The Third Annual Writer's Game: Roots

Ab Initio | Males

District One - Aidyl Desperado

Excellence has always been an utmost expectation for me. At the Academy, perfection was a quality drilled into our minds and anything less than utter flawlessness was deeply frowned upon. Luckily for me, I am a natural-born winner. Before my parents succumbed to their metaphorical Devils, they were a prime example of District One citizens. Involved. Beautiful. Intelligent. Graceful. They bore a son of the same nature, but their own flaws quickly came to the surface as they attempted parenthood.

Inarius and Kola Desperado were terrible parents. I must have been quite a handful, because they couldn't stand to deal with my imperfections for even a year. Ever since, the Academy has taken their place and pushed me towards my parents' original image of a perfect son. Unfortunately, they are succeeding. Two, brief days ago, I volunteered, taking the place of a young boy far too fragile to last in the Arena. Along with a few other competitors, we are said to be a deadly pack.

This is what I wanted. I mean, my face is plastered on the front page of every Diamondis Magazine in the district, easily overshadowing the lesser female volunteer. However, it is extremely challenging to not think about my death. Despite all the advantages the Academy has given me, there's nothing they can do to simulate the Arena. There's no test to see if the pressure turns me into a diamond or smashed earth.

Sponsors have always baffled me. Why would they place millions of Capitol Coin on me? Understandably, I am eighteen and in peak condition, but the Arena is known for the downfall of far too many favorites. It just seems reckless. However, I suppose the Games is more of a sport to them more than anything else. To them, we're just pawns inside a screen. Only actually experiencing the Arena can change someone's perception.

There's a knock at my door. My eyes flicker towards the digital clock above my bed, a luxury only a few District One citizens can be acquainted with. Eight o'clock precisely. Dinner time.

Mena and I quietly take a seat at the dinner table, where Crystal Caverly is already surrounded by potential sponsors eager to catch a glimpse of her breasts. Whether or not any of them will actually choose to endorse her is a mystery. Crystal is deadly; we all know that. However, what she lacks is a sound sense of mind. How could they place their trust in her when they have no idea how seriously she is taking this.

I try to ignore her. Before me lies a grand array of colorful foods; none of which have graced my presence before. Mena motions for me to eat, so I do. I trust her. From first glance, however, no one probably would. Mena is a hard person to look at, especially in One. Her face is covered in scars from her Games, and the hair on some parts on her head grows against gravity. I asked her about it once. Mena told me the other girl got it worse.

The atmosphere of the room has suddenly become tense. Although I'm not necessarily an open book, I wouldn't call myself unapproachable. However, not one sponsor has come to speak with me. That's a deeply, worrying observation. Eyes concentrated on my food, I sit in silence, listening to the constant cackles resonating from the opposite side of the table. It's frustrating to see the lack of interest in me, considering how much so have to offer, but I find joy in the fact that I'm going to kill Crystal tomorrow. Thinking back, I'm unsure of when I decided to place her blood on my hands. District One won't be happy, but that doesn't really matter does it. After all, there is only one victor.

"What are you grinning about?" Mena gives me a strange look, as if she's trying to read my thoughts. She isn't the first one to try.

"Oh, nothing."

Nothing at all.

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District Two - Allion "Alpine" Lapine