marcus stone // pk // done

CPL MARCUS STONE

Age 12

"Just leave Marcus! Leave, ok, your not helping right now, you’re only making it worse? Cant you see? Cant you see your own father doesn't want you around?” Her voice is nothing close to gentle, nothing like the voice of a mother as she screams for me to leave. And I do leave. I hold back the tears which threaten to fall down my pale cheeks and I walk out the door, my small foot steps taking me down the path away from the place that I called my home. Maybe she was just saying it to make dad happy, maybe she didn't mean it… maybe it was all just a joke and i missed the punch line.

I stay away that night, my small body curled up in a ball, fighting against the chilly wind on the night. I wander if this is what she wanted, what they both wanted… but then I remember that they are my parents and parents are meant to love their kids right? Maybe it was all just in the heat of the moment, and as soon as I walk through that door mother would run at me and hold me tight tears running down her face and tell me that she loved me. She would apologise, wouldn't she? Of course she would because I was he son, I was her blood and I was her family. You’ll see, she’ll say sorry and I’ll tell her its okay, because it would be okay.

It wasn't my fault.

Right?

He didn't die because of me, I tried to stop him, I called out to him and I begged him not to do it, but his frieda were there, and they whispering things into his ear and he was smiling and laughing and he mustn’t have heard me… after all he was up very high… and then he just slipped. He took a step to far and he feel, his body gliding though the air before hitting the ground with a loud thump right before me. I ran to his side and I shook his shoulders crying, screaming for him to say something to so anything…. but when I turned his face to look at me his eyes were wide open, his nose pushed in way to far to be healthy and he didn't say a word. I had watched enough gams to know that he was never going to say another word, I knew that he was gone. I knew that my twin brother, who I loved so much, was dead. He was in my small frail arms, the distant sound of sirens filling my ears.

In the capitol news like this flew around quickly, especially when news like this came from a family who was known to be extremely influential.

I curl my fist into a small ball, my knuckles rapping on the large wooden door to my home. I hear the locks echo through the house, followed by the hurried steps of a woman. The door open and the face of my mother appears she wears a gentle smile which evaporates when her eyes land on her son. My heart begins to sink. I drop my eyes and she opens the door without a word, but as I walk in I hear her muffled words (“Its your fault, why would you even show your face in here agin.") and I turn around to see her eyes, as deadly as snakes pinned to the back of my head. I turn my shoulder and quickly walk to my room where hear my mother slam the door and sop into the depths of our mansion.

”Its your fault.”

Its my fault?

Did I kill my brother?

Is my brother dead because of me?

“its your fault.”

My fault.

Age 20

His hand comes down, his fingers making my face sting insanely. I place a hand to my face, green eyes filling with pain, anger and hate. “You useless pice of shit. If your brother was here we wouldn't have to be dealing with your crap! If your brother was here-“

“Well he is not here! He’s not here, he’s dead-“

“And thats-“

“Let me guess: its my fault, right? Its always my fault. Everything is my fault. I finally understand, Sir.” He raises his hand again, his eyes flaring with rage at the words that fall from my dry lips, but before he could bring it down I lift my arm, catching his blow, my lips curling up in a snarl. “Well you don't have to worry about me being an embarrassment anymore because I am leaving- aww, father, try not to look too happy.” I roughly push the mans hand to the side before slinging my saddle bag over my shoulder. “Try not to miss me too much,” I call over my shoulder before leaving the house without another word.

Begin the man I was, belonging to a rich, well know family of the Capitol, I could have gone anywhere, anyone would have given me a job because having the name ‘Nero’ associated with any company would have made their profit sky rocket… so that begs the question as to why I joined the Peacekeeping core. Something that could be seen as such a low job for a person like me.

The answer is simple.

To escape.

I changed my name to Stone and filled in an application that very day. They told me that I would have to take an interview and then in a couple days, if I was accepted, they would ship me off (with the rest of the applicants who passed) to district two where I would begin my training. The thought excited me, a feeling which was so foreign to me, a feeling which made my lips curl into a smile.

The interview was a breeze. After all, despite how much I hated it, I was born to a family who was tight from a very you age how to be respectful, how to go about talking to others in a formal way which would get them on your side. How to impress. It angered me to have to use skills which were taught to me by he people I hated but in the end it also helped me, I knew what I needed to say, I knew which words to use, when to laugh, when to smile and when to be serious, i knew how to get these people to take me on board. So maybe I should be thankful for the way I few up, only a little bit.

