A Useless Practice {{Tom

these words will not fade

The sword fell to the floor, causing a loud clank to echo through the emptying training center. The say was dwindling to a close so most of the younger trainers were heading home to enjoy time with their families. Those who were either obsessed or coming upon their last years of reaping availability were spending every waking moment in the center, forcing their bodies to impossible limits. Dread looked at the blade reflecting back his face. He sat down next to it and pulled his knees in. His stomach was growling at him for not having had a sufficient meal that morning. He didn't care much though, it was not like he actually wanted to be there. His blue eyes watched his sparring partner angrily toss him a bottle of water, clearly upset that he had given up. The teen caught the bottle and gulped it up greedily. He felt sorry for whoever got stuck training with him. All they wanted to do was get better and then have their lives taken away by complete strangers, or on some odd chance, come back as a victor.

Dread only wanted to take a nap. He stretched out his arms and tossed the bottle in his hand in some random direction that was probably mean to go towards a trash can. He yawned and fell backwards on the ground, his sword inches from his head. For some strange reason his sparring partner was not happy with this impromptu nap and stormed off, probably in hoped of finding someone better to fight with. With a grin, the boy tucked his arms behind his head, pulling nervously for a moment on the sleeves of his shirt to make sure nothing was showing.

It wasn't like he wanted to be there anyway, why should he train? Yea! Why should he train? He was just taking up the time of those who actually wanted to participate in the games. His naps in the middle of the training center were probably a good thing. It kept him from wasting other people's time. It also kept his father happy because he was staying at the training center all day long. It was the perfect plan! Why had he not thought of napping ages ago? Oh right. Perhaps it was the fact that if he gave up, his father would hate him more. Maybe it was the notion that if he stopped training, if he did not bulk up, if he did not become a tribute his family would shun him. He needed to become at least a victor for his family, impress them at least once. He could even die with honor in the games and be happy with himself while simultaneously making his family happy with their sick and twisted desires. Dread let out a sigh and sat up, his stomach still angry with him for not eating. His eyes scanned the room, looking for either another partner to practice with or an open station he could use to play around in a bit and feel like he was actually doing something.

Reluctantly he stood up, picking up his sword and returning it to the rack. He would have rather been working with knives anyway, they were his weapon of trade. He started to make his way over to the knife station, hoping maybe he could just throw some by himself and not disappoint another person. But if he actually applied himself... He hated the thought of violence. Dread paused as he stood near his destination. A nap would be a much better solution that training to kill. He would only be a disappointment and wasn't he already one? Another year could not make things that much worse. No, he shook his head. He had to impress his family even if that meant going against his morals. They were probably lurking about, watching him do nothing anyway. 

The teen lazily picked up a knife, his stomach raging by this point. With one swift motion he threw the weapon at the nearby dummy, missing the head by quite a few inches. He was no good at all. Disappointment was a go.