District 11 Awakening: Zombie
Zombie by The Cranberries
Another head hangs lowly
Child is slowly taken
The violence caused such silence
Who are we mistaken?
Beckett "Beck" Holloway (35) D11 Victor of the 81st Games
Beck,
I haven't been able to breathe freely since Merit. I know it isn't your fault that you couldn't bring him home. I don't blame you, nor would I ever. I hope you can understand why I left, why I leave you to pick up the pieces. I need a child, Beck. I thought I could live without one before Merit,but now… I need a man who will give me a child. One with better chances of not being reaped. I still love you, don't ever forget that…
I see him wherever I go. I remember he said he'd always be there at the Justice Building… looks like he wasn't lying…
I feel his body beside mine at the kitchen table where his chair sits beside ours, in his bedroom when I open the windows on hot days, even in the fields where I visit his grave.
I hear his laughter at his school amongst the many high school seniors that he should be a part of.
Whenever I taste strawberries, I think of the little boy who came to me eleven years ago… his favorite fruit.
The faintest smell of carnations reminds me of when Merit first came to us, the beautiful white flowers he clutched in his small hands as he found a new home.
I'm sorry,
Marcia
All she left behind. Not a word spoken before she departed, none. I was left with empty dresser drawers and a note which left nothing but frustrating outbursts and tears that left me drained every day. It's been almost a year since my adoptive son, Merit Phoenix, died during the bloodbath in the 99th Games. Almost a year since the depression sunk in, the day the dark and sneaky bitch made its way into my heart and tore it to pieces. I no longer felt happiness, joy, or love. Just emptiness and a deep throbbing pain that stabs and penetrates my heart daily. The pain never-ending and lingers every night in bed as I toss and turn from the nightmares that have plagued me for almost twenty years. I never sleep, and even then it's only a couple of hours.
I had tried to comfort us both the best I could. Through the painstakingly long and heart wrenching nights spent howling and grieving for our only child. He wasn't ours, biologically speaking, so I thought he would be okay. That's why I fought to adopt him after I saved him from Peacekeeper Tyrone. His family had been murdered and he had no one. I remember the first night I had brought seven year old Merit home. A small suitcase and a bouquet of carnations he picked when I told him Marcia adored them. I remember how radiant and bright her face shone when I told her the story and how Merit would be ours. She had always wanted a child and understood because of my Victory that having one of our own would be dangerous. Merit was ours. My true victory. Not the useless fame and fortune given to me for participating in the Games. He was my son, even if a maternity test couldn't say so.
I clench my fists, letting the note crumple and tear. The anger and guilt bubbling and pooling around me, an invisible darkness that only I can see. The depression plaguing my heart, treacherous and cold, icy and damning. Always there, finding salvation in my sinned heart.
Gong
The clock begins to chime, signaling it is 11, one hour before I am to depart from here and to the Capitol. I gather my things, not clothing or personal hygiene like you'd expect since the Capitol provides this for everyone, Victor and tribute alike; but memoirs. Merit's silver ring left by his father, a picture of the three of- well him and I at his favorite arcade when he was thirteen. Just the small memories of us, leaving Marcia in the photographs for his sake to keep him close, to let me know he's still alive in heart, in spirit.
I make sure everything is in order before slamming the door shut as I walk down the entrance of my home, the slight scent of roses and lilacs calming me down a bit. Its surprisingly bright, clouds hidden as the bright cerulean saturates the sky above the large yet separated District. Everyone here distances themselves from everyone, rumors and gossip always flying around here. Some citizens however turn their heads away and continue with business as usual, something I've always admired considering the District swarms of fabricated statements about others. At least one person has had a rumor float around the still streets, me in particular from my Games to the divorce.
My heart stops for a second as I spot a couple walking down the opposite side of the street from me, middle aged and quite happy together. The woman has long flowing ebony hair that's kept tame in a ponytail and her dark green eyes shine in excitement as she brings a small hand to her bursting belly.
Marcia.
She smiles and laughs as the gentleman holds onto her, the small knit family happy for the arrival of their first born. My stomach twists and retches as I hold back anger and frustration, my eyes straining and my lips quivering as her eyes flicker over me, her eyes widening.
