◊ BERYL SHORE ◊ D1 [FIN]

“You’re a Career?”

It’s the first of three questions I’ve heard too many times to count, or would even bother to. It becomes annoying after a while, actually, though I understand why people are surprised to find that such a plain, unassuming child spends his days sharpening swords and flinging knives into the figurative hearts of faceless dummies with deadly precision. From afar, I look like I was plucked from the condemned slums of one of the lesser districts and dropped into the sparkling, dangerous world of District 1 where “someone like me” doesn’t exactly seem to belong. It’s in my posture- shoulders hunched, slender arms folded across a narrow chest and honey-colored locks obscuring the face hidden beneath- everything about my screams weakling, derelict, outcast, does not belong here, and yet here I am, surrounded by cruelty and brutality, up-turned noses and unforgiving glares, a blight among the stunning flawlessness characteristic in the masses of my district.

But such foolish assumptions- they’re all fools, every last one of them- are quickly proved as such. It’s seen first in the way I walk, when my shoulders uncurl and my head lifts to reveal the sharp, penetrating awareness smoldering in eyes the color of seafoam. Sinewy muscles that had been hidden, tightly coiled beneath smooth, cream-colored skin, can be seen rippling and radiating carefully harnessed power just below the porcelain surface. There is something about me that is oddly feline, inherent in the purposeful, almost predatory way that I walk, glimpsed in a knowing gaze and the roguish curl of cherry-hued lips. I am poise and elegance, flawless and powerful in my own deadly way, and certainly not a weakling.

“You’re sixteen?”

The second of most annoying questions, though it ranks first in how much I despise hearing it. I am sixteen, yes, is that a surprise? It must be, apparently, but this too I can understand. Most sixteen year-olds aren’t quite like me, especially Careers. Most boys my age are ignorant, thick-headed individuals that only know swing and slice, feint and duck, punch here and knee there and tackle now! And me? Well, I’m not one for the physical aspect of beating an opponent down; I don’t like getting my fingers dirty, if you will. I am what most would call more brain than brawn, more defender than offender, passive over aggressive. Where most of my siblings would simply slash their swords and swing their fists, I would be biding my time, slipping just out of my opponents’ grasps until just the right moment- when carefully executed swipes become impatient lunges, frustration turning their previously precise movements sloppy- to strike when they least expect. A few quick jabs in just the right places, a twist of a wrist here and a single punch there, and down they fall.

They never expect it. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve faced an opponent in training- all swaggering walk and arrogant smirks- and seen such self-assurance turn into shock and to frustration and then, finally, to defeat. I actually quite like being underestimated; it makes victory all the sweeter. So much, in fact, that it’s one of my favorite pastimes. When I’m not training, which isn’t that often really, I can be found on the shadier side of the district, where former Careers who missed their shot at the Games and citizens on the lower end of the wealth spectrum are often found lurking in the shadows. My parents don’t know I go there late in the night, though I doubt they’d even care. Most people would probably be surprised that dignified, high-class Beryl Shore spends his nights crowded around shabby poker tables and clouds of cigarette smoke, the air so thickened with the heavy scent of alcohol that you can almost taste it on your tongue. I don’t know why, but I love spending time in these places. There, they live for themselves- for pleasure- which in my opinion is the only way to live.

To the low-life, drunken thugs of District One’s lower class, I’m just another street rat. They don’t know who I really am; how could they? And I like it that way, because who would suspect the skinny, unextraordinary kid of being a master at playing his cards, or almost always being the first to get send the number eight ball rolling into the pocket, or of being able to weasel his way out of any tough situation?

No one. And that’s just the way I like it.

Don’t get me wrong- I’m a semi-decent guy, if you squint hard enough. I don’t enjoy training; inflicting pain on my opponents brings no satisfaction for me- other than the surge of triumph at yet another victory- but really, who doesn’t get that feeling? No, fighting is not what gets my blood pumping and sharpens my senses to a fine needle-point. It’s the thrill of the hunt, the rush I get from successfully twisting someone’s mind, their perceptions and emotions, until they’re practically putty in my hands. I’m not ashamed to say that I relish in it, seek it out like it’s a drug I just can’t get enough of. Even better when I get away with it, which is almost always the case. Girls, I’ve found, are especially fun playthings. They’re so beautifully complex with their emotions, but so wonderfully simple in their needs, incredibly easy to deceive. I can be anything they want- the sensitive rich boy who just wants his absentee parents to love him, the bad boy who rebels because he wants to be noticed by others, or even the angsty, conflicted boy who just hates anything and everything, if that’s what they like. What can I say? I’m a people-pleaser.

