amara. d9. fin.

You've lived a life of bloody knuckles and broken bones. From the slums to the fighting ring, from the train to district nine - you don't know how to stand still. If you can't feel your own blood rushing, you might as well be a doll sitting in the corner of your granny's house, collecting dust. A good looking doll, mind you. A doll who would look good in anything, basically.

Do we detect a hint of pride? Well, your mother always encouraged you to be proud. She said there would always be others who tried to rain on your parade. Don't listen to 'em, she said. Their words had no power unless you gave it to them - and at the end of the day, you had your fists. What was stronger than that?

Your mother told the story a thousand times, "As soon as you were born, I left that moron father of yours - " yeah yeah, we get it mom, he was a lazy moron. Less lazy, more moron. You're under the impression she lied about how bad he was. She never even gave him a chance to be a father, and yet he didn't try very hard to stick around. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

Whatever the reason, your mother was fine on her own. She had a good job, a strong head on her shoulders, and an ambition that outshined most. She was your mother and also your hero. Truthfully, you didn't have many options for inspirational heroes to begin with. Were you supposed to worship victors? Who did they really save but themselves? They were impressive, but anyone can fight for survival. That left you with what, Peacekeepers? Your mother would laugh at the very idea. So would you. Their existence was a rival to yours.

The great thing about being raised in Ten was the open fields, the fresh outdoors. There was so much room to run and play and hide with the kids your age. Every house had its own smell - cows, dust, citrus. You could bake yourself under the sun for hours without a care in the world. So, how the hell did you end up in District Nine, the ugliest place you had ever seen?

You know it had everything to do with your childhood. Your mother was nurturing, yet harsh. She refused to let you be a silent lamb or a passive victim. She never told you how or why she knew how to fight, but she forced her knowledge upon you. Days that could be spent peeling oranges in the grass were spent with your back thudding against leaf piles, eyes straining against a sunny sky before your mother's shadow cast over you. "Get up."

You always huffed and climbed right back up again. You learned not to complain of fatigue, because that would only extend your sparring session. Outsmarting her didn't work either - each day you pretended to have 'so much schoolwork' she would stand over your shoulder and watch you. Every lie meant an extra hour outside. You had to replace most of your wardrobe with how sweat-stained everything became.

And when she was finished, she expected you to do nothing. You were supposed to sit on all of this knowledge and training, and wait for something bad to happen to you. Nope, you aren't quite built that way - you sought the challenges on your own, entering makeshift fighting rings with boys who looked at you with smug grins. After you knocked them on their ass, they weren't so smug. Then you found your first real circle of friends. They talked of rebellion and kicking Peacekeeper ass one day. You entertained the ideas as well, because man how satisfying would that be?

You didn't think they would actually go through with it.

You watched them jump him by surprise, knocking the baton right out of his hand. You stood on the sidelines as they broke his ribs, his nose - they asked you to join and you almost did. You stepped forward, ready to perform a swift kick of justice, until the other white coats found you. They arrested all of you at once, and they shipped you off on a train without letting you say goodbye.

Knowing you were on your way to the infamous Detention Center, you were surprisingly calm. The seats on the train were cushioned, and every stop on the way gave you a glance at the lands of other districts. You met friends in such an unlikely place - a gearhead from three, an animal-hugger from five, and an oddity from one. When the Peacekeepers announced that you would be spending your punishment working instead of rotting in a cell, the four of you decided that nine was the place to be. Rumors of violent syndicates and a crime family's hidden stash. What better way to spend your days than hunting treasure and breaking faces?

Your only regret is her. Sorry, mom. You should've known how reckless I was.