robin | d2 | cb | fin
May 2, 2017 21:47:32 GMT -5
Post by Lyn𝛿is on May 2, 2017 21:47:32 GMT -5
[googlefont="Marcellus:400"]
robin
district two
seventeen (?)
Career
district two
seventeen (?)
Career
It is cold and dark.
A woman's soft voice, like poisoned honey. A man's shouts, indistinct, cut over them. Then, silence.
Walls. Rough and unyielding. Bright light.
"This specimen is seeing the best results, consiglière."
The woman's gentle touch as cold, thin metal pierces my arm. I never remember what happens after that.
More silence.
*
There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know.
My eyes blink open. A man stands above me, sword strapped to his side as he pulls me up. A tall building rises behind him, echoing sounds of metal on metal from within. The woman is gone. The needles are gone. The darkness is gone.
"Where... am I?" The words feel rough in my mouth. I do not remember when I last had occasion to use them.
"This is the Training center," the man scoffs. "Surely every child in District Two recognizes it."
"...District Two?"
"Oh, come on! The glorious and proud stonemasons of Panem - how old are you, child?"
"I... I don't know."
The man pries open my mouth, and I know better than to resist.
"Six, I'm guessing. You look strong for your age. Any good with a weapon?"
The sword comes out of its sheath as he places it into my hands.
"You'll do," he says, and I am led away into a tall building. The man scribbles on many papers, muttering about Cricket Antoinette and prove those other trainers wrong.
*
There are nights when I wake up to gunshots. When I stumble downstairs to find the man with a rifle in his hands and a handful of corpses on the doorstep.
"Assassins," he shrugs. "All taken care of, though." He won't be in trouble. Self-defense is a sacred right in Two.
"What do assassins want with some random trainer?"
He never answers. Only shakes his head.
*
One day, I come to realize it isn't him they want.
It's me.
A woman's soft voice, like poisoned honey. A man's shouts, indistinct, cut over them. Then, silence.
Walls. Rough and unyielding. Bright light.
"This specimen is seeing the best results, consiglière."
The woman's gentle touch as cold, thin metal pierces my arm. I never remember what happens after that.
More silence.
*
There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know.
My eyes blink open. A man stands above me, sword strapped to his side as he pulls me up. A tall building rises behind him, echoing sounds of metal on metal from within. The woman is gone. The needles are gone. The darkness is gone.
"Where... am I?" The words feel rough in my mouth. I do not remember when I last had occasion to use them.
"This is the Training center," the man scoffs. "Surely every child in District Two recognizes it."
"...District Two?"
"Oh, come on! The glorious and proud stonemasons of Panem - how old are you, child?"
"I... I don't know."
The man pries open my mouth, and I know better than to resist.
"Six, I'm guessing. You look strong for your age. Any good with a weapon?"
The sword comes out of its sheath as he places it into my hands.
"You'll do," he says, and I am led away into a tall building. The man scribbles on many papers, muttering about Cricket Antoinette and prove those other trainers wrong.
*
There are nights when I wake up to gunshots. When I stumble downstairs to find the man with a rifle in his hands and a handful of corpses on the doorstep.
"Assassins," he shrugs. "All taken care of, though." He won't be in trouble. Self-defense is a sacred right in Two.
"What do assassins want with some random trainer?"
He never answers. Only shakes his head.
*
One day, I come to realize it isn't him they want.
It's me.