But they all end up being the one to please me eventually, all of them scrambling to give me what I want- and I always get what I want. It’s actually quite amusing, seeing the confident, fearless girls of my District reduced to slaves of their own twisted perceptions- courtesy of yours truly. You may think that I am a cruel, abusive young man, but I’ll have you know that I’ve never harmed a single hair on the heads of the girls I’ve deceived. Yes, I build them up just to bring them down, but that’s of life, is it not? Now, because of me, these girls know to steer clear of guys like me. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger; it’s a win-win situation, don’t you see?

Unless, of course, that's a lie in itself.

“You’re a Shore?”

Unlike the other two questions, this one is met with a wolfish curl of lips spread across a face of smooth angles and cutting sea-green eyes. They always seem so delightfully surprised, so incredibly stunned, which always tends to work well in my favor. Former expressions of disinterest quickly morph into wide-eyed stares and lips parted in surprise- indifference becomes reverence, contempt dissolves into admiration. I suppose I have a bit of a superiority complex, as to me these people are simply my playthings, nothing more. Such may come as a shock, as the Shore family isn’t particularly known for manipulation and deceit, but more for the rigorous training subjected onto its youth. The Shore children are supposed to be strong, ruthless, sharp faces screaming intimidation and power. Of course, there are those like absent-minded Opal, obscure Niobium, and drama-queen Morganite- the true weaklings- but the Shore family is not without its flaws, despite what my parents seem to think. Still, though- intelligence is not a trademark of my family.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are synonymous with endless tapes that praise the supreme power of the Capitol and the purpose of the Hunger Games, shown to us on a wide screen hung above steaming roast beef and glasses of milk. As the master deceiver, I know lies when I see them, though most of my siblings believe the bullshit our parents are trying rather successfully to make us believe. Personally, I could care less about our “purpose” as Careers; I don’t train for the sake of my country, and I certainly don’t fight because I want to be a vessel for my parents’ unfulfilled dreams. I have no desire to be glorified for the murder of twenty-three other children, placed on a pedestal for the whole country to see me and know that I am not what I seem to be; my place is in the shadows, the unassuming child of the night that is far more extraordinary than he seems. I am the manipulator, the prince of lies, and victory in the Games would only take away my crown.

I’m not particularly close with any of my siblings; we were raised to not care for one another, our parents stamping out any brother and sisterly affection before we got too attached to one another. It’s fine with me, though, as most of my siblings aren’t much fun to be around anyway. Phenakite and Aquamarine are too full of themselves to be pleasant company and Pyrite’s a bitch; Morganite whines and Aragonite is too friendly for his own good. Adventurine and Witherite both have loose gears spinning out of control somewhere in their warped minds, the two of them twisted in their own completely different ways, yet both psychotic. And Jasper? I hate kids. Emmy and Niobium are the only ones I bother associating myself with. The golden child of the family may be cold and stand-offish, but she’s the only other one whose intelligence even comes close to matching mine. Niobium may be a pathetic excuse for a Career, but she’s got a better head on her shoulders than some of my other siblings, and she seems about as unaffected by the tapes as I am. Also, her stubborn tendencies are quite amusing; it make her much more fun to play with. Don’t get me wrong- I don’t trust either of them one bit, but they’re the closest thing to “sisters” I have in this twisted, screwed up family. It hardly feels like home.

The only time I ever truly feel at home is when I’m slinking along the deserted streets of District 1’s unsavory neighborhoods, melting into the shadows and only coming to the light when the many dark temptations presented to me from within the crowded bars and lively clubs lure me in, their windows thumping with the beat of bass-heavy music and the air dancing with a kaleidoscope of bright, flashing colors. It’s in these places that I become the predator, the child of lies, lusting to manipulate the unsuspecting and twist and play with the minds of those who underestimate the power of deceit. It’s in these places that I truly feel alive.