was, he took a great leap, jutting out his sword, so that it went straight through the dummy, where the heart was supposed to be. Dead. Sperring felt successful, but he didn’t smile. He looked back at where he had started; he had concealed himself quite a long way, but he knew it wasn’t enough. Stealth wouldn’t get him a high enough score. He needed something more.

It only took him a second to grasp another idea. Just because he didn’t know how to read a book, or solve a math problem, didn’t mean he wasn’t smart. In fact, for a kid who had barely gone to school, there was something clever about him. Maybe not smart, but clever. Quickly, Sperring headed back towards the edible plants station. Again, he searched for the berries he needed, immediately finding them: nightlock, extremely poisonous. Sperring took only one; if everything went right, that was all he needed.

Immediately, he rushed to the targets station, picking up a bow. He hadn’t actually practiced archery during his training, but that didn’t matter. He took an arrow, smearing the nightlock across the end of it. Still, he tried to make what he was doing very clear to the gamemakers. Even if his arrow didn’t kill, the poison at the end up it would. Sperring readied his bow, letting the arrow fly towards one of the dummies. The arrow stuck, deep in the dummy’s arm. It wasn’t too good of an aim, but the poison had done enough. Dead.

Sperring wondered whether it was time to leave yet, although the Gamemakers weren’t dismissing him. Either way, he figured he had more time. There was just one more thing he had to show them. Dropping the bow, he walked over the third and final dummy. If they really wanted to see what he could do…this was it. Sperring wrapped his arm around the dummy’s neck, tugging slightly at its head. All he needed to ignite his strength was anger, frustration. So he started thinking.

He thought about his family back home, the one that didn’t exist anymore; he thought of the kids who spent their free time bullying him; he thought of the loneliness he had been forced to face the first sixteen years of his life. Most of all, he thought of the Capitol: the people who were going to be the cause of his own death.

Maybe, Sperring decided, he should be thanking him.

However, he didn’t have time to think about that, for Sperring tugged so hard at the dummy’s head, it came right off. He loosened his grip on it, watching as it toppled with a to the ground with a loud thud. Sperring knew his physical capabilities were his biggest strength in these games.

Another success, Sperring thought. But somehow, the thought of his success only made the pit in his stomach seem larger.

The Gamemakers dismissed him, and so, Sperring Kapow left.

Sperring recieved an eight!

Last Edit: Oct 11, 2011 20:38:03 GMT -5 by cass

cameron Retired Staff 1,837 POSTS Pronouns: all spoken with respect last seen Oct 3, 2024 17:10:15 GMT -5 MY SHIT IS TOGETHER - Shy Aubergine	PTS. YOU KNOW. Oct 11, 2011 21:10:14 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by cameron on Oct 11, 2011 21:10:14 GMT -5 I just wanna point out that Sylvania had the best PTS of all time. The end.

SNOWFLAKES [Brik] Tribute [M:-1155] 487 POSTS last seen Apr 27, 2013 14:22:20 GMT -5	PTS. YOU KNOW. Oct 11, 2011 21:15:09 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by SNOWFLAKES [Brik] on Oct 11, 2011 21:15:09 GMT -5 Out of all of them, I liked Sylvania's the best so far XD
	Ally: obviously the B, R, I, K, N, O, P, and E, are silent, and it's pronounced "Fabulicious."

Morgana District Mayor 771 POSTS last seen May 25, 2015 9:32:54 GMT -5 <3	PTS. YOU KNOW. Oct 12, 2011 9:53:58 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Morgana on Oct 12, 2011 9:53:58 GMT -5 I'm very proud of Sylvania's. I have no idea where Enigma's is, and honestly, it's not worth reading.

Nervoux
Merchant

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"We plan. We get there. All hell breaks loose."

PTS. YOU KNOW. Oct 12, 2011 21:07:51 GMT -5

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Post by Nervoux on Oct 12, 2011 21:07:51 GMT -5

Both of the training sessions are actually rather horrible, though the second was much better than the first in my opinion. Hopefully my writing has improved since Colan's.

