//try and find me--- [OPEN]

Sleep seemed inevitable, but instead of taking it lying down, perhaps on the soft comforter in his cramped bedroom, Mantenar continued to fight it. It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep. Well, sure he did. But if sleep came, so did the dreams. And he tried to fend those off the best he could.
They always seemed different, the dreams did. Sometimes he was given a break, and he would find his unconscious self floating along a meadow of beautiful wildflowers. Or, if he were really lucky, he would be working in an orchard, not unlike the one he worked at in the real world, only him and nature. But sometimes they took a turn for the worse. He would find, instead of lounging about the apple orchards, he was suffocating in his mother's womb. Although he had never seen her face, and even if he had he surely did not remember it, her features were always bright as day. The problem was remembering them.

He took to walking around his kitchen. Stopping for a few moments at the bread box to reach his grubby fingers in, sometimes getting a slice of stale bread to munch on, other times just running his fingertips along the smooth surface. Imagining himself lounging on a down mattress. It was so comfortable. Oh so comfortable... His knees buckled, and before he could right himself again, he found himself sprawled on the floor, drowsiness dragging him down under.

An orchard. That's where Mantie seemed to be. But, it was not like any orchard he himself had ever seen, and he had seen many, beleive me. Delicious red fruits did not dangle from these thin strips of twig. They were an unfamiliar fruit altogether. And the color. The color seemed to be a radiant orange. Stumbling over to one of the nearest trees, he reached out, tentatively, to touch the skin of one of the unknown delicacies. It was rough, and there were several indentations along the side, wether they were naturally that way or not, Mantie did not know.

Strolling further, he realized there were even more fruits along the edges. Here there were some green ones. Fat at the bottom, and perfectly slender at the top. When he bit into it, it seemed to be sweet and bitter at the same time, although still very delicious. And then there were those fuzzy ones, that resembled the apple and the orange (Mantie had begun to think of them as being called that, seeing as though any other title would be ridiculous). It had had the apple's shape, but the orange's color, if slightly muted. This particular fruit was sweet. Almost too sweet in his opinion, but the very fact that it was there did not stop him from quickly consuming about three.

And, although he knew it was coming, he was slightly surprised when the scene around him changed. No longer, was he standing in his "dream scene," but something terrifying. Something that must have come from the depths of his mind, becuase he did not remember envisioning it.
It seemed to be some sort of house. And a large one at that. Exploring a little, he quickly discovered that he was standing inside the mayor's mansion. Although slightly different in layout and design, the structure was still the same.

He had begun to wonder if he were to wait in the foyer untill he woke, when a young man entered. He seemed to be well-dressed, and with his stride, he could only guess the man was of some importance. He walked in a manor that said, 'All eyes should be trained upon me.' And indeed Mantie's were. The young man took a seat on one of the benches layed out before the stairs, and picked a book from a shelf not far to his left. Skimming through the yellowed pages, the man started when the doorbell rang. He quickly scrambled from his seat, and dashed to the door, throwing it open in haste.

Another man stood in the doorway, equally as handsome if not a little more interesting, in Mantie's opinion. He said something Mantenar could not hear, and entered the house on his own accord. The first young man hurried after him, looking baffled. Mantie caught bits and peices of theconversation. 'Fantasme,' 'where is she?' It seemed to Mantie, that the intruder was looking for a lady, and the imprtant man had no idea what he meant.

When recognition gleamed in the first man's eyes, Mantie could have guessed what was to happen before it was played out before him. The important man reached into his coat, and pulled out a rather deadly looking sword. The intruder began to back up, hands splayed before him, a look of innocence on his handsome face. The important man shook his head, his face flushing a deep scarlet. He swung the sword a couple times, missing the intruder by inches. The third time, however, the intruder was not so lucky.
The blade was pushed between the intruder's ribs, and the look of astonishment on his face could only match the one on Mantie's. Blood poured from the open wound, and the important man released the handle, letting the sword dangle from his chest. He grimaced, and stepped back, glaring at the blood splatter on his shoes. Shaking his head, he turned on his heels, and strode to the stairs, shouting a name. "Fantasme!" The name meant nothing to Mantenar, who was rooted to the spot, a look of horror upon his face as he gazed at the dying man.

