thaddeus birch, district two

thaddeus birch, district two Mar 8, 2014 0:42:30 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2014 0:42:30 GMT -5

[presto]

MALE

FIFTEEN

STRAIGHT

NICLAS GILLIS

DISTRICT II

STUDENT

BIRCH PLOT

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THADDEUS BASIL BIRCH

PART I

"Thaddeus Birch."

Your name rings out in the square, loud and clear. Heads turn to look at you, to see the Birch boy who's just been Reaped. Four Birches in a row. Beatrice, Hannah, Ares . . . and now you. Cassius, too, but he was in the 62nd Games, which was five years ago. A few astonished gasps reach your ears, and you can feel the glares of District Two's residents on your body. Faint whispers ripple through the crowd. They sound like snakes, venomous, treacherous snakes.

"Look at that. Another Birch."

"Disgrace!"

"A Birch? Again? We have to watch another one die?"

The image of Beatrice Birch's head being chopped clean off flashes in your mind. Her lifeless eyes staring up at nothing, her headless body slumping to the ground. Her death was the most horrifying of all four Birches. Part of you hates Queen Saffron Lowe, just for winning. Beatrice should have come home with the crown on her head, proclaiming her the queen of the Arena. Not Saffron Lowe.

Your bones turn to stone, weighing your body down. Your blood turns to ice inside your veins. Shock has engulfed your body, cutting off your thoughts. Part of you wants to slump to the ground and bawl, but the other part screams at you to get your ass up at that stage and look right into the eyes of the people of District Two and say, "Fuck you." But then there's that logical part of who, who's saying, Go, Thaddeus. Represent District Two. Make your parents proud, for once.

With shaky legs, a heavy heart, and eyes full of tears, you trudge up onto the stage. You stare at the sea of scowls before you. You are Thaddeus Birch, the disgrace: why wouldn't they scowl at you?

You are Thaddeus Birch, the coward. You are Thaddeus Birch, the pretender. You are Thaddeus Birch, the armored.

You are Thaddeus Birch, and you will come home with the crown.

PART II

"Please welcome Thaddeus Birch, from District Two!"

The applause of the Capitolites fills your hears as you strut onto the stage. You wear a blood-red suit with a white tie and shiny black shoes. Your sandy blonde hair is combed neatly. You wonder how the stylists managed to tame it: it is usually as wild as a mustang.

You take a seat of the soft chair next to Caesar Flickerman. His face, although caked in makeup, is friendly to you. He wears a wide, white smile that is more welcoming than a hug.

"So, Thaddeus," he says, "I think we're all wondering: how do you feel about being a tribute, since four of your family members perished in the Games?"

You want to say, "I'm going to die, too. My fate has been set in stone." But you won't because you know that the entire country is watching - including your family. They're rooting for you. They want you to win. Your parents want you to make them proud, bring home the crown, bring glory to the Birches.

You square your shoulders and look right at the crowd, your face as hard as stone. "I feel great, Caesar. In fact, I'm on cloud nine. I couldn't be more pleased, more honored, to represent District Two. And I will bring home the crown." Your words sound so brave for a bird-like little boy, who's only fourteen.

You feel so much older.

Caesar keeps the conversation going with more questions. "What are you enjoying the most about the Capitol?" asks Caesar.

You draw in a deep breath. Keep your shit together, you tell yourself. What would your parents want you to say? you ask yourself before answering Caesar.

"The Capitol is very different from District Two. It's a good kind of different. I'll be visiting here more often, so I should get used to it. After all, I'm going to win." Your voice is so confident, so proud. The crowd cheers in approval of your answer, wildly waving their hands and even posters that say, I love you, Thaddeus! or Team Birch! Your parents must be glowing right now. You hold yourself with triumph and a smile spreads across your face. The smile looks genuine, but it is in fact forced.

On the inside, you are screaming.

PART III

Five, four, three, two, one.

Let the games begin!

You leap off of the podium and run towards the Cornucopia faster than the other tributes. You feel like a mustang, wild and free and powerful, when indeed you are small and bird-like, with a slight, but elegant frame. Maybe the reason why you feel so strong is because you're wearing your armor.

Not real armor, but the armor you fashioned for yourself long ago when you were a younger child. You wear this armor that shields to true Thaddeus Birch from the world. This armor conceals your gentle nature and fragile heart. You pretend to be what your parents want you to be: a fighter, ruthless, cunning, aggressive, strong, and determined. The pretending must continue if you are to win over the hearts of the Capitolites.

