grayson stone ╳ district one (wip)

Grayson Stone<o:p></o:p>

16<o:p></o:p>

District One<o:p></o:p>

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Grayson awoke to the sound of his alarm clock buzzing. A simple luxury he didn’t care to be appreciative of. His family was on the wealthier side, some months worse than others, the Stones monthly income was heavily influenced by his mother. Johanna Stone was a rather well-known painter. Having painted many of the wealthy of not only District 1 but amongst the other Districts as well. “Grayson, I have painted some very important people, please just stop getting into trouble before I do.” Her voice rang through his head, like his alarm clock, which he realized was still going off. With a smack he shut the awful noise off and got up to get ready for the day. Grayson didn’t get into too much trouble, not having any friends led him down the path of promiscuity and curiosity. The narcissistic, self-indulgent lifestyle of the Capitol was something he had always wanted to experience. He probably got that from his scheming father.<o:p></o:p>

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Grayson was rather attractive for his age. 5’11 not too tall, not too short, somewhat muscular build but overall just… average. He combed his chestnut hair through his fingers, a habit of his, and stared at his reflection in the mirror, “Average”, he spat at himself.  As much as Grayson enjoyed what he saw in the mirror there was always someone better than him. Someone stronger, taller, faster, wiser… his thoughts drifted from him as he stood in the mirror. The sickening pit grew in Grayson’s stomach. I wouldn’t stand a chance in The Hunger Games he thought to himself in defeat. Dead, the first day. What a disappointment he would be. One thing Grayson enjoyed most about living in District 1, besides the lavish secondhand luxuries of the Capitol, was the Careers. Training their entire lives to volunteer for the games. Something he wished he had the guts to do. It was also a yearly guarantee some brute from the Academy would claim a spot to showboat his brutality. Always end up with their heads bashed in he laughed to himself.<o:p></o:p>

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Grayson was homeschooled by a private tutor from the Capitol, a gift from one of his Mothers clients, which gave him ample knowledge in a variety of subjects, Capitol and District. Grayson hated being homeschooled however it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to be able to travel. This month however was different, Mom didn’t paint much, leaving their pockets a little lighter. They still had plenty to get by. Grayson found a hobby of stalking the careers in his free time, watching them, as if his prey, knowing he was theirs. He compared himself to them constantly, wondering what knowledge he wasn’t obtaining. He wanted it, but not to devote his life to it. Grayson was not predator nor prey. He was… average, but with an inflated ego believed he could actually obtain the glory of winning The Hunger Games if unlucky enough to have his name drawn at the Reaping. Good luck. At least, he had his tutor Oceanus, some Capitol prodigy, allegedly, his father says, “My son needs him, except he’ll still die at the Cornucopia!” What a prick, he gritted through his teeth. In battle, Grayson was becoming decent with stationary objects, but he knew that was nothing compared to moving targets. His weapon of choice was odd, but it left Oceanus intrigued. “Oceanus” Grayson muttered to himself, realizing Oceanus was really his only friend. Oceanus was more of a father figure to Grayson than his actual father, treated him with more respect too.<o:p></o:p>

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Finishing his morning ritual, Grayson walked down the grand staircase appreciating the beautiful paintings his mother had painted over the years. Perfect detail, extraordinary talent, fascinating and captivating, Grayson wished he could be more like his Mom. He was a painter as well but just in his free time, his paintings were more of a child-like Basquiat. Not beautiful portraits of Panem’s finest or beautiful memories of exploration, family and youth. Grayson’s mind filled with memories of his childhood travelling the Districts seeing all their beauty, he closed his eyes for a moment and felt the sand beneath his toes and the cool breeze of the ocean, wishing he was in District 4 right now. Grayson stared at the portrait of his father, what a lazy entrance to our home he thought. Grayson and his father got along, alright, he could take his snide comments but having a mediocre businessman with an addiction to gambling on the Hunger games … he stopped… there it was again. The Hunger Games. He shook it from his mind, his father was a sell out anyways, both in business and taking his Mother’s last name.<o:p></o:p>

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Grayson continued his journey following the aroma of fried bacon, scrambled eggs and mashed potatoes, a delicacy of their Sunday brunch. Grayson was greeted good afternoon by his Mother and the table, perfectly set for two. He looked at his Mother, she was beautiful, her fingers becoming frail from the painting and cooking. Her hair still a beautiful red, he adored her, and she adored him. It really was just the two of them, his father was always gone procuring “business deals” with poor unsuspecting fools. Quickly eating his brunch Grayson bolted to his families makeshift training garage. Inside stood 3 dummies with targets located on each vital artery. His fingers danced gently over the weapons that lined the wall, the cool metal soothed his body. He grabbed the chain whip off the wall and moved the metal between his palm. It slithered like a snake, twisting into his skin. His secret weapon, or so he thought. In theory, his weapon was not deadly, but Grayson was able to wrap the whip around limbs, necks, waists. It’s the perfect offense and defense, the perfect weapon he gleamed to himself. Grayson had grandiose ideas on how to use it, If I’m falling, I can grapple onto something and pull myself up... I can save an ally by wrapping it around their waist, if I can get an ally… Offensively whip someone… grab a hold of someone’s weapon and yank it from them… I can always carry another weapon too… his thoughts going into overdrive in his mind. Grayson rubbed his fingers through his hair. Unfortunately, the Stone Training Facility didn’t allow him to learn any of these skills, the facility was a glorified garage with 4 dummies inside, he needed to be a career to really be safe. All these ideas were just a child’s daydream with one goal in mind, survival. And Survival was a difficult task to complete in The Hunger Games.