Not sure why I didn't but this in at first but this is my first attempt at a birthday fic for anyone and I wasn't sure exactly how to go about it but I really hope you like it, Marcus… and anyone else just randomly reading this.
At three o'clock in the morning, all the rest of District 2 had long since settled in for the night getting well rested for another long day of either work or training but one ten-year-old corpse was just making his way to his room, his left knee silently screaming at every labored step.
"A mace," he muttered in disbelief, looking at his knee which was a very sickening amalgam off red and purple that desperately needed medical attention. He had been physically and emotionally abused for six years but that was the first time they used an actual weapon and he was almost certain it was far from the last.
As he lay on his bare mattress, an admittedly unlikely thought came to his mind. That maybe if he went to sleep tonight his body might finally give in and never wake up.
A soft snore broke that though and his glassed over eyes fluttered to his sleeping twin sister reminding him why he had to keep fighting.
So innocent.
So happy.
So blissfully ignorant.
So safe.
Or at least as safe as anyone in District 2 could ever be. She had been asleep for hours. They never did anything to hurt her. He'd kill them if they ever tried. Built up with enough rage he was sure he'd be able to and he'd worry about the consequences afterwards. No matter how useless they say he is and how much he couldn't help but believe it, he just knew he could do it for her.
He got up trying to focus the weight on his right side and sat down on the side of her bed running his hand along her sheets with a weak but genuine smile as he focused in on her almost angelic face. How much if that might change if he were to die that night?
Without him there to stop him, would they abuse her like they do him?
He couldn't take that risk.
He wouldn't.
Her safety meant a few thousand times more to him than his own.
Almost moving independently from his mind, his hand gently brushed her face then down her arm causing her to stir slightly but not wake up. So well built and pure. It would be a crime against nature to destroy such a thing.
"Unless you're absolutely perfect and unbeatable no one will ever love you." His father's cruel voice invaded his thoughts causing him to clench his eyes shut.
It couldn't be true. Not with her. She will always love him, right? She has said that before at least and she was one of the only three people he can trust. He really wanted to believe she would never lie to him.
She had no clue what was going on right underneath her very nose.
Inside her very house.
She couldn't know.
Ever.
If she did she'd want to try to stop it. To save him from them. Would she be sucessful is the real question.
Clove is a tough girl. A Career through and through but their parents. They are the trainers the advanced class at the Special Academy.
To say she could take them was more then a long shot.
It was a fantasy.
She'd just end up getting herself hurt or even killed.
Honestly, there is nothing worse those monsters could do to him.
He knew full well that he was burning through the short bit of sleep he was allowed and that it would be days before he even really stood a chance at getting another one but he found himself glued to her side.
She was the fire that gave him the power he needed to keep fighting when most other people would be long dead.
As long as he had her though, he could make it through anything.
His mind settled the screaming in his knee to a dull throb which he was able to ignore. Never show weakness. Weakness only ever made things worse. He needed to be stronger than his body. To fight through some of the most basic needs. Pain. Starvation. Sleep deprivation. Nothing he wasn't well acquainted with.
Except the mace. He knew how to use a mace. He knew how to use any weapon but to actually feel it's merciless blow. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.
He just had to coax it away though. Just like every other pain.
Physical at least.
Emotional wounds are much harder to heal.
His eyes shot to the bedroom door. How long had he been sitting there? His mother could come bursting in at any moment and then what would she think?
His breath caught in his throat and he got to his feet but nothing came.
He needed any sleep he could get anyways hobbling back to his mattress.
He wouldn't really not wake up would he?
No, he couldn't.
He had to keep fighting.
Just grit his teeth and make it through the next day.
His eyes closed and his mind wandered to Maysilee Donner.
District 12 citizen.
Quarter Quell.
Forty-eight tributes.
No mentor.
A bowl, a blow tube, and blank blow darts.
No one could stand to argue that the odds were in her favor.
She proved them wrong though.
Fifth place.
She would have won if it weren't for those stupid bird mutts.
She was the best poison-master the Games has ever seen. As far as Kawino was concerned.
Her games never aired after their live broadcast no one but her family, best friend, district partner Haymitch Abernathy, and obviously Kawino even knows her name but his 'parents' had managed to secure a few clips of their games for training.
From when she first saw her he was hooked.
She gave him fight in a different way than Clove did.
After all, if she could stand such odds. Why couldn't he?
It was tantalizingly short though before an arrow implanted into his shoulder his eyes shot open wide as saucers and he sprung up into a sitting position to find his mother, right hand clutched around a bow and face twisted into a scowl.
"Get up, you worthless piece of shit."
"Yes, Ma'am." He gasped out, and almost bite straight through his lip stopping himself from calling out as he took the arrow out himself quickly bandaging over the wound knowing they've always hated blood on the floor though it certainly didn't stop them from drawing it in the first place.
"We don't have all day," she hissed and he quickly got to his feet heading down to their training room, which was directly below where they were housed, in spite of his leg and broken ribs' protest knowing his father was already there and wouldn't tolerate waiting.
The brief break was over. It was back to hell.