𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑| 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐍

ɪ. ʀᴇᴀᴘɪɴɢ

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TW!
the following scenes could contain some content that could trigger the reader, such as abuse.

SOMETIMES PEOPLE COULD JUST TELL when someone wanted to be alone. Other times, the people you wanted to be away from couldn't take a hint. This was one of those times for Ares.

It was Reaping Day, and he was more annoyed than usual. The air in District 12 felt heavier, and everyone moved with dread. Ares hated this day, not because he feared being chosen-he was certain he could handle himself-but because of the way it made everyone around him act. The tension, the whispers, the fake smiles. It was exhausting. Let's not forget the Capitol's cameras watching them. It disgusted him just thinking how people were at home safe, watching young innocent kids get thrown into deadly "games", probably enjoying what they were seeing. Not to mention the colorful costumes of the escorts who came to reap the names.

He was in his room, trying to drown out the world with his painting. His brush moved methodically over the canvas, creating dark, swirling patterns. Painting was one of the few things that helped him feel calm, even if just for a little while. He was almost lost in the rhythm when he heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Ares didn't bother looking up when his father barged into the room.

"Ares, you need to get ready for the Reaping." his father said, his tone harsh and commanding.

Ares kept his eyes on his painting, his voice cold. "I'm busy."

His father's face turned red with anger. "Busy? Do you not understand what today is? Get downstairs and get ready."

Ares shrugged, his brush still moving. "It's just another day. I'll be down when I'm done."

His father's patience snapped. "You ungrateful little-" He stormed across the room, grabbing Ares by the collar and yanking him up. Ares's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and indifference.

"You think you can just ignore this? You think you're better than everyone else?" His father's voice was a harsh whisper now, his grip tightening.

Ares didn't flinch. He was used to this. "I don't care about the Reaping. And I'm most definitely better than you." he said flatly.

His father's eyes narrowed, fury evident. "You think I won't drag you down there myself? You're not too big for me to handle."

Ares stared back, defiance burning in his gaze. "Try it." There was a tense silence, broken only by heavy breathing. Finally, his father released him with a shove that sent Ares stumbling backwards.

His father glared at him, breathing heavily. "You'll regret this," he said, his voice shaking with anger. Then, in one swift motion, he knocked over the easel, ruining the painting Ares had been working on.

Ares watched the paint smear and drip, a mix of frustration and sadness crossing his face for a brief moment. But he quickly masked it, turning his cold gaze back to his father. "Happy now?" The boy asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.