Trae Tamorlan D2 M

Name: Trae Tamorlan

Age: 14

Gender: M

District: 2


Children never bothered Trae Tamorlan. With his 6’ frame and rippling muscles, he looked like a typical Career in the making. One look from his eyes, so dark they were practically black, would intimidate even brave passerby. His hair, cut close to his head, practically completely shaved, only served to enhance his appearance as a future Career. Perhaps he wasn’t in prime fighting shape yet, at only 14 years of age, but everyone knew he would eventually be a brutal fighter.

Already, there were rumors of some of his cruelty. But as Trae stood over the skinny ten year-old thief that had fallen down, he offered his hand to pick the child off of the ground. Instead of taking his hand, the child curiously looked up at Trae with frightened eyes because he had a big reputation for respecting the law. So why didn’t he bring the child in? This wasn’t the only time he had gone against what people thought he was and helped people out. And yet word never got out, because after each act of kindness, Trae would always snarl the same message. “Speak a word of this and not even Ripred will be able to save you.” After all, Trae had a reputation to maintain, one his father had worked so hard for him to earn.

“You have to get stronger!” Trae’s father yelled as he punched him for the fiftieth time. “You have to join the Peacekeepers!”

Trae absolutely loathed him. His military-like attitude, the foul ways of training. HE shaved his head, HE burned his body, HE shaped his features. And through this all, Trae trained from dusk until dawn to perfect his muscles and skills to please him. Sometimes he thought about ending his father’s life, getting away from his abuse. “Maybe one day I’ll just snap,” he mused, “And my temper will take care of him.” Normally Trae was a caring guy, even though he tried to hide it, but the years of cruelty at his father’s hand had certainly changed him. Perhaps it had existed beforehand, and maybe it had spawned through the years, but now Trae had a temper that, when acted on, could result in terrible consequences.

But Trae never acted on those wishes, on the desire to hurt his father. He was the one man who never triggered Trae’s temper. A part of him realized that killing the man would only make Trae’s father proud. It would show him that he’d succeed in making his son a warrior, no, a brute. And whatever his father wanted, Trae did not. Like being a peacekeeper and killing. He had, however, been forced to. He would’ve otherwise been convicted of betraying his father, which would’ve led to an early, and slow, death. So he had to train every day, learn how to use swords, and worst of all, kill his mother.

It was only because his mother didn’t want him to become a peacekeeper. His father placed her in front of Trae to kill her when he was just coming of age for the reaping. Trae tried refusing him, he really did. But it was all to no avail. All Trae got for his efforts was a bunch of cigar burns on his back and a beating that threatened to leave him crippled for the rest of his life. Once he did agree, through pain and tears, and he did execute his mother, he knew he was never going to sleep another peaceful night again.

His sleep is filled with pleas for mercy, the sound of a sword penetrating skin and bone, the dull thump of a head hitting the floor. But he can’t even escape those nightmares by waking up as his life is just as bad, brutal training for hours on end, just so he can fulfill his father’s wish of becoming a so called “peace”keeper. Each failure results in another beating, another burn. After years of submissiveness, Trae has finally found a way to strike back against his father. He will wait for the next Reaping, volunteer, and smile as he becomes the first Career to blow himself to pieces by jumping off the platform prematurely. Take that, Father.