Charade's Tirades!

So... I've decided to open up a thread here for whenever I have random muse but no place to put it.


Slipping sliding twisting turning living learning

The following is the reaction of my District one character Josiah Rayner to the Games Finale in progess. IDK why I felt like writing him right now but I did and this was the best place to get it out of my head. xD

He cannot fathom the mediocrity of his own life when measured against the titans that clash again and again on the screen in front of him. They are down to a simple trio where once the number was two dozen; the two boys and the girl bound in blood and the mutual heartache of having lost some fair-weather friends and the undeniable reality that only one them is getting out of the arena alive. The other two, so fair and in the prime of their lives are naught but captains set adrift on a stormy sea, soon to go down with ship, soon to exhale their final bitter breaths on salty air, on salty blood. All so far from home, all so alone, so different and yet so terribly alike.

Klaus, the boy from three, killer of his onetime ally Destiny. How to explain to his last ally, how to bear the indignity and the shame? The interview revealed his many siblings aching for him to come home. But how did they really feel, seeing their brother with his blood-soaked hands, carving a swath through his enemies in fear? In hate? One could only imagine what was locked deep inside, what might escape if he did not keep it under lock and key.

Fitz, the boy from the fishing district; few in Josiah's district could feel anything at all. Amidst cruel japes and crueler jabs, he had come out on top against District ones star tribute, their golden gal. They had stabbed at each other again and again, the ocean's salty spray clearly matched by the coppery blood that burst forth like a fountain from the throat of Stark Harper. But perhaps she had had the last laugh, divesting herself of anything useful, leaving the boy a coconut and and strange alarm clock.

Even in death, Stark retained the upper hand.

And then little Mahlah, Klaus's district partner, the youngest tribute that year and by far the most endearing. Oh but how his heartstrings were tugged as cameras turned their unseeing eyes on the families during the final eight interviews. Oh how his eyes clouded over with a tinge of moisture as a teary-eyed Dona Shea broke down on national television, sobbing into the strong arms of her husband for the merest shred of hope for her darling girl to come home. Stony-eyed Reed talking to the paparazzi in her stead, comforting his wife as he answered all the questions without flinching.

Three. Three was all that remained of the bright-eyed teenagers that had given their thoughts on their chances earlier that very week. How wrong most of them had been, though optimism had never hurt anyone directly. But Josiah would commit them all to memory, he would have to have a good one, should he ever hope to host the games himself, the emotion that tributes brought to the table could not be discounted if the crowd watching was to feel something; though it was imperative that he never let what he felt get in the way of what had to be done. Isn't that the lesson they stressed in the schools of district one?

But the drama, the drama!

The love and the loss, the heroes and the villains; Oh how he wanted so much more!

How he had enjoyed the brashness of his districts female tribute, the permanent sneer etched on her face from the moment she casually walked away from the bloody cornucopia to the moment Fitz's harpoon had taken her in the neck. Or perhaps there could be some merit afforded to Jae Moreno despite his general competency for losing another body part with each passing games day. How must have young Mahlah felt at taking the life of one who had professed himself a surrogate brother only several days prior?