As Zuka walked down the hall that led to the training center, she felt eerily calm. It wasn't that she was confident that she would do well, definatly not that. Perhaps it was that she simply didn't care anymore, she had accepted her fate. How would a District 11, insane girl win The Hunger Games? There was a chance, but it was very slim.

She had seen the other tributed during training, and there were many who seemed to be stronger and healthier. Zuka was not the strongest girl, she was rather skinny for her age from years of abuse and lack of food, though she knew something that probably very many of them didn't know. She had experience with killing; she knew the after affects that brought many haunting nightmares... and voices.

Zuka let her thoughts stop as she reached the large doors that led to the training area. She took a long, deep breath as she stared intently at them. Letting her mind run through what she was supposed to do, she moved her arms forward to push open the doors, to only find that they slid open. She scratched her head, dumbfounded of what had just happened, having no idea that she was being waited on.
Go Zuka! You're already ruining your chances of getting a good score, you idiot. Now, forget about what everyone told you to do, and do what I tell you, okay? I've helped you survive this long, and I'll most definatly help you survive...

"Shut up" Zuka whispered under her breath, speaking to the voices that wandered freely through her tortured mind. She gave up in trying to make them hush as she heard them cackling. Sighing, she glanced around the area, trying to locate the place she needed to go. As she let her eyes wander, she noticed how quiet and empty the center looked without any of the other tributes. It was finally unnerving, though it did help her to think.

She had decided to do one thing that she had experience with, and that was using a knife. Wonderful but haunting memories came with holding a knife, but it did give her confidence and a hint of satisfaction. Her feet seem to absent-mindedly bring her over to the blades section, her hands instantly picking up a knife that looked eerily similiar to the one she had used so long ago.

Zuka placed it in the sweaty palm of her hand, holding it up at eye-level. She smirked, imagining she was back at the moment where she had ended the life of her mother. Bringing the knife back slightly, she tightened her grasp and shot the knife forwards. She could hear the wisp of air as it went flying towards a training dummy about twenty feet away. Surprisingly, it hit right in the center of the chest, causing fake blood to spew out.

Without thinking, she cackled along with the voices in her head, sounding rather insane if anyone was able to hear. She took another knife, sending it flying to another dummy that wasnext to the previous one. The blade hit at the top of the head, and her next knife accadently missing from the cause of her crazy laughing.

She snickered, figuring she did pretty well with her first two knives, showing how she could use one. Zuka glanced up, seeing that she was dismissed, and began to head back. She smirked to herself, not even caring to wonder what her training score would be. If it was a big score, she would be taken seriously. If it was a small one, no one would go after her. It was a win, win situation in her opinion.

Zuka's Training Score: 4

Blue eyes glinting with anxiety and nervousness laid upon the face of Colan Raftor. His footsteps were quiet as he paced across the room, turning on his heels swiftly each time he reached the opposite wall. His sweaty hands were clasped together behind his back, his long fingers almost seeming to tremble in their tight hold. Sweat began to form on his upper lip, the salty taste of it lingering in his mouth as he hastily lifted his hand to wipe it away. His nervous actions were easily noticed by his District partner and his mentor, for their disapproving eyes followed him with each step. Little did they know how hard this would be for him.

The Colan that had existed before his mother and siblings were killed would see no problem in standing before a panel of judges. The Colan now... the thought was enough to make his stomach churn. The District Ten boy couldn't even stand before someone and have a complete conversation, for the moment they started to talk, a wall would fall down on his thoughts. He would tense up, the words he wanted to speak not able to form in his mind. Murmurs that were barely audible would be the only thing that escaped his dry lips. In other words, his socially-awkwardness would show through easily, and it would most likely shine through in his Private Session.

"Colan, it's your turn to go." The voice belonged to his mentor, the harsh voice splitting through the ominous silence that lingered in the air. Colan could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, the sweat that he had just wiped away already forming once again. He took a slow and deep breath, though the sound of it was raspy, as if it was the first breath he had taken in hours. A short nod was the only thing he directed to his mentor, for he knew words would fail him if he dared to speak. Words would fail him, or atleast fail him more than his actions.

