monstrous by brames


The Hunger Games is the property of Suzanne Collins.


i
of monsters and men


Othello was five when he saw his father for the last time.

"Be good, son. Be strong." Father looked so imposing, standing tall and broad in his Peacekeeper uniform, but his voice was as warm as ever. He swept Othello up into one last hug. "Take care of your mother."

Othello frowned. His parents had done their best to hide the dire reality of the war from him. He knew nothing of District Thirteen or the Mockingjay or how wretchedly the Capitol was losing, to the point where the government had been forced to institute a draft. But one look at Mother, hiding her tears with her hands as she wept in the doorway, was all Othello needed to know that something was wrong.

"When will you come back?" His voice quivered, but he forced it to steady. Father told him to be strong, and Othello would not let him down.

For a moment, an indescribable emotion clouded Father's eyes. Had Othello been older and wiser, he would have guessed it to be sorrow. But then it was gone, and Father was smiling. "I'll be back in time for your birthday, Othello. I promise."

And with those words, Father departed. Othello watched mournfully as the man strode into the crisp autumn evening without so much as a look back. Despite Father's promise, Othello couldn't shake the feeling that this time, he wouldn't be coming home.

As it turned out, he shouldn't have doubted Father. His ashes were returned two months later, just in time for Othello's sixth birthday.

·

By the end of the year, the war was over. The rebellion had been completely obliterated. Thirteen was an irradiated ruin; the remaining districts had grudgingly submitted to Capitol rule. ABSOLUTE VICTORY, the headlines announced. It didn't feel like one to Othello.

But the people of the Capitol were ecstatic, and the drinks flowed freely as they celebrated a victory they had taken no part in. Their luxurious lifestyles would continue. As would the Hunger Games.

·

Othello watched his first Games the next summer.

Amazing, he couldn't help but think to himself as he watched Aleph of Two cut down the sons and daughters of rebels with the practiced efficiency of a butcher. But it wasn't the blood of the fallen or the screams of the dying that captivated Othello. It was the look in the man's eyes as he struck down his enemies. Cold, lifeless, and utterly devoid of emotion.

And Othello was starstruck. Aleph Hale was ruthless, decisive, and above all else strong – infinitely more admirable than the soft and pampered Capitol fools that surrounded Othello, never mind that he was one of them himself. He said as much to Mother, who responded with a swift smack to his head.

"District children are not to be admired, Othello," she snapped. "Take away the Games and the glory, and that boy is just another murderer – a monster, like the rebels that killed your father."

But when Aleph cleaved a twelve-year-old nearly in half to secure his victory, Othello learned a valuable lesson: the monster always wins in the end.

·

"How do you do it?"

The voice jolted Othello from his reminiscences, and he looked up from the whiskey he'd been nursing for the better part of an hour. A girl had taken a seat next to him at the bar. Twenty at the oldest, and dark in hair and skin like him. Relatively unadorned of the freakish alterations that passed for fashion in these parts. A little young for Othello's taste, though he wouldn't mind spending the night with her all the same…

Then he remembered she'd asked him a question. "Pardon?"

"You're the Head Gamemaker, right? Othello Cairns." She pressed further. "How do you deal with the, you know," she gestured vaguely with her hands. "The dead kids and everything?"

Othello thought back to his father, struck down by the rebels without a second thought for the widow and child he would leave behind. He thought of the decadent and corrupted Capitol, whose people would condone the murder of children for the sake of their own twisted entertainment. And he thought of Aleph Hale, emerging from the arena with a cold, expressionless gaze and the blood of five tributes stained on his hands.

Othello grunted. "Somebody has to do it." He downed his whiskey in a single gulp.

It wasn't a lie.

Somebody has to remind humanity of the monsters they can be.


author's note

Hello and welcome to my first SYOT! I'm Brames, and I hope you'll join me on this wild ride. The guidelines for submission, along with a form and some background on this post-canon AU, can be found on my profile, but I'll go over them here as well:

1. Submissions are first-come, first-served. However, I will only accept tributes with some amount of effort put into them.
2. You are allowed to reserve spots. Reservations will last for 5 days.
3. I will accept up to 3 tributes from each submitter.
4. Please submit through private message only.
5. Be creative and have fun! I'm looking forward to seeing what you come up with!

Now, on to the chapter – how did you like Othello? Was he too edgy? Not edgy enough? Don't worry, this isn't the last you'll see of him. Let me know what you think in a review!

That's about it. Thanks for reading!