He rushed over to the shaking body, and went as if to pry the blade from the man's wound. But before he could even touch the thing, the scene around him shifted. He gasped as he was lifted off of his feet, and flung back into reality.
Little did Mantenar Lavonge know, he had just seen his father's murder.

Gasping, Mantenar twisted around untill he was able to haul himself to his feet, his old bones creaking with the effort. His breath came in short pants, and his thoughts were in a whir. The things he had seen... they were beyond comprehension. He had glimpsed a murder. And he was not happy about it.
He could only guess the cause. The intruder had been repeating one name, the name the important man had hollered up the stairs. Fantasme. He tried to hang on to the details, to save the memory for when he was able to do a little more thinking. But already the details were ebbing away, little by little, and he knew soon there would be nothing left.

He rushed into his sitting room, grabbing a notepad from his endtable, and seizing a stubby pencil from the coffee cup he had pushed aside earlier. He began etching the details, starting with the intruder's hard-set jaw, then working his way to the important man's tweed suit, finishing with the blade, bloodied and dented, stabbed into the intruder's abdomen.
He wasn't the Panem's best sketcher, but it was good for an old, shaky hand. And even better, he would now remember the dream, wether he wanted to or not.

The air running through the house was becoming rather stuffy. He had no air unit, like most didn't, and the only cool air he would be getting, was from the autumn chill lingering outdoors. Sighing, he pushed away his artwork, and stood from his chair with difficulty. Much as he hated admitting it, he was getting old. Fast, it seemed. But then again, he remembered little to nothing of his childhood, so why wouldn't his sudden old age seem rather mysterious?

Stepping through his small doorway, Mantie inhaled deeply. There was nothing better than fresh air and apple orchards, in his opinion. But why would an old man's opinion count towards anything anymore? It was all about the young ones these days.
He strolled through the wall of trees, gazing at the marvelous things. The fruits held on them were almost ready for the picking. Not wanting to spoil his meager dinner, he restrained himself from leaning over and yanking one of the plump, red fruits of the limbs. Yet, somehow he managed.
He did, however, pluck one of the things, only to examine. He would keep it for later. When the remnants of his supper were wearing off, he would eat this to subside the hunger that always came. But he wanted to talk to it first. The life of an apple was always interesting. If you let them, they would tell you all about how they were to be. How they started as little balls, and grew to the size of a large mouse. It was very interesting.

The thing began talking almost as soon as he picked it. "Oh thank you, thank you, sir, for picking me from that dreadful tree. You are a sir, aren't you? Yes, but anyway, thank you for taking me away from those dreadful things. Oh, how they taunted me so. How they would jeer at me, and complain that I was not making the apple ancestors proud. They said I was a runt, and I would never be picked. That I would be left there to die. But, look! Already I have been plucked off before they! How they will be jealous! I can't wait to see the look on--"
Mantie locked his jaws around the thing, and took a bite. He ignored the thing's painful screams. He had done the thing a mercy by taking it's life. And plus, the thing would not shut up.

From the tree in which the apple had come, he heard a chorus of giggles and snorts, and some sounds that only an apple could produce. They were making fun of the runt's death, and Mantie did not like that. Deaths were meant to be mourned, not celebrated. Two long strides took him to the tree. He spotted the laughing ones instantly. They were larger than the others, and were a vibrant orange instead of the dull red the others were. In turn, he plucked the three off (for there were three of them), and threw them to the ground. And then, one by one, he stepped on each. He made sure they were good and dead before stepping back to observe his handy work.

A fifth apple hit the ground, exploding in a macabre of colors, beside his left foot, narrowly missing his head. He did not start. He didn't even move from his crouch. He stayed, and glanced at the new apple as well. It would not have smashed as it did if it hadn't have fallen from high above, and none of the apples were up there. It must have come from...
He jumped, and whirled around, faster than he thought capable of him, and squinted his eyes, trying to make out a figure in the midst of the leaves.

It seemed as if nothing were there. Just leaves, leaves, and more leaves. But-- there! A young boy sat upon a dainty tree limb, high above Mantenar's own head. He whistled low to get his attention.