Maybe they did one thing right.

***

The next thing I know I am arriving in district two. i had seen pictures of it, and I had seen it n television and i thought that I would be prepared, but I wasn’t. I got off the train and it was so different. It was so much smaller than I could ever imagine it to be- and I wasn't the only one who thought so. Around me I cold hear the gasps and whispers as we were ushered out of the train and into the barracks. Beside me, a boy who looked to be a year older whispered something into my ear: “Hey Stone, do you think we have made a mistake? People make this out to be a life style with choosing, but look around, this place is a dump.” His eyes scan the area, concern dancing within the depths. I scowl at him and whack a hand into the back of his head.

“Grow up,” I growl before I begin to fasten my pace, (dropping any formalities which I had held back during the interview process.)

That guy was so wrong, this place was not a dump, this place was perfect, it was everything home wasn’t. Here, I could start new. I wouldn't be Mr Nero, I would be a nobody, a cadet Stone. No one will know who I was, nobody will think of me as any different from the rest.

We are herded into a huge room, one filled with long tales and chairs. The room was already occupied, people milling around. Most of them looked like they came from district one and two, but it was obvious that a few of them car from the much lower districts (skin tanned and clothes that looked like they belonged to kids that lived on the street, not gonna lie, most of the probably did.)

Slowly I make my way over to the corner of the room which was rather empty. I take a seat and turn to face the people who were standing at the from of the room, their white uniforms making them stick out compared to the various coloured people who were slowly starting to fall into a deathly silence.

The man at the front cleared his throat before speaking. He welcomed us to the academy, his voice booming and loud. He told us or the next three months were going to be challenging and that not everyone was going to make it through. He said that we will encounter situations which will strain us mentally and physically making a few people around the room glance uneasily at each other. I don't even filch. I didn't come to the peacekeeping academy expecting it to be easy. I was expecting it to one of the hadst things that I have ever- and will ever do. I shake my head at the people who start to question themselves, my face painted with a scowl. Did they really think choosing this life was going to be the easy way out. Pathetic.

Soon we are on our feel again, following a few of the peacekeeper into a large room which is filled with bunk beds evenly spread with a desk and a storage space next to it. Everything looked identical, from the way the beds were made to the distance between each bed and each desk to the next bed. I look around, watching the way some of the new recruits mouths drops, making me wander just how long they were going to last. I sinker at them just as my name is called.

I look up and walk over o the lady who had called it. Beside her stood a man (maybe a year or two younger than me?) who was slightly shorter than me. I allow my lips to form into a rather nasty smile, my eyes scanning him from toe to face. He doesn't smile back making my impression of him increase, even if it was only for a while.

After a moment I am told that this guy, Oscar, was to be my bunkmate for the next three months. The woman leaves, moving onto the next bed and I stand quietly, sating at him my smile never faltering. Than we are left alone, all the peacekeepers gone saying that we are to unpack and ready ourselves for the next morning. Lights out was to be in two hours, they said, reveille at 5am in the morning.

***

It happens a week or so in. I mean it would of happen way before, I cam close sometimes, people saying things that pushed me over the edge, or me in general just saying things to push people over the edge. I wanted to see how far I could push them, see how much it took to make them snap, each time I had been cut short, but not this time. We were having some down time and I was hanging out on my bunk, a few of the friends i had made, decided to cause some trouble. Generally i would be right in there with them, but today I wasn't in the mood so instead i had opted to sit around for a while, staring at the ceiling, wandering what life might have been like if my brother hand't died, wandering what life would have been like to have a loving family. I often found myself thinking these thoughts, usually at times when I was at my most vulnerable.

I hear someone come into the room and I shake my head, clearing it from the depressing thoughts. I look over to see Oscar walk into the room. I didn't like the kid much, he was very competitive, causing the two of us to be constantly butting heads. I a scowl slips onto my lips as I watch him walk over to his locker, his fingers moving quickly as he pulled it open grabbing a few things out.