Colan's steps to the door seemed like it lasted days; his descent down the hallway lasting an eternity. The farther he walked, the more his breath seemed to leave him, being replaced with anxiety. With each step, his legs began to grow weaker, despite how much he tried to tell himself it was going to be just like training, though that wasn't much of a refreshing thought either. It wasn't until he stepped into the circular room that all thoughts seemed to leave his mind, forcing him to stand there dummstruck. His eyes couldn't help but turn to the line of men sitting above him, their eyes directed clearly on his sweaty face. Their harsh gazes told him that he should start, though his legs wouldn't move.

'You're making a fool of yourself Colan' he thought to himself, the sound of it barely processing in his quiet mind as he finally turned his attention to his desired station. The knot-tying station. He knew it was a station everyone ignored when it came to the Private Session, but it was the only thing that felt right. His steps toward it started off slow, his clumsy feet causing him to stumble quite a few times, though they soon became stronger and more confident. He faintly remembered his mentor's words, lecturing him on what to do, for he forced himself to stand taller as he reached the station.

His large hands immediatly outstretched to the ropes hanging from their hooks, the feeling of them sending flashes through his mind of home. Faint images of tying up the animals and catching them when they got out flashed through his head, causing his hands to tighten around the rough material. The feeling of it in his hand was enough to settle his churning stomach. He imagined being back at the farm, the harsh sun beating down on his exposed back, with the sweet smell of the animals filling his nostrils. The thought of it cleared away all nervous thoughts, allowing him to take his first calming breath in what seemed like days.

In a swift motion, the rope was off of it's hook, the thick material falling through his callused hands until he reached the end of it. With ease, he lapped the end of it over itself, the rope curling between the hole and to the side. His fingers worked quickly with the rope, his swift motions weaving in and out of the long rope until his "knot" was complete. Slowly, he leaned back to inspect his work, his blue eyes falling upon the small lasso. His eyes trailed down the brown knot, taking in the length of it and the strength of it.

Colan smirked as he held it in his hands, his eyes flying to the confused faces of the Gamemakers. He could already see their eyes turning away in disinterest, their lips curling up to form a scowl. A sigh fell from his lips as he fought for their attention, his arm suddenly flying to the right with the lasso still in his hand. His head followed the movement of the rope, his arm lifting upward as he aimed for the head of a dummy to his right. The end of the lasso fell perfectly around the head of the dummy, it's length just wide enough to fit around it's neck. Swiftly, he pulled his arm back, the rope tightening around the neck until it was squeezing it.

Colan frowned slightly as he saw the slight beads of fake blood form under the choking lasso. His eyes stayed trained on the blank face of his "victim", images flashing before his eyes. Suddenly the face took a form as a real person, it's screams filling his head and begging him to stop. The sound echoed in his head, torturing him as he continued to hold his grip, more blood staining the thick rope. He couldn't stop, though, for he knew the eyes of the Gamemakers were trained on him now, their penetrating eyes burning into the back of his spine. He atleast had to hurry it up.

Quickly, he turned to the next station, his hand finding the first weapon that his sweaty fingers touched, a knife. Colan pulled harshly with his right arm, sending the dummy flying toward him on it's rolling feet. He brought the knife up and sent it sinking deep into the stomach of the dummy, the fake blood falling over his tan hand in waves. It was a sickening sight, one that sent the nerves and anxiety spilling through him once more like an endless stream of water. Suddenly, he found his hands empty, for the knife and rope had fallen to the floor, the two weapons submerged in a thick layer of scarlet liquid.

Horror was etched clearly across his sickly pale face as he stared at the puddle, a shaky breath escaping him as he turned to face the Gamemakers. His weak gaze stayed trained on them as they lifted their hands to dismiss him, his eyes not even able to study them to see if they approved of his Session. For the first time, his steps were quick to the exit, for he was sure that his churning stomach was about to explode.

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Colan's Training score: 7

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Rosetta: Nervoux (noun): An amazing wizard/witch of great skill.
Example: That nervoux casted an awesome spell!

