The Fifth Annual Writer Games: The Fall

The Fall of the Empire - Males

District 1 Male – Chet Jackson

"Well well," Melvin Mode whistles, "this One young lad. This young One  lad. He is sure to give all you people the great under the dog story all  you people love so much, yes? But surely," he pumps his exasperated  palms up and down to the beat of his stilted  Capital speech, "surely District One can scrounge up someone better  than this. Do we have any volunteers?" Melvin looks over his audience,  mouth popping with lip gloss bubbles, each pocket of air bursting with  the whispers of words he has said every other  time he's done this. A brilliant grey chasm flutters within the candy  blue re-birth mark he's had done around his left eye as he blink blink  blinks. The sugar on his smile carmelizes and it falls to a frown, and  powder from his brow cakes his eyes open into  a distant stare, the cogs behind it all clog. "Chet. Chet, this is  you!"

The crinkle of paper unfolding almost drowns out the sound of the plan  unraveling. "Oh yeah," Chet says. He squints at his notes and a sound  something like a peacekeeper at a protest weasels through the squeakiest  of gaps in his teeth in an overwrought attempt  to make it seem like it's not taking him so long to find his spot. "I  volunteer," he decides.

"Ohh," Melvin heaves over, wrecking the flesh above his heart. "Crystals  and concealer, Chet, you had me so worried." For someone who sounds  like he pulls his groin everytime he says the word 'so', Melvin says the  word 'so' so, so much. "Millions of teenie  butterflies making the babies in my chest." Fingers fly up to his face  to flourish a hundered-day breath by fluttering like wind chimes. Then  they pitter-patter down to his hips. "You know, we could use that. Wait  to the last second when this is all for real.  Ah, Vaze will know about that more than I do," he waves his own idea  away. Vaze Haphaz is Chet's trainer. "Is this her idea too?" This time,  Chet is too absorbed in the manuscript, and it takes him a second to  look up and shake his head - a motion which finally  deflates Melvin back into a regular standing position. Silence turns  the air around them stern. "You really scared me then. At the number one  point in the entire operation? If you don't volunteer then all your  life has been a waste, and the less substantial  number of years I have put into this company will have been a waste  also. This is like baking a cake. This is like when you're baking a cake  and you have to flip the pan over super fast and super super good so it  doesn't look all bad. Well, you just flipped  the cake right over a garbage can. On fire. An on fire garbage can.  This time, I lick it better for you, but next time, tomorrow... I really  wish I could help you forever, but you will be at the same reaping  where I can't be and, well, my tongue is tied. You  must do this on your own, Chet, and a little pressure, but not too much  pressure, but if you don't, then your cake will be on fire. And by  cake, I mean your family, and by on fire, I mean on fire." Chet's head  pops up with no hesitation. "Well, not on fire  on fire," Melvin hedges, "but via our contract, all of my funds will be  pulled, and then your parents will also owe additional fees for private  training sessions just like this one and for the juice pouches and  little bread crackers I bring in for you sometimes.  Then they will not have any money and all of you will... how do you say  it? Starve? Is this the right word?" he shivers. "Ugh, it sounds so  icky."

"Yeah, that's the right word."

"Brilliant! Now that that's dealt with," Melvin playacts as though he's  pulling his vaulted collar out to get some air, "now we can finally get a  move along. I have got so many things on my checklist. Like ten whole  things. And not a whole lot of time to check  them all off" With a magic marker, he draws a giant check in the space  between them. "But it had to be said," he whispers to the space beside  him, back on the extortion again. That's just his thing. "I can be so  serious sometimes, it's funny. I can be so deadly  fricking serious that, and I'm not being funny like, but it's actually  hilarious. Understand, Chet? Do you understand what I mean, Chet?" When  Chet nods, Melvin nods twice as hard, and the quaff of steel wool sat  upon his head bobs thrice. When Chet says 'yeah',  Melvin repeats it twice as loud and so sweetly that it's sour.  "Fabulous. Now we can finally finally get to some of the fun parts. I  know I said that last time too, but this time I'm serious. I'm so  fricking serious. I'm just kidding," he pushes Chet back  by the shoulder. "But I am being serious, though, so umm," he scans  down his list, "next up is death." This prompts him to clap twice. "Ooh  how fun."