slowly cracks begin to form // victor stand alone

Meredith Strauss was dead.

Her body burned to ashes, just like the room she had slept in. Her existence erased.

Victor had expected himself to be filled with a bliss that could not be thawed. He expected to be jumping over mountains, to be running marathons. But after the initial joy of watching her lifeless body burn in an inferno of wicked flames he felt somewhat empty. For as long as he could remember only had one goal had circulated his pathetic excuse of a life. One goal that his parents had imbedded into his head as child, who could bare comprehend the difference between a vegetable and a fruit, was to become a winner. Do bring the ultimate glory to the Strauss name. To become the victor.

They had gone so far as to even name him Victor.

A name that would be a constant reminder of his failure.

He had failed with Meredith. Somewhere along the way he had lost her. But thinking back he couldn't figure it out. Had he pushed her too far during one training session? Had he spoken to harshly? Vaguely he remembers the picture of her and Anna. Surely it couldn't have been her death that pushed her over the edge. In the Strauss household death was inevitable.

How couldn't they see that he did it for them? Why couldn't they see that everything he did- though it seemed cruel- all of it was so that they could become stronger. Become better. Become winners. His parents had done the exact same to him. Hours and hours of training, working his body until it was on the verge of breaking. Hours of training his mind. Of forcing him to watch acts of cruelty that, at first, had given him nightmares that would send him running to the bathroom, arms braced against the rim of the toilet seat. His dreams would be filled with forbidden acts or violence. Of death.

Victor Strauss was an angel compared to the people who called themselves his parents.

A few years pass on the nightmares that used to haunt him, to cause weeks of restless sleep, are nothing but background noise. Occasionally he still wakes up, the taste of iron in his mouth, body saturated in sweat. But he was stronger now. His mind an iron wall, unbreakable. It didn't matter what you threw at him, it didn't matter how twisted, how dark. He would. not. break. Didn't that make it worth it in the end?

Wouldn't that be a huge advantage for his projects if they were ever to be reaped? He had watched district Ones tribute: Jade Morin. She was weak. Her fragile mentally splintering only on day two. If he had been in the games, he would not have broken. He would not have shuddered at the thought of bury his knife into the pathetic air head from district Eleven. But in the end, the girl from Eleven had shown more mental strength. Keeping the career strong. He remembers how tight he had clutched his beer, how the sharp edged had dug into his flesh, drawing small beads of blood.

Jade Morin gave Careers a bad name.

Meredith Strauss threw it in the trash, set it on fire and watched it burn.

Pain bursts threw his hand as it connects with the cement wall. Tears burn at the back of his eyes. He hates begin a failure.

Victor Strauss was born to be a king.

He was born to wear a crown.