Trigger Warning:
Warren is pretty brutal
If sensitive to violence of children,
Skip his pov,
However, I question if this is the right fandom for you…
Cause you know, Hunger Games?
Stranger in white
In a car
Going somewhere
Going far
Sybil Thyne, 18
District 9 Female
"That really looks like it's going to hurt," says Roseli as the needle gets closer to my skin. To be honest, it probably will, but I'm oddly okay with it.
I've worked in this tattoo shop for years now. It's almost like a second home to me, and though I do love getting tattoos I have to limit myself often because as my mother would say "I'm not an inkpad" and I just really don't care for that conversation again.
"Maybe," I say shrugging my shoulders. "Bring it down, Rocko."
He brings the needle to the outer part of my right wrist. It stings as the needle pierces the bone, but there is something exciting about this pain. Painting a picture to express yourself that will last forever is something that's so..deep? There's something about the fact that people believe in something enough to get it etched into their skin forever. That's why I love doing my job.
"Almost done," he says, "I was surprised at how little this one was."
"Don't mistake the little tat for the big picture, Rock," I say with a smile.
This tattoo means a lot to me because it's something I want to describe my life forever. It's the word "joy". I want to be the person who just really grabs life by the balls. We have too little time on this planet to just sit around and wait for life to happen. As cheesy as this sounds, I don't want to learn to endure the storms of life. I want to learn to dance through them.
Joy for me isn't consistently being happy with everything life is throwing at you, but it's understanding that your life is but a mere series of events. Though sometimes the events may seem tragic, the ultimate ending of life isn't.
Well for most people.
"All done," says Rocko as he lifts the needle up. "What's this make this one, Syb, 12th?"
"And you wouldn't even be able to tell because they're all hidden," I say with a smirk looking down at my new ink.
"Well, except that one." says Roseli pointing at my newest edition.
"Linda can live," I say as I get up from the chair and shake Rocko's hand. I put my finger on the palm of his hand and tickle his palm and he yanks his hand back.
"Oh my gosh!" he yells and then starts to laugh. "Man I hate it when you do that."
I laugh and walk out of the store with Roseli close behind. We make our usual stops at the fruit cart, stopping and talking to random people, and by the time we get to our street it's already getting dark.
"Let me know how it goes with Linda." says Roseli with a smirk as she walks towards her house.
"Let me know how it goes with Linda." I jest back at her which gets sharp spin on her heels and a stare down.
"Don't you dare start this again, Sybil," she says
"Don't you dare start this again, Sybil," I respond holding back laughter.
She rolls her eyes and walks away from me frustrated, but I know the minute she'll get into her house she will be laughing. It's how it always works with us.
I stroll up to the front porch of our house and place the key in the door and walk in. Mom is standing over the stove, and dad is watching some soap on Capitol TV, We don't have lots of money, but we have enough to get by and to be comfortable.
"Sybil dinner's almost ready." says mom turning around in a sing-songy voice. When she sees my wrist, which I had no intention of trying to hide, her entire demeanor changes. "WHAT IN GOD'S GREEN EARTH IS THAT ON YOUR WRIST?"
"You didn't know I had a word shaped birthmark?" I ask jokingly trying to ease the tension. "I mean, come on mom, you birthed me after all."
"Let me see it." says dad as he sticks his hand out. I walk over to where he is and place my wrist in his hand. He looks at the tattoo for a good minute and then shrugs and puts my wrist down. "I don't know, Linda," he says. "I kind of like it."
"Lars, you cannot encourage this behavior!"
"She's 18. Let her make her own choices woman." says dad as I sit down on the couch next to him to catch up on the soaps.
"Yeah, woman, I'm 18. Let me make my own choices."
"I'm about to let you make your own dinner."
Woah, don't be crazy." says me and my dad in unison.
See a war, I wanna fight it
See a match, I wanna strike it
Every fire I've ignited
Faded to grey
Warren Church, 15
District 9 Male
"You are unstoppable," I tell myself as I pull my hand back and throw the dart at the board across the room. I smile as it hits not quite the center, but close enough, and move on to the next one. "You are the strongest," I say release that dart, and then throw a dart at the other two boards right next to it. "You're better than your stupid siblings," I say as I finally release the last of the darts and it lands right in the middle of the eye of my eldest sister's picture.
Yes, I was throwing darts at my sibling's pictures. Yes, I enjoyed it. Yes, I feel no remorse for the hatred I feel towards them. There is 6 Church children total, and my parents have done an incredible job of making us despise one another. Not that they really tried to do so. My parents are just one track minded people. Never really able to focus on more than one of us at a time.
