The First Day Of Career Training (Open)
Aug 10, 2010 18:40:33 GMT -5
Post by heat on Aug 10, 2010 18:40:33 GMT -5
Brendan Curtis
It only took a glance inside the huge, nearly empty gymnasium to make me ask myself why the f**k I was here.
Then the reason came up behind me. It was my father, and he said, "Make the best of this, okay, son? Do your best for our family. You know you could make us rich in these games, if you're chosen." My own dad, talking like winning the Hunger Games was a simple matter of getting drawn in the Reaping or chosen in Career Training. Today was the first day of the rest of my (likely short) life, and also the beginning of Career Tribute Training. Families would sell their firstborns, that is, um, volunteer their kids to be trained by previous victors. The best girl and guy would volunteer in the Reaping, or the drawing would be rigged to pick them.
Now, the way I saw it, being a tribute was either a death sentence or a life sentence: either you were killed or you were a mentor or Career trainer for the rest of your natural life. So what was a guy with every fear from acrophobia to zoophobia doing here, of all godforsaken places? My sister had gotten killed in a previous year, because she refused to tango with the Careers. She'd been made to volunteer by my father, then had a crisis of conscience. Daddy dearest never quite got over losing the golden child. Where was his dear supposed-to-be-victor, and more importantly, his pass to money and prestige? All he had now was me. How could he not be happy with a scientific genius such as me being his son? I was great, or at least I told myself that.
And with a callous slap on the back and a barked "make me proud, Brendan," I was sent up to the chopping block.
I was almost stunned, still not believing that this was me, Brendan Leslie Curtis, that was here in Camp Career. I tried to keep my head held high and gave myself an internal pep talk as I strode over to meet the other possible Careers.
It only took a glance inside the huge, nearly empty gymnasium to make me ask myself why the f**k I was here.
Then the reason came up behind me. It was my father, and he said, "Make the best of this, okay, son? Do your best for our family. You know you could make us rich in these games, if you're chosen." My own dad, talking like winning the Hunger Games was a simple matter of getting drawn in the Reaping or chosen in Career Training. Today was the first day of the rest of my (likely short) life, and also the beginning of Career Tribute Training. Families would sell their firstborns, that is, um, volunteer their kids to be trained by previous victors. The best girl and guy would volunteer in the Reaping, or the drawing would be rigged to pick them.
Now, the way I saw it, being a tribute was either a death sentence or a life sentence: either you were killed or you were a mentor or Career trainer for the rest of your natural life. So what was a guy with every fear from acrophobia to zoophobia doing here, of all godforsaken places? My sister had gotten killed in a previous year, because she refused to tango with the Careers. She'd been made to volunteer by my father, then had a crisis of conscience. Daddy dearest never quite got over losing the golden child. Where was his dear supposed-to-be-victor, and more importantly, his pass to money and prestige? All he had now was me. How could he not be happy with a scientific genius such as me being his son? I was great, or at least I told myself that.
And with a callous slap on the back and a barked "make me proud, Brendan," I was sent up to the chopping block.
I was almost stunned, still not believing that this was me, Brendan Leslie Curtis, that was here in Camp Career. I tried to keep my head held high and gave myself an internal pep talk as I strode over to meet the other possible Careers.