So, my huge thanks to LoveTheBoyWithTheBread for her Beta-ing. The good grammar wasn't mine, I still suck at it. Hehe. She was my very first friend to actually PM in Hunger Games fics. So do visit her story, "The Truth", which I am particularly fond of and think of her as a writing genius.
And please review! I am actually lucky to have the will to write despite of my almost-writer's block. I couldn't resist Confessions of a Shopoholic book set my aunt gave me but on with the story!
Let's celebrate that I actually understand now the difference between 'in' and 'on'! I feel so triumphant.
Beneath the wrinkled feet of the District 9 residents, wires dominate over the cold cement, contrasting to the redwood and conifers surrounding the area. The aura is implicitly peculiar as if the crowd is being watched by several watchdogs with deathly spears at their grasp. You could even hear the trembling lips of fifty children and fifty mothers who are at the moment; chanting silent prayers that would hopefully help their children reduce their chance of getting reaped.
An enthusiastic man bounces to the stage, almost leaping in the typical blaze of excitement that the Capitol seems to have when it comes to the annual Hunger Games. "Let's start with the boys, shall we?" His voice was tremendously raging despite the disheveled crowd. No one was as happy as him towards this moment, reaping the names whose fate shall be entitled to the Capitol's entertainment by the games. He almost lusts for blood for the children he will escort to the deathly games, maybe even like a cannibal.
"Carter Finkle!" He says the name almost in utter laughter as a tall boy who must be six foot eight in outrageous height walks limply. He was another one of those tributes of District 9. He is diminished, gaunt and a face who almost looked as if a protruding skull, almost frightening that a little girl shrieks in fear. "Monster!" she says, her voice, piercing that everyone starts looking at the frightening boy in displeasure of his face.
Even if he was always the benevolent boy who walks in the streets looking for hungry little children and gives them berries he had illegally gathered, some people always strives to avoid him. They couldn't look past what they saw physically since only one word spreads throughout their brain whenever he appears before them. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly.
But he never wanted that, he never wished for his face to be almost distorted. He always wanted only one thing from them and that is acceptance. He was the generous boy who took care of his family single-handedly. Dealing several losses from his life, the abandonment of his father to him and his siblings, the death of two of his closest brothers from starvation and the secret murder of his little sister from a drunken peacemaker, he all experienced these. But by these, he did not become strong, he became weaker, tinier and he looked upon himself as a monster. An ugly, skeletal, distorted monster.
He shakes the hand of the escort whose mouth is gaped widely from surprise; he could almost cover his eyes from going blind from seeing this boy. "Carter Finkle as male tribute!" he says, not bothering to shoot the arms of the boy to the air. He just steps aside as if the boy was some kind of psychopath. But the boy helplessly looks down to his trembling knees, welcoming the salty tears.
But Andri Dawn did more than shriek at the frightening face of the boy; she just stares at him with bizarre pity. She always thought it was ridiculous how he repels the people even if he was such a kind, generous boy. Her amber eyes follow the tears of the boy who is streaming from face to floor. But her concentration changes after the announcement of the girl's turn. The small man's hands slightly claw a piece of paper who, by the odds, may contain her name. She continuously chants words that give her confidence. It will not be me. It will not be me. It will not be me.
"Andri Dawn!" the tiny voice echoes throughout her, her eardrums, her veins, and finally, her heart which seems to be slowing down and stops for a second. "hhhhhummph," she chokes, inhaling as much air with her best ability. The people around her don't know that for a fact, Andri has heart problems. Nothing severe but by the worry that her death may crouch to her at any given time at the arena may, of course, change that, together with the traumatizing nightmares.
She climbs to the cold, deathly stage, trying to control her heart beats. Despite her ailment, she is an extraordinary girl, having a wide IQ range and impeccable photographic memory. She is, without question, implicitly intelligent and witty, owning several inventions and unlikely snares she uses for her hunting.
Hunting, her passion.
The escort shakes her hand, grinning wide towards her. "Andri Dawn as female tribute!"
And there she is, waiting for her death, leaving the district she loves most and being watched by thousands of viewers from their homes, thinking if she will make it far. But there she is, listening to her little heartbeats which are currently being swallowed by the crowd.
The blood flows freely from her ventricles. Beat…….beat……..beat.
To Dan D. Lion –catie, the contributor of Andri, the heart ailment wasn't on our agreement, but it is something that spices her up.
What do you think about the grammar? I tried my best not using a BETA for this chappie as an experiment if I did better at my grammar now that I had written more assiduously. Did I miss some mistakes?