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arx!!
Retired Staff

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literally so gay, doing so many crimes

PTS. YOU KNOW. Oct 12, 2011 21:36:17 GMT -5

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Post by arx!! on Oct 12, 2011 21:36:17 GMT -5

Shayde Lee Truedhart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I saw yet another male tribute walk through the door, ready to impress the Gamemakers. He introduced himself as the District 9 tribute. I saw his face was scarred as he looked around the room, obviously unsure of himself; unsure of what to do to impress. But his scars were what got my attention. Was this really someone as scarred as I was? It appeared physically, in the burns on his face, but mentally? There really was no way ...

I watched him from a distance, hoping that he would choose something like fire-making or trapping, not throwing blades or shooting arrows. That always hurt me. Sure I had stood abuse, but what had I ever done wrong? I never knew ...

I felt myself relax as I watched him walk over to the fire making station. I thought of how quickly the judges would most likely fall asleep, becoming bored of the building of a fire. I watched the boy begin banging two stones together, ruthlessly hammering with all the force he had. I noticed he worked like a welder, like a metal-worker. His hand high above his head as he slammed the rocks together almost skillfully, as if it were a skill; banging to stones against eachother.

I watched as he continued, making one of the stones sharp and thin. It was almost like a stone blade. Was this boy a blacksmith or what? The way he created such a sharp edge was so skillful, so unique. But as soon as I thought that he maybe done, not sure of what he was doing anymore, he grabbed a piece of rope from the knot tying part of the trapping station. He set it next to him, looking like he was ignoring it.

I looked to the judges. Their eyes were growing dull, their boredom showing in their faces. If this boy was going to actually do anything, he better do it fast, before they fell asleep. I was becoming very thankful though, for this boy did not wish to harm, did not wish to cause pain to me. I continued to watch, hopeful now for his sake that the judges would not give him a terrible training score.

The boy had now managed to drill a hole through the middle of his thin, circular, sharp stone. He snatched up the rope he had grabbed earlier and threaded it through the hole in his stone. He a slip not around the stone and pulled it tight against the edge of the stone. It was quite a simple contraption and I just couldn't figure out what the rope was supposed to do. Help the boy carry it around? Not impressive.

But it seemed that the boy didn't even want to use the rope because he only grabbed a piece of wood and began to sheer it with his sharp stone, rope dangling behind it as he slid the stone up the length of the wood, revealing the light bark beneath. Then it suddenly struck me. He was creating weapons. It was quite a feat, creating weapons from two stones, a rope, and some sticks. Quite unique. I surely had never seen this.

After a few more minutes passed, the boy had created 2 spears. Wood shavings hung around hung in twirled unison and he had accidentally cut his hand on part of the blade, so blood was dripping onto his pant leg. I wondered if he was done when he walked back with his weapons to the table of Gamemakers. But as he swung his stone weapon around his head in circles, I knew he had more in mind.

I barely had time to think before his stone cut into my forehead, causing my neck to snap back quickly and a jolt to run through me. The pain was unbearable as the stone had caused a slice to form on my head, my insides falling out of my head in tufts. And before I knew it a spear had hit me in the chest and in the thigh. Again I wished for the pain to disappear, for my insides to remain inside me. The life of a dummy just wasn't a life to live. You were everyone's play thing. Everyone's pain and rage came out on you. And it hurt. Emotions hurt.

I tried to ignore the pain and see, if I had been a real human, if I would have survived this kind of beating. The wounds were so deep, placed luckily in the right spots, that any human would not be able to withstand this kind of beating. Any child would be dying if they were in my position.

The Gamemakers had at least sat up a little straighter now, and the boy turned back to them with a nod. He was dismissed as the Gamemakers assessed the damage and spoke amongst eachother, trying decide a score for this boy. I wanted, with everything that was me, to see this boy win. To see this boy again, mentoring the future tributes of District 9.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Shayde Truedhart. District 9. You have won the 59th Hunger Games."

This PTS received a 9.

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

∂αмєη Capitol Resident 1,550 POSTS last seen Feb 25, 2016 23:49:47 GMT -5	PTS. YOU KNOW. Oct 17, 2011 8:38:50 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by ∂αмєη on Oct 17, 2011 8:38:50 GMT -5 Now I regret deleting my PMs and having never saved them. It would be so cool to read through them again. :/ But omg, they are all so good! I love all of them. xP
	all I need's a whisper in a world that only shouts