Suddenly I was curious. Quietly I climbed down from my bed and walked up behind him, my eyes scanning the photos which were clasped in his hands like precious jewels. I frown my eyes looking into a photo which had two people smiling and looking lovingly into the eyes of someone who I can only presume to be their son, someone who looked a lot like the man who was holding the picture now.

My heart begins to race, my bottom lips shaking for a moment because in that image was everything I had wanted as a child. But then I am pulling myself together, my lips parting in a mocking smile. “Oh look what we have here, a little mamma’s boy. Do you always do what your mummy tells you?” I make a childish kiss face, my voice slightly which pitch, mocking. “Mummy says you should brush your teeth now, go run along, my little boy, don't want to get any cavities now do we.” After a moment I stand up straight again and I go to turn around, stopping halfway, “you make me sick.”

I expected him to yell at me, to even hit me but he doesn’t, instead he uses one word which makes my vision blur, which makes me stop dead in my tracks:

“Jealous?”

Jealous? damn right i was fucking jealous but this kid was never going to find that out.

“Jealous? JEALOUS? Excuse me, dickhead, but you know nothing about me, nothing at all so why don't you keep your big mouse trap shut and mind your own fucking business. And for your information, your family is nothing to be jealous of. Mind in face was the very” (I freeze, my mind flashing back to hostile eyes, raised fists and cold stares.) “mine was- is- perfectly fine.” I finish, but despite myself, it sounded rather weak.

"Mind your fucking business and get out of my face. And if you ever disrespect my parents again, I'm going to make you significantly less pretty."

I roll my eyes at him before walking out the door.

***

A couple weeks later one of my mates makes a snide remark about mamma’s Boy Oscar glancing at pictures of his family. I frown at the guy, because no one got to make remarks like that at him, no one but me. (this feeling confuses me slightly because I was almost sure I hated the guy… maybe it was me just feel bad for him) “You got a problem with him looking at family photos? What, just because he has a family he is proud of and you don’t, you think it is cool to make fun of him. Get fucking real.” One of the guys nods his head to loo behind me. I do and to my surprise Oscar is standing there. I give him a sharp look before looking away, he heard me? good.

***

Self defense classes. Something that i was excelling in, well the defense. But I was getting better at the other part to, the attacking part, my body becoming more toned, muscles hugging it tightly. Today I am told that some of the stronger students are to assist the ‘weaker’ ones and just my luck I am partnered with Oscar. I roll my eyes at him before I get into stance, we circle one another for a moment before he attacks. His form is perfect and in moments I am on the ground struggling to catch my breath. He cracks his knuckles above me, “that was my father's handiwork. 'Pathetic' indeed.”

I scowl at him, before mumbling something which could barely be heard, my voice filled with acid: "and my wonderful father helped me master the art of falling flat on my ass.”

But despite my bitterness towards him, I do improve. In the end I am able to block some of his more complicated attacks, panting my face with a genuine smile. I somehow even manage to choke out a small thanks.

***

Slowly my relationship with Oscar went from violent/nasty competitiveness to something more playful. i got to know hi and I found out that we were oddly similar in ways, especially our mind set on competitions. One day I actually asked him about his family. I got to understand, get a feel about what it might have been like to be par of a loving family and it only made me hurt, but I listened anyways, wanting to know, wanting to feel, though him, what it was like. I asked him if his parents were kind, what it felt like to have a warm hug from them and I think it dawned on him that my family was nothing like his, that they were cruel and harsh and I often felt like he wanted to ask me bout it, but it must have been something about m facial expressions that sit him up. And to be totally honest I am grateful about it, because I wanted nothing less than to talk about the people who stole so much from me.

But thats not all, soon it was almost like I was part of the family. Even hough I hadn’t meet the people they were sending letted asking about me, actually concerned about me. It made me feel like I was cared for, something that I would never be able to repay. I think it was around then that I stopped despising Oscar and his family connections because i didn't need to anymore, because I had a family now, even if it was only something as small as saying hi to me through Oscar it was far more than anything my actual parents had given me.

In the space of three months, Oscar and I, went from being full blown rivals to best fiends and it was mrs than I could eve have asked for.

Age 23

I am a CPL now, and the life I lived before joint he peacekeeping corps is still my secret, no one knows anything about me being Marcus Nero, the rich boy from the Capitol. I was CPL Marcus Stone, someone that I could be proud of.