"Beck?!"
She calls me, untangling herself from the man and turns around. I ignore her, through bitter tears and continue downtown, the Justice Building awaiting my imminent arrival. Her screams begin to ricochet in my ears, the anger and hurt bubbling around it as tears begin to fall from my eyes.
How could she do this?! Today of all days?! She had only left me several months ago and she looks like she's about to pop-
Oh God.
I turn back around and confirm my suspicions. Her belly is large, about seven months more or less, and she had only left four months ago… the last time we were intimate was before I left for the Capitol a year ago…
She was three months pregnant when she left…
The throbbing begins to pierce my chest, the friendly reminder of my fucked up life. I let out a yelp and shut my eyes so forcibly that dark colors begin to sway behind my eyelids. I'm practically running at this point and don't care for the prolonged stares or the whispers that begin to swirl around me. My feet are hitting the pavement so hard it rings in my ears, my legs on fire as I run away from the pain.
I find myself at the entrance to the Justice Building and hurtle over the myriad of steps that proceed to the door. I ignore the receptionist's greeting and head towards the fucking room without so much as an acknowledgment of her existence.
I find a young scientist, wiry and tall at the metal tables which lay three teens and his eyes immediately draw up to mine. He smiles and I snap, my anger and frustration exploding within me.
"GET OUT!"
The young man freezes at my outburst, his eyes widening as he quickly scrambles to collect manila folders and leaves one on each tributes' feet. He quickly shuts the door and leaves me in shambles, my throat welling up with despair and hopelessness. The tears begin to stream down my face, hot and shameful as they quickly fall onto my khakis, leaving dark circles in its wake.
The pain always remains, losing the one you love, killing innocents, it always stays with you. In a dark place where our greatest fears and evils lies my demons who stir and awaken inside me and never cease to make a show of it. Bashing at my heart, the silhouette is fragile, broken beyond repair.
Beep
Beep
Beep
Lifting my head, my gaze falls over the heart monitor in the far corner of the room, the blue silhouette slowly coming to life as the line rises and falls in a steady pace. I wipe my face, probably swollen and wet as I carefully tread over to the metal table. My fingers clasp onto the thin manila folder and open its contents, my eyes immediately drawn to the far right corner of the page
Yarrow Ashby
18 years old
Tribute of the 97th Games
Yarrow…
I remember her. The scandal behind her birth, being a mulatto born to a black mother and white father. Back then, the white and black community were separated, the two sides never associating for each other for the mere color of the others skin. The Hispanic side, like Merit and I were usually stuck between sides. The racial battle still instills itself in the District even today, something I could never understand how utterly pointless it all is. Sorry, I got a bit carried away there… Anyway, Yarrow made a lot of sacrifices for her family, working in the overgrown orchards and applying for tesserae. She was strong, in mind and spirit, but ultimately perished in the final 8.
My eyes glaze over her picture, smiling but a hint of surprise shown. Her brown-grey eyes shine with great intensity and a small dimple on her left cheek with strands of light brown hair fall into her face conjure the image of a young woman with a bright future ahead of her, one unfulfilled…
Beep
Beep
Beep
Another machine whizzes to life and walking over several feet I pick up another manila folder, the smooth touch sending chills down my spine.
Lilac Fields
16 years old
Tribute of the 45th Games
Another mulatto, her mother being white and father black. Her caramel skin is smooth and almost air touched, a faint smile present on her face as her curly black hair flies around her round face. Her hazel eyes are bright, happy even as the thought of death ran rampant in the back of her mind…
Beep
Beep
Beep
The last monitor comes to life and carefully I walk over, almost as if they were small children resting instead of resurrected teens. The last manila folder sits roughly in the palm of my hand, my skin crawling as the possibility of the male tribute being Merit runs through my head. My breath hitches as I slowly open the folder and eyes widen at the name…
Valiant Yates
18 years old
Tribute of the 63rd Games
Brother to Poppy Yates Phoenix: Mother to the late Merit Phoenix of the 99th Games
My head immediately snaps to my left where the dark skinned boy lies, tubes entering into his body. Looking at his past history, he suffered from asphyxiation from being trapped in a small space not specified.