It enlisted a competitive spirit in my siblings and I. Constantly battling out for the affections of my parents and the love of people whose love was fickle as the weather.
But then something glorious happened. I realized I just didn't care.
Didn't care.
It was like a boulder was lifted from my shoulders and I realized that I am not what I wanted to be. I realized that I wanted one thing. I realized that I wanted to be able to do something that no one in 9 granted themselves the capability to do at all.
I wanted power.
To be powerful is not enough, though. I wanted to remain in power. I'm not scared of anybody or anything. I'm not bowing to anyone. I run everything I do. The control of my life is literally in my hands and I will not sit here and have it taken away by these brats who share my DNA.
I crack my knuckles and walk out of my room. When I get into the kitchen I walk to the fridge and open up the milk carton and take a drink of it. MY mother walks in and sees what I was doing and gawks.
"Uh, since when are we allowed to do that?" ask mom surprised at my behavior.
"Since when do I care? " I ask defiantly. "Why don't you do something?"
"Why don't you respect your mother?" she asks me back.
"Eh, I just...don't want to," I say as I drop the carton on the floor and walk out of the kitchen for her to clean it up.
I head back to my room where I see the golden child, Amelia, looking in my room and staring at the dart boards. She's a spoiled little 9 years old and I hate her more than I hate the rest of my siblings. The minute she opened up her mouth and spoke I wanted to punch her in the throat. I hate her more than I hate anything in my life, and the number one rule of my room do not go in it.
"Amelia." I say as I block her exit from the room. "You broke a rule."
"No, Warren!" she says angry. "Nathan threw my doll in your room and I want it back!" she says desperately searching the ground for her so called doll. After a moment she finds it and smiles as she attempts to walk out of the room.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To my princes's castle?" she says sarcastically in that stupid sweet voice. "Please move,"
"No," I say. "Make me."
She tries to make me move but I refuse to budge and finally I shove her to the ground and take the doll from her hand. She screams as she falls to the ground and then gets back up and tries to squeeze through my legs. MY mother comes behind me and tries to get me to move, but Amelia is not getting out my room unpunished.
"This isn't happening, Warren." says, mom. "Let her out now!"
"Why so she can continue to be your perfect little princess?"
"MOMMY!" screams Amelia.
I look at her and push her down again, but this time she grabs ahold of my hand and bites it. I scream in pain because I wasn't expecting that, and this monster has some strong teeth. I look at her and quickly backhand her and step aside.
"Next time I catch you in here you're not getting away with just a smack."
How it must feel to racing wherever you please
Flying as free as a bird with its tail in the breeze
Even the fish in the sea must be longing to fly
When they catch sight of a stranger in white racing by
Sybil Thyne, 18
District 9 Female
It's a slow day at the shop today. Believe it or not, not a lot of people believe in getting tattoos in our District. How we manage to keep the store afloat sometimes is beyond me.
I draw on the piece of paper before me and add to the dream tattoo I want that will one day be on my back. It's pretty big, and I expect that the whole thing will fill my back one day. I also suspect I won't stop until there is no longer room on my back.
"You know, we've worked together for several years and you're still a mystery to me," says Rocko as he is cleaning the workspace. "You have such a fire for your work and your life, and that's so admirable in a place like Panem," he says. "I'm just worried that one day your fire will run out."
"That's a lot of assumptions for someone who doesn't know me very well," I say with a quick glance over my shoulder and smirk. "I can promise that I'm golden until the end."
"Even if you could promise that," he begins, "I believe myself to be someone of good reading abilities. People as my specialty to be exact. There's something about you Sybil that worries me. I feel like behind that smile and fire there's a scared little girl. Someone that doesn't want life to come at them the way that they suspect it too. Someone who doesn't know what to expect. I think the unknown frightens you, Sybil."
"I'm sorry when did this turn into therapy hour?"
"We've not a slow day here we've had literally nothing to do for awhile. Just trying to start a conversation."
"You're pretty bad at it, Rocko," I say facing him.
"I'm sorry." he says.
"You should be."
There's a long silence that goes between us where we aren't quite sure what to say next. Rocko has been more of an acquaintance for the years I work here. So him forming all these opinions actually is not only rude but completely out of left field. It's almost the equivalent of telling someone you've sat next to on the bus a couple of times facts about their life.
I don't know what bothers me more about it. The fact that he commented, or the fact that some of these are right. I annoy people and put on a show to hide what I'm feeling. It's not that I'm scared of emotions, but I'm scared of people's reactions to my emotions.
If they knew how I really was...would they still care about me?
