Essex Nickelby, Age 26, Former Capitol Secretary, Rebel Informant
Brandt Solveins, the Head Peacekeeper, pulls the chain around my wrists tighter. It's practically a leash for my hands. "Keep your head down and, as much as I want to, don't make me shoot you." There's so much bitterness and hatred in his voice. It's funny how a voice that once laughed with you, teased you, or whispered secrets to you can be so ruthless sounding towards you. Yes, Brandt was my friend once. No longer.
I suppose it's both my fault and his fault that he hates me. His fault for being a true, patriotic, loyal Capitol citizen. And mine for being, well, not. But I supposed any man would be upset when he found out a person he trusted, talked to frequently, and loved like a brother was a traitor.
Despite Brandt's command/threat, I look around. I had only seen the Districts once before, so even the dirty alleyways are new and exciting. I'm disappointed when my eyes land on a Capitol poster. "Essex Nickelby," it proclaims. "Active rebel sympathizer. Traitor to his country, his friends, his calling. He is one of them, not one of us. There are more like him. Protect your wives, your children, yourself, because there are more like this scum out there." After that, it becomes a bit harder to find novelty in the uneven bricks and the bold graffiti.
"Well," I grumble, my eyes still pinned to the poster. "Isn't that flattering?"
"Head down," Brandt growls. With his giant hand pushing down my neck, it's not like I have much choice.
"Ow, is that any way to treat an old friend?" I say lightly.
Brandt squeezes harder, pulling me back so I can feel his breath against my ear. "You're no friend of mine, dog. You and me, we're enemies now. It's not what I wanted, but you've given me no choice but to hate you. Now keep. Your head. Down."
He drops me and I roll my neck. "I feel like some smart person said that there's always a choice."
My vision flashes red and I fall to my knees with a bang. A small cut has opened on the back of my head. He hit me. Brandt hit me. I'd say traitor, but who am I to talk? His eyes are fixed straight ahead of him angrily, and he doesn't even glance in my direction when he drags me to my feet. He doesn't say anything for a while. Neither do I.
When Brandt pushes me out of the alley, I see we're in District Eight. The destruction everywhere is enough to show me that. As I'm lead through the wreckage, I see a red porch swing in splinters. I remember that swing. It was described so lovingly in letters the rebels sent to me to help me verify their identities. I pass a caved in house with a domed roof. The rebel leader was so proud of his house. It had a roof like that. I step over a dented blue bike lying in the middle of the road. I wonder if it belonged to Zaid, the son that a rebel operative wanted a better life for. Brandt stops me in the middle of a square. The buildings surrounding us are barely standing. Some aren't even doing that much. A crumbling stage stands in front of me, and I remember the last rebel speech proclaimed from it.
Brandt forces me to my knees. "This is what you betrayed me for," he says. His voice breaks a bit as he gestures towards the ruins. "Nothing. You deceived me and defied your country for nothing." I look over the square and nod.
"Was it worth it? Losing me and gaining some rubble?"
I glance at Brandt. His blue eyes are blurry with tears, and his once glossy brown hair is overgrown and messy. "Losing you and gaining rubble," I repeat. "That's not what I gained, Brandt. I gained a shot at freedom. Even if it didn't work... I don't know. In an answer to your question, it was worth trying."
Brandt looks down and wipes his face. "I'm supposed to kill you now," he says.
"I know."
"Are you afraid?" he asks.
Am I afraid? I may die, but I'll die fighting for justice. And that knowledge gets rid of my fear. "No."
He nods. "Maybe if you had been, things would have turned out better for you," Brandt says. He points the gun at my face. I close my eyes and smile. I am not afraid.
This is an SYOT! Please submit Tributes. The form is on my profile. Because the rebellion has just ended, your Tributes' background can be or maybe even should be intense, complex, and/or tragic. Please submit a maximum of three Tributes! Thanks!