Survival is all that matters.

Everything around you is a green blur. You're not even looking at the other tributes. Only when you're a few feet away from the Cornucopia do you realize that the Cornucopia is in a lake. You have to swim.

You show almost no hesitation, and dive right in. The lake isn't very deep. You can almost stand in it, if you were taller (you're 5'10, tall for a fourteen-year-old). The other tributes may have it harder than me, except for the tributes from District Four.

Boom, boom, boom, boom!

You keep swimming, hoping that none of those cannon shots were for any of your allies. The water is lukewarm and is clear and blue. A part of you hopes that there's no nasty surprises lurking in the lake, like a latch crab. That would suck. Moss Rose, the District Eleven female tribute of the 66th Hunger Games, cut off part of her arm because of one. That Moss Rose was something, although she wasn't a Career.

You paddle with your arms, kicking faster. You're almost on land. You reach out your hand to crab onto the shore where the Cornucopia is. You latch onto the shore and pull yourself out of the water. Your body feels like stones because of the water that has drenched my clothes.

I flop onto the land and dive for a scythe. My hands close around the hilt. The weapon feels wrong in my hands.

A scream erupts from my mouth as the blade of a sword plunges into my back. The blade plunges farther into my back, penetrating my heart. Whoever the sword's owner is, they shove it harder into me, until the blade goes all the way through my body, like a kabob.

"Should I kill you like Beatrice? Huh, Birch boy?" asks my attacker. Their face is like a snake's, venomous and malevolent. "Bye-bye, Birch!" Your attacker removes their sword from your body, shoves you into the water, grabs a pack, and retreats.

You are surrounded by a cloud of your own blood that wafts in the water. The metallic, salty scent overwhelms your senses. The only thing you can think is, I'm dying. You can't think about how much you love your family (perhaps it's because you don't anymore). You can't think about how great your life was, how lucky you were to meet the people that you did. All you can think of is the pain.

Your entire torso throbs and your own agonized screams fill your ears. You can still feel your attacker's blade in your chest, even though the blade is gone. You feel like an empty box, devoid of hope and chances to make your life better. You are empty, you have been empty since you were just a boy . . . .

Death opens his arms to give you a warm embrace, and you gratefully accept the hug. Death's embrace turns violent and crushing. You always thought that Death would carry you away into the darkness and you would just fade away or turn to dust. But you were wrong, oh, so wrong. Death waits until you can't take the pain anymore, until you have screamed your final scream, until you have drawn your final, exhausted breath. Death watches as you waste away and your screams are music to his ears.

You take one final look at yourself before you breathe your final breath.

The water that you stare into is bloody, like a red mirror. Your shallow breaths create ripples in the scarlet water. Your eyes are as green as the plants that grow around the edges of a pond like green lace. Your messy hair is like a golden sea, or a wheat field. It is golden like your sword, Sarpedon. Your eyebrows are dark and thin. They are short and straight and a little too defined (a flaw). They make your face appear impish. You often pull a devilish smile, and when teachers glance at you, they frown (if if they don't know you).

You appear to be a trouble-maker, but you are a good boy, who's always done what he's told.

Your skin is medium, but it used to be very fair, almost as white as paper, but since you spent so much time playing in the sun, the sun kissed you gently with its golden rays. It formed light freckles across your nose. Most of those freckles have faded over time, but some still remain.

Your face is shaped like a small opal. Your facial bones (and entire structure) are fragile and small (and a tad feminine). You don't have that masculine, sharp jaw line that you've always thought you should have (maybe that's why girls don't like you much).

Your nose is thin and short and sharp, a little pixie-like. Your lips are thin like your nose, with a sharp cupid's bow. The right side of your cupid's bow is a little bit bigger than the left side, another flaw.

Taking in that final look at your face, you close your eyes, and give into death. You're thrust harshly into the dark oblivion, where nothing lies, where Ares and Beatrice and Hannah and Cassius were all sent.

Then you wake up in your bed, wrapped in your sheets, sweat trickling down your face.

ODAIR. Also, note that this is a dream that Thaddeus is having. This dream takes place during the 67th Hunger Games, and he's dreaming that Ares died in the Games although he is currently still alive. Thaddeus is in present-day time (66th Games), where Ares is still living, but he is dreaming of the 67th Games.

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