It's not that I'm a bad person. I think I'm actually a fairly decent person, good if I dare say so, but I'm emotional. I'm hardheaded and obnoxious. I get mad for no reason, and then expect the person to understand exactly why I'm mad. I fail to see boundaries that others set, and more often than not, I'm just an average person in almost every way.
Why would someone like me if I took down this mask I put up.
I focus so hard on joy because more than anything when I look back on my life in whatever afterlife may come, I want to be proud of it. I want to see a fighter. A warrior.
"Are you crying?" ask Rocko as he looks at me concerned.
"I'm not," I say as I hurry out of the room and towards the bathroom of the shop. I close the door and lock it again as Rocko comes and knocks on the door. Tears are flowing down my cheeks as he tries to soothe me through the wooden board.
"Syb?" he ask me. "I didn't mean to insult you this bad."
"I'm not insulted!" I say more angry and unconvincing.
"Okay!" he says. "You're not insulted. But I can tell you're upset."
"I'm fine, Rocko," I say plainly. "I just need a minute."
I'll be fine. I just need a minute.
Caught up in a moment
Can you see inside?
'Cause I've got a jet black heart
And there's a hurricane underneath it
Warren Church, 15
District 9 Male
There's a certain amount of euphoria as you think about the Hunger Games. Normal people who aren't in touch with their emotions would deny it, but there is a certain...pizazz about going into the games. There's something exciting about proving your strength. To look someone in the eyes and know that you're taking their life away, but you're making yours go on.
I've always fantasized what would happen if I went into the games.
The experience that I lack in weaponry I have in brutality and the knowledge that I would fight and win against any person who comes to me. I wouldn't do it for the "glory of my district" or whatever the hell else those frauds are saying these days. I would do it for me.
For the kill. For the idea that I got to stand over someone and take their life. To smile about it after I do it. To literally bathe in blood.
Volunteering has always been out of the question, though. Sponsors don't come to outer district volunteers. But, if I was chosen, oh how I'd relish in that.
"Good morning Panem, and welcome to the reapings for District 9!" says our escort as he walks onto the stage. "I'm excited to be here, and I hope that we can have a blast together today! Remember we have to do this because your ancestors were bad people. Therefore, you all must be punished." he says with a bright smile. "Let's be real," he says dropping his act. "You have pretty much no shot at winning being an outer district, and I wanted District 2. We both aren't happy, let's just move on from this point, shall we? Ladies first."
He walks to the back of the stage and pulls an envelope from the very top of the bowl. Not even trying to dig around or make any movement. From what I can see...it was the first envelope in the whole bowl. Usually, those would go unpicked. People always want a dramatic effect.
"The female that will be going into the blood- I mean the games is…" he says as he pretends to open the envelope enthusiastically. "Sybil Thyne."
A squeal is heard from the 18-year-old section, and something inside of me begins to chuckle. Boys around me look at me with distaste and that makes me laugh harder. The girl looks pathetic as she shakes walking up the stairs and towards the escort. He reaches to shake her hand but she looks at him enamored and scared.
"Tell us about yourself." he says trying to be nice.
"I-i- what?" she says confused.
I begin laughing harder at her facial expressions.
"Okay, moving right along," he says as he walks back to the male bowl and pulls a name from the middle of the bowl and does a light gasp as he is shocked with himself. He rolls his eyes and walks back up to the front of the stage while unwrapping the envelope.
"Warren Church."
I sit there shocked and slack-jawed. The boys around me are looking at me smiling, and then I just start laughing. Laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my face as I look at the people around me. Laughing so hard because I finally get to do something that I love. Laughing because I'm going to kill someone, and instead of getting in trouble, I'll be celebrated for it.
"This is too good!" I say as I walk up to the stage with glee. "My name is Warren Church," I say looking out into the audience. I reach out my hand and stroke Sybil's hair as she stands next to me. She flinches and I notice the tattoo that says "joy" on her wrist. "I hope that tattoo means you have plenty of joy," I remark. "Because when I'm through with you, that's probably all you'll have left."
"Okay, you're annoying." says the escort rolling his eyes. "District 9 I give you your tributes...the kids who will probably die in the bloodbath."
Well, these two were complete opposites, no?
I have such a huge foreshadow of every tribute in my reaping chapters, and no one has ever gotten it. I feel like one of those authors your teacher made you question why the curtain was blue about in high school. You can guess what it is, but I won't confirm or deny until I've crowned my victor. I won't be doing it again after this story either.
Side note: I have a fictionpress under the same penname, and I was curious if anyone would be interested in reading a story I have called "The Bell"?
Let me know what you think.
Keep it classy,
Caleb