d9 . timothy moore

Fractured, spilling itself into a million pieces before him as his hands vainly try to plug each of the holes in her body. Every time he pushed on one, his eyes had darted to another, fingers scrambling over her torn clothes to try and stop the blood that flowed so freely from her wounds. It took only moments, from when the gun had fired, six consecutive bangs, before she had fallen to the ground. Seconds later, Timothy had landed on top of the Peacekeeper, a fist slammed into his chin, a knee right into the stomach before he had dashed over to his grandmother.

Too slow, she’d say, in his training, knocking him on the head with a fist. The movement gentle, as she’d grin up at him and remind him to move his foot back, pushing off harder to move faster. He’d forgotten, for a moment finding himself hesitating as the Peacekeeper had stepped into the street. Everyone knew who Nana was, she was brave, she was strong and she had done her best to make the district into a better place. They called her a traitor and plastered her face on boards around the district. A ransom for her head printed in big black letters under a picture of her smiling face. There was never a photo of her without a smile.

He’d declared that he’d kill the traitor, and Timothy had been waiting on the side, the mission they’d been on interrupted by the Peacekeeper’s unexpected appearance. He wasn’t ready, not yet, to do them by himself. He hadn’t learned everything he needed to, he wasn’t strong enough to take on the label that he had promised himself he would bare.

He was too slow.

The blood pooled past her lips, and she stared into the fading light of the sky. There was nothing within those eyes, they didn’t blink or move, they were lifeless. She was gone. The fire within him flickered, for a moment vanishing into embers. The tears prickled behind his eyes, and he slammed a fist into the gravel, biting back a yell that built itself within his chest.

---

She put all her faith in his dreams, turning herself into a mentor that would guide Timothy into becoming a symbol for the people. Before him, his grandmother had been a pillar of the community. When he was younger he had stood before her, fists clenched into tight balls, eyes burning with a desire that had made her smile drop, facing him with earnest as she listened.

“I’m going to be a symbol, Nana,” he had felt it, deep within him, a flame that burned brightly. No longer, was it the embers of a dream, but a reality that he could put words to, and he had a mentor that would guide him. “People need someone to rely on, for peace and for justice.”

I will be that person. He'd tell himself, a promise so violent that it made his body break.

A hero, his Nana would say. The district and Panem needed a hero, someone that could stand in the face of injustice and make people believe that there was hope within the pain they all suffered. He wanted to create a world where everyone could live together without fear, where smiles and laughter filled the air. He believed that everyone deserved to live their best lives and to be happy. He’d show them, a light atop of mountain that they could look up to, he’d protect them and always wear a smile to show that it would be okay.

Timothy Moore had been no one special, a failing soul that had struggled to square himself up against the terrifying figures of the district. At school, he was the kid who stood up against the bullies that were twice his size, knocked down again and again. Getting up had always been the hardest part, and as time went on he found it harder to gather his strength and stand on shaking legs. When he thought he couldn’t do it and that his legs had no more strength he’d remember what his Nana always said.

“Then you have to inspire them, Timmy, you’ve got to give them a reason to follow you.”

She’d given him her torch, her strength, and her beliefs. Nana was the true hero of his story and Timothy was nothing more than the creation of the torch she had passed onto him. Despite the shortcomings he had possessed, he was a boy who had been driven to come to the aid of others and protect them with everything he had.

He’d give them every reason he could think of, becoming a figure that did not stand in the shadows, but in the light. And soon the true criminals of Panem wound up bound and dumped in front of the justice building time and time again. Murders that alluded the gangs and Peacekeepers were hunted down, Peacekeepers who mistreated those around them were knocked around and reminded of the people they should be. A man that believed that killing was not the answer because that did not make people smile, he was not a symbol of fear, he was a symbol of peace and justice and prosperity.

---

The blood that covered the tissue in his hand was a constant reminder of the reality of life. The doctors had told him it was terminal, and that as time went by the pain would only get worse. He’d shrugged off their concern with a smile and booming acknowledgment, he’d be okay, he’d said, cancer wouldn’t be the end of him.

The reality of the situation demanded more notice, and soon Timothy found himself struggling, a punch to the stomach making his battered lungs ache even more. He needed help, and like what his Nana had done for him, he needed to find another to carry on his torch. There had to be another smile and voice to carry on against injustice. Another person needed to step into his place and make the world smile, feel just a little brighter.

Laughter and happiness, the foundation of everything he had wanted to achieve in his life, a crumbling image before him as he tried to stick the pieces back together. He was there, again, lying beside Nana as he tried to plug up the gaping holes in his own chest, as the edges of his vision grew fuzzy and he gasped for air.

When he looked over, past Nana’s lifeless figure, there would be another and another, smiles and hands that worked to make the lives around them better.

Ordinary people that sparked hope and laughter in those around them.

They were heroes.