Post by countlivin on Apr 23, 2019 4:39:39 GMT
Chapter 12: The Last Supper
Saul Arrem
Saul had been through a lot in his seventeen years on the earth. He'd lost his parents, his girlfriend… He had almost lost Peara more times than he could count.
Often, the weight of it would press him to the floor, whispering terrible things in his ear. You have nothing left to fight for, it said. He would spend long nights lying awake, wondering why he was even still there, but he had to be. He had to protect Peara. They were all either had left.
His sister was seated across the rickety wooden table, cuffed to her chair. They were in this together even more so now than before—if that was even possible. His hands were cuffed as well, but loose enough he could get at the plate of food in front of him. Mashed potatoes, a slice of ham and some steaming green beans. He hadn't eaten in so long… Although, even as good as it smelled, he wasn't hungry.
"Eat," Mr. Munrow barked at him through the dust. "You need your strength."
"No," Saul spoke firmly. He saw that Peara had already begun scarfing down her potatoes. That was like her. Even a grudge against the man who was holding her prisoner wouldn't stop her from what really mattered.
"You're going to eat it, boy." Munrow pushed the plate further toward him, teetering on the edge of the table. He admitted the platter looked appetizing, but his will to get the cuffs off weighed more than the pit in his stomach. "If you don't eat, you're gonna lose weight. And trust me, you do not want to be in the arena on an empty stomach." When Saul didn't respond, he scoffed and continued. "Well I guess I'll eat it then, if you're so persistent on getting yourself killed."
Saul sucked up his gut and spit a glob of phlegm into the plate before Munrow had a chance to take it from him. "Eat up."
"This is more than I eat in three days, Saul. How hard can it be for you to take a bite?"
"I'm not hungry!" Saul shouted at him, hoping against hope someone would stumble along the cottage, and hear.
"You just don't understand do you?" He sat down in the waning light of the lamp. "You're whining because you got suckered into the Games! I have news for you, boy. You're going in because the rest of your District doesn't deserve it. They had something to live for."
"Say that again."
"Okay, the rest of District Eleven has something to live for, you cretin," he repeated himself. "You're two orphan children who have no chance of ever being adopted. Everyone is too full with their own kids to take on two more. And the girl here's an Albar. They don't have any place in our society, even when they're of age. Who's going to take her?"
"She isn't even a true Albar," Saul scowled.
"And then there's you, defending her," he shot back. "If she doesn't have any place, then what does that make her older brother? You get it now? We're removing a weed in the district. We were allowed to select for ourselves who would be our tributes for the Games this year. There was no other option than the outcast and her pathetic guardian."
"Go to hell." Saul couldn't even look at him right now. Instead he turned toward Peara, shaking in her cuffs.
The room was the same one he had spent his life in, with its deteriorating wallpaper and faded floors. He wondered how he'd gone so long without realizing the man whom he served as apprentice to was never a man at all, just a backstabbing traitor. This was how he was repaid for all his work in the orchards: getting sent to the Capitol to die.
There was a ring at the door as it creaked open. Mr. Munrow jumped up and found his way into the front room where all the business happened. There were a few short sentences shared at the counter, none of which Saul could make out. It was most likely Davett, who showed up around this time every day to pick up a supply for tomorrow's market.
Once he was done, Munrow walked back into the room where he was keeping the prisoners. "Sir, when are we going to go to the Hunger Games?" Peara asked.
"In one week," Munrow answered. "See, at least your sister is polite. She asks the important questions instead of sitting there, useless, whining about all of it. Look, both of you are going into the Games one way or another, so the way I see it, might as well be prepared."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I will personally train you, Saul," he said, waving his hands in the air as if he was holding a sword. "You need to get to the top and win. This District is on the verge of bankruptcy. A victory could bring us enough money to get our economy back to speed."
"What could you possibly have to teach us that we don't already know?"
"Have you ever had a lesson in fencing?" he replied. Saul shook his head slightly. "It's a sport of art and mastery. There's not much I can teach you in a week, but it's better than going in barefoot."
"...What about Peara?" He looked to his sister. Her pink eyes went wide. "You'll train her too?"
"No," Munrow answered solemnly. Peara began to cry, and Saul would have gone to her if he wasn't cuffed to the chair. "I need to focus on the one who really has a chance to make it through. Peara won't survive the first night."
"Take that back, right now."
"Or what? You'll spit in your own food again?" He chuckled acidly and sat back down. "I'm the only one here who is thinking logically. This is the only right way to win." Munrow reached his hand forward for a handshake. Saul had every bit of motivation to push it away, but didn't just yet.