Analysis of Valiant's brain reveals below average brain processing speed which generally effects motor skills and thinking. Result of this most likely resulted from oxygen deprivation during death which killed many brain cells. Symptoms include slow movements, delayed reasoning, and frustration.
Moderate risk for suicide
Slumping into my chair, my brain begins to blur and emotions start to numb me. I cannot feel anything, not the freezing temperature of the room or the stinging pain of my nails digging into my hand. I stare into nothing and wait, wait for something to happen because I can no longer see ahead; living in the moment.
"Mhmmm…"
The moan startles me as it quickly fills the large room. The figure begins to sit upright and opens their eyes. A hazel: Lilac Fields. Her mouth is open in an 'o' and her eyes droopy. She yawns and stretches, oblivious to the situation surrounding her and I quietly sit, waiting for the tragic events ready to unfold…
"Wh-Where am I-I?"
Her voice is soft and careful, syrupy yet ragged. Her pupils begin to dilate in and out of focus and her fists clench at her sides. I open my mouth to say something, but it is quickly lost as the person next to her jolts upward as being awoken from a nightmare: Yarrow Ashby.
Lilac begins to scream, the high pitch awakening Valiant who moves quite uncoordinatedly and slowly as in slow motion. I bolt up from my seat and reach for the syringe in my pocket delivered to me several days before and inject her with a clear fluid which immediately reduces her to whimpers.
Yarrow sits with long legs over the table, head low and silent, but the contortion of her face says it all as tears flow down her face like a river. Her light brown hair disheveled and messy, her face not youthful and aged but older, like she should be, not brought back to this.
Valiant sits still, his large build stiff and rigid under the thin hospital gown. He slowly turns back, his head tilted slightly and mouth agape. His eyes are dazed, as in a trance as he slowly stands upright and heads toward me, his movements' zombie like.
"Jesus."
His face drops and tears begin to form in his brown eyes as he slowly treads across the linoleum floor. His intimidating features break and his face contorts, shameful, hopeless, lost…
"W-W-Wh-WHY?!"
He's sobbing into my shoulder, screaming expletives and faltering heavily into me. I hold him. I let him release all the hate and emotion from years of years of silence, the act of it all nearly sending me into a panic as I quickly dart my eyes around the room. Yarrow crouches in the middle of the room and silently cries, her body quaking and slightly heaving. Lilac sits near her monitor with wide eyes and murmurs quickly under her breath, her movements sharp and in distress.
The slamming of a door breaks the spell of chaos in the room as we all snap our heads to the entrance to see a small girl who stands with eyes narrowed and mouth slightly open. Yarrow begins to cry, both of pure amazement and sadness.
"Lilah!"
"Yarrow," the little girl scream as she runs into the older girl's arms, a perfect moment that could've been captured for a movie. The two embrace and I watch as a young woman in her mid-forties enters with an older woman in a wheel chair. Yarrow quickly jumps from her place on the floor and runs to the ladies, her eyes bright. After quick exchanges, the group heads to the meeting rooms and quietly shuts the door.
Both of Lilac's and Valiant's families are deceased, no one left that cares for them. A cruel and twisted fate for these two who have awoken to unspeakable events and more to come. I turn to the two and watch as both, with heavy eyes, face me and stare. I could not imagine how they must feel, what thoughts are swimming in their heads…
God, how can I help them when I can't even help myself?
All I am is a… zombie… pitiful, depressed, vengeful…
A/N: Sorry guys :( I usually like to skip around and not do the Districts close to each other. I really wanted to update the story after this long wait and couldn't upload District 8. The textile district should be posted by 3/20. So here are your District 11 tributes: Valiant, Lilac, and Yarrow with their mentor Beck Holloway.
From the 3, who is your favorite? Least?
What did you think of Beck?
Of all the mentors (From 2, 3, 7, 11 and 12) who is your favorite? Least?
Of all the tributes (From 2, 3, 7, 11, and 12) who is your favorite? Least?
After District 8...
District 4
Love Always, Domi