Whoa, had a little too much fun and went a little overboard with this one.
Enjoy.
My name is Maver Crood.
Hear my story.
His opponent landed hard on the wooden floor of our hall with a grunt. Gregory Crood, his copper-brown hair sleek with sweat, gave a triumphant smile before placing his foot on top of the other boy's stomach, claiming his third victory in a row. His opponent, our neighbor and his long-time childhood friend Chad Hughsberg, slumped on the floor tiredly, groaning.
My six year old self watched my brother in awe as he swiftly removed his foot from Chad's stomach and helped him up to his feet. Wincing, Chad limped over to the side of the room and flopped onto the mattresses that had been carelessly placed there by one of the servants, grumbling to himself.
"That was awesome! Third win in a row Greg!" I cried out, clapping my hands. I had always looked up to my brother as a child. I respected him, admired the graceful way he carried himself, the way he always seemed to know exactly what needed to be said, and the way he can hold everyone captivated.
Greg had taken after our father. The same copper-brown hair –artfully tousled, as if he spent hours styling it so that it looked like he had just gotten out of bed-, the same steady grey eyes that crinkled slightly whenever he smiles, the same perfectly tan skin and the same chiseled face that reverberated with rugged masculinity. It was no wonder he had a line of girls fawning over him. I, in turn, had inherited much of my mother's looks and beauty. I had her icy blonde hair, long eyelashes that shade my sharp, metallic blue eyes and soft facial features. It's hard to believe sometimes, that we are siblings, and not strangers living in the same house.
"Wanna try fight me, little brother?" he challenged with mock seriousness. A 6 year old wouldn't be able to do much against a 14 year old –especially a 14 year old with skills like Greg- but I accepted the challenge anyway. I started punching, kicking and twisting my body, remembering the various lessons I had with Greg on self-defense techniques. I kicked him on the shin then, and Greg pretended to cry out in pain, falling over and rolling around on the ground, clutching his 'injured' shin.
"Mercy Mavy! Mercy!" he pleaded. I laughed as a reply, flopping down on his stomach. We wrestled for a while, before getting tangled in a mess of limbs, hair and clothes.
This was the kind of relationship we had. Despite the age difference, we understood each other.
"Wanna go for a run?" he asked, eyes twinkling with delight. I agreed enthusiastically. We went on runs together a lot. It would always be the same track, down the road, a left turn followed closely by two rights, and straight down to the bedraggled park that no one goes to anymore.
It was in that park that we met the woman with flaming-red hair. She was beautiful, but her beauty reminded me of pressed flowers. There was no warmth in it, just cold, dark malice. Upon seeing us, she plastered a bright smile on her face.
"Children! Thank goodness I found you," she cooed sweetly. "It appears I'm lost. Would you kindly direct me to this address please?" She held up a tiny piece of yellowed paper that had a few words scrawled on it. I saw Greg narrowing his eyes, poorly disguising his suspicion. He took a few steps towards her, holding out his hand to take the piece of paper.
"I'm guessing you aren't a District 1 citizen right?" Greg asked. Now that the rebels had overthrown Snow, we get visitors from other districts a lot. "Where you come from?"
The next few moments were a blur of my five senses. The woman never gave an answer. Instead, her right hand reached deep into her coat pocket and brandished a knife. Greg was a second too late. He gave an astonished gasp when he saw the knife, but before both of us knew it, the blade had burrowed deep into his chest, blood pouring out of the wound. He crumpled to the ground, eyes widened in fear and shock, mouth shaped like an 'O' though no screams came.
I was living a nightmare. Having taken care of my brother, she then approached her real target; me.
"Come with me, honey," she smiled sweetly, the blood wetting her hands as red as her hair. "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you." Given that previous stab-Greg-with-my-hunting-knife scene, it was no surprise that I didn't believe her. I met my brother's dimming eyes. His mouth shaped one word over and over again, his last message for me.
Run.
And so I did. I heard the woman behind me exhale loudly, clearly annoyed. I called to mind the countless runs I had with Greg, balancing my intake and outtake of oxygen. I summoned every last bit of energy I had and ran, ran like I've never ran before. I had to escape, I had to, I had-.
A hand grabbed my shoulder and threw me to the ground, pinning me there. I struggled free, only to be rewarded with a kick in the ribs. I gave a yelp of pain, but refused to back down. I turned into a wild animal, clawing and scratching, screaming and kicking. The woman jerked her head up, looking around for any sign of another person. There wasn't anyone in sight, but someone's bound to come sooner or later, so she swiftly tied my hands and legs, not forgetting to shove a bitter-tasting rag into my mouth. She hauled me onto her shoulder then. I didn't stop screaming. My screams came out muffled, but I prayed fervently that someone would hear me.
No one did. When the realization dawned on me that it was hopeless, I stopped fighting, slumping tiredly on the woman's shoulder. And then came the tears. Waves upon waves of grief crashed upon me. Seeing my brother crumple to the ground, his eyes dimming as life slowly drained out of his body, him using his final breaths to warn me to run.
Sobs racked my tiny frame. I didn't know how long I cried, but I must've fallen asleep, for when I next opened my eyes, we were in an entirely different terrain. There were no houses, no roads, no buildings. Just flat, open ground, baked in the scorching sun.
"Welcome to your new home, Maver Crood," the woman purred. "Await your impending death!"
My name is Maver Crood.
And this, is my story.
As always, constructive criticism is much appreciated!