Saul watched his kid sister across the table, who was trying her hardest to smile, though she had bits of mashed potato on the sides of her mouth. Every word Munrow said spit bile into his heart. Peara would survive far past the first night. He would see to that. Yet, he knew in one way, the man was right. He needed training if he ever had hope to survive. Being able to climb trees wasn't always enough, since it was possible the environment might be barren. Still though, the man was insufferable. Saul was still hesitant to shake his hand.
71% of readers chose to [A. Accept Munrow's offer.]
Scowling, he reached his hand forth, dragging the other one cuffed behind. He shook Munrow's hand hard, hoping to inflict some pain, but the old man only withdrew and laughed. "I don't know how you live with yourself, you coward," Saul sneered.
"It's easy once you get past the childish assumption that everything is about you." There was a glint in his eye, shining off the moon. "I'm doing this so the rest of the District doesn't have to suffer knowing they betrayed one of their own. I'm bearing that burden for them. So, yes, I am able to sleep with my cowardice."
Saul slumped back, and eyed his plate of food. He wanted so badly to throw it in his stupid face, but he would just leap out of the way. "We will begin your lessons tomorrow. We won't have much time, with the deadline so quickly approaching. We have less than a week. But for now, I will teach you the first lesson of swordplay. Empty your mind, and calm the hell down."
"Calm down?" Saul spat. "You're telling me to calm down after you set fire to your own orchard, blamed me and my sister for something we didn't do, and then decided to send us off to die in a war we didn't start? How can you tell me to calm down?"
"It beats throwing a tantrum like you're doing." The man shook his head, the grey tassels on his beard swinging like beads. "If it helps, I'm going to leave you alone to speak with your sister for a little while. Don't try to escape. If you do, things will be much worse for you."
The fire was eating Saul up from the inside, but he sat still, and waited for him to leave. After he was gone, Saul leaned forward. "Peara, are you alright? Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine," Peara replied, shivering. "Saul… I don't like that man. How did you work for him for so long?"
He swallowed back a snarl. "Back then I had no idea what kind of man he was."
"Is what they're saying true?" she asked. "We're going to be in the Hunger Games? How can that be? They didn't do the Reaping this year."
"It's true… It's all true." He slammed his hands onto the table in frustration, splintering one of its legs. If only he had shut up about the fire… Then nothing could have been pinned on him and Munrow would have gotten the blame… He hated to say it, but he would have happily watched his home burn to the ground if it meant he and his sister would not have to die.
"I'm going to die, aren't I?" she cried from across the table. If he hadn't been cuffed, he would have leapt up and wrapped her in a tight hug, but the ropes were too short for that.
"You're not going to die. I'll make sure of it."
"But… Only one of us can make it out," she responded. "There's only one victor."
"And it's you."
"What will happen to you?"
It was a terrible question. Saul wouldn't answer. She knew what he meant, and he did as well. Saying it out loud would just have punched a deeper hole in his gut. "Saul…" Peara squeaked. "Why do you stick up for me?"
"What?" he asked, baffled. "Why would you ask something like that?"
"The world hates me. Everyone hates me, just because I was born with this thing that makes my skin white. So, why do you look out for me? Because then they try to get you too."
"Peara, you're my sister," Saul reassured her. That had always been the answer. There was no other. "I love you more than anything. And you may not realize this, but you're there for me just as much as I'm there for you. We're all we have left."
She looked down at her cuffed hands, wrists chafed and red. "But… If I win the Hunger Games, what will I have left?"
I hadn't thought of that… "You'll be alive. I'll look out for you, from wherever I'm at. I'll be there. Don't you worry."
"I'm already worried, Saul…" She held her knees to her chest like a baby.
"Me too…" Saul's words had frozen inside him. Why am I like this? He was never the most eloquent with words, but normally he could get the job done. But this time, every word he said sounded clumsy. "I just…" He let out a long sigh. "I just wish that whatever happens in your life, people would see you as you… And not just an Albar."
"I want to live," she cried.
"So do I."
"I want it to stop."
"So do I."
A few minutes in silence ebbed past before the door nicked open again, yielding some dusty light from the fading evening. "Oh my god!" came a familiar voice. It was the spritely director at St. Rhodes', Ethel Jugby. She was around the side of the table in a flash, holding her small wax candle. Munrow followed close behind. "Peara! Saul! I came as soon as I heard about this. This can't be happening…"
"You speak to them as though they were equals," Munrow spat. "They are prisoners. Our tributes…"
"I've known these kids since they were crying little babies!" Ethel chanted back. "Learn some manners!"
Ethel was only a little older than thirty, but you wouldn't be able to tell from looking at her. She looked no more than eighteen. Her black hair was tied in a ponytail on her shoulder and she wore a hot pink blouse with dots in white. She was often mistaken for a woman from the Capitol. "It's true, isn't it?" Ethel asked, bending down the table. "You're the new tributes…"
"May the odds be ever in your favor…" Saul repeated, slumping down into the chair. "You heard?"
"Everyone heard, Saul. Most of them are in relief… well, because their children didn't get chosen… They told me you were imprisoned by a local shop owner. Just lucky I knew where you were."
"I think you've had enough time, ma'am," Munrow said, scowling into his beard. "This is a private establishment. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
She sneered at him. "It stopped being private the minute you turned it into a prison! These kids don't deserve this!"
"Neither do any of the other kids in District Eleven… Am I the only one looking out for the common interest here?"
"Yes," she shot back, but he took her forcefully by the arm and dragged her out of the room. "Let go of me, or so help me I'll—"
"Ethel!" Peara shouted, coming forward in her chair as far as she could. Her chains clinked together.
"Pea! You're gonna be okay! Never leave Saul's side! Never leave him!" The more she struggled, the more Munrow tightened his ox-like grip. Saul could see the white marks where his fingers were cutting into her arms. "Let go of me, creep!" One of her hands escaped and she slapped him hard across the jaw. When her hand came away, there was a red welt emblazoned on his cheek.
His own palm was in the air an instant later. He brought it down harshly and landed it on Ethel's cheek, forcefully knocking her to the ground. "Learn your respect," he scolded her. Saul felt the tightness of his restraints.
Mr. Munrow began to drag Ethel from the room by her wrists. She put up much less of a fight from the ground. Once back, he slammed the door and went to the center of the room, halfway between Saul and Peara. "You're a monster," Saul muttered under his breath.
"I know…" he replied between heavy breaths. "But so are you."
End of Chapter 12
Saul Arrem
Saul had been through a lot in his seventeen years on the earth. He'd lost his parents, his girlfriend… He had almost lost Peara more times than he could count.
Often, the weight of it would press him to the floor, whispering terrible things in his ear. You have nothing left to fight for, it said. He would spend long nights lying awake, wondering why he was even still there, but he had to be. He had to protect Peara. They were all either had left.
His sister was seated across the rickety wooden table, cuffed to her chair. They were in this together even more so now than before—if that was even possible. His hands were cuffed as well, but loose enough he could get at the plate of food in front of him. Mashed potatoes, a slice of ham and some steaming green beans. He hadn't eaten in so long… Although, even as good as it smelled, he wasn't hungry.
"Eat," Mr. Munrow barked at him through the dust. "You need your strength."
"No," Saul spoke firmly. He saw that Peara had already begun scarfing down her potatoes. That was like her. Even a grudge against the man who was holding her prisoner wouldn't stop her from what really mattered.
"You're going to eat it, boy." Munrow pushed the plate further toward him, teetering on the edge of the table. He admitted the platter looked appetizing, but his will to get the cuffs off weighed more than the pit in his stomach. "If you don't eat, you're gonna lose weight. And trust me, you do not want to be in the arena on an empty stomach." When Saul didn't respond, he scoffed and continued. "Well I guess I'll eat it then, if you're so persistent on getting yourself killed."
Saul sucked up his gut and spit a glob of phlegm into the plate before Munrow had a chance to take it from him. "Eat up."
"This is more than I eat in three days, Saul. How hard can it be for you to take a bite?"
"I'm not hungry!" Saul shouted at him, hoping against hope someone would stumble along the cottage, and hear.
"You just don't understand do you?" He sat down in the waning light of the lamp. "You're whining because you got suckered into the Games! I have news for you, boy. You're going in because the rest of your District doesn't deserve it. They had something to live for."
"Say that again."
"Okay, the rest of District Eleven has something to live for, you cretin," he repeated himself. "You're two orphan children who have no chance of ever being adopted. Everyone is too full with their own kids to take on two more. And the girl here's an Albar. They don't have any place in our society, even when they're of age. Who's going to take her?"
"She isn't even a true Albar," Saul scowled.
"And then there's you, defending her," he shot back. "If she doesn't have any place, then what does that make her older brother? You get it now? We're removing a weed in the district. We were allowed to select for ourselves who would be our tributes for the Games this year. There was no other option than the outcast and her pathetic guardian."
"Go to hell." Saul couldn't even look at him right now. Instead he turned toward Peara, shaking in her cuffs.
The room was the same one he had spent his life in, with its deteriorating wallpaper and faded floors. He wondered how he'd gone so long without realizing the man whom he served as apprentice to was never a man at all, just a backstabbing traitor. This was how he was repaid for all his work in the orchards: getting sent to the Capitol to die.
There was a ring at the door as it creaked open. Mr. Munrow jumped up and found his way into the front room where all the business happened. There were a few short sentences shared at the counter, none of which Saul could make out. It was most likely Davett, who showed up around this time every day to pick up a supply for tomorrow's market.
Once he was done, Munrow walked back into the room where he was keeping the prisoners. "Sir, when are we going to go to the Hunger Games?" Peara asked.
"In one week," Munrow answered. "See, at least your sister is polite. She asks the important questions instead of sitting there, useless, whining about all of it. Look, both of you are going into the Games one way or another, so the way I see it, might as well be prepared."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I will personally train you, Saul," he said, waving his hands in the air as if he was holding a sword. "You need to get to the top and win. This District is on the verge of bankruptcy. A victory could bring us enough money to get our economy back to speed."
"What could you possibly have to teach us that we don't already know?"
"Have you ever had a lesson in fencing?" he replied. Saul shook his head slightly. "It's a sport of art and mastery. There's not much I can teach you in a week, but it's better than going in barefoot."
"...What about Peara?" He looked to his sister. Her pink eyes went wide. "You'll train her too?"
"No," Munrow answered solemnly. Peara began to cry, and Saul would have gone to her if he wasn't cuffed to the chair. "I need to focus on the one who really has a chance to make it through. Peara won't survive the first night."
"Take that back, right now."
"Or what? You'll spit in your own food again?" He chuckled acidly and sat back down. "I'm the only one here who is thinking logically. This is the only right way to win." Munrow reached his hand forward for a handshake. Saul had every bit of motivation to push it away, but didn't just yet.
Saul watched his kid sister across the table, who was trying her hardest to smile, though she had bits of mashed potato on the sides of her mouth. Every word Munrow said spit bile into his heart. Peara would survive far past the first night. He would see to that. Yet, he knew in one way, the man was right. He needed training if he ever had hope to survive. Being able to climb trees wasn't always enough, since it was possible the environment might be barren. Still though, the man was insufferable. Saul was still hesitant to shake his hand.
71% of readers chose to [A. Accept Munrow's offer.]
Scowling, he reached his hand forth, dragging the other one cuffed behind. He shook Munrow's hand hard, hoping to inflict some pain, but the old man only withdrew and laughed. "I don't know how you live with yourself, you coward," Saul sneered.
"It's easy once you get past the childish assumption that everything is about you." There was a glint in his eye, shining off the moon. "I'm doing this so the rest of the District doesn't have to suffer knowing they betrayed one of their own. I'm bearing that burden for them. So, yes, I am able to sleep with my cowardice."
Saul slumped back, and eyed his plate of food. He wanted so badly to throw it in his stupid face, but he would just leap out of the way. "We will begin your lessons tomorrow. We won't have much time, with the deadline so quickly approaching. We have less than a week. But for now, I will teach you the first lesson of swordplay. Empty your mind, and calm the hell down."
"Calm down?" Saul spat. "You're telling me to calm down after you set fire to your own orchard, blamed me and my sister for something we didn't do, and then decided to send us off to die in a war we didn't start? How can you tell me to calm down?"
"It beats throwing a tantrum like you're doing." The man shook his head, the grey tassels on his beard swinging like beads. "If it helps, I'm going to leave you alone to speak with your sister for a little while. Don't try to escape. If you do, things will be much worse for you."
The fire was eating Saul up from the inside, but he sat still, and waited for him to leave. After he was gone, Saul leaned forward. "Peara, are you alright? Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine," Peara replied, shivering. "Saul… I don't like that man. How did you work for him for so long?"
He swallowed back a snarl. "Back then I had no idea what kind of man he was."
"Is what they're saying true?" she asked. "We're going to be in the Hunger Games? How can that be? They didn't do the Reaping this year."
"It's true… It's all true." He slammed his hands onto the table in frustration, splintering one of its legs. If only he had shut up about the fire… Then nothing could have been pinned on him and Munrow would have gotten the blame… He hated to say it, but he would have happily watched his home burn to the ground if it meant he and his sister would not have to die.
"I'm going to die, aren't I?" she cried from across the table. If he hadn't been cuffed, he would have leapt up and wrapped her in a tight hug, but the ropes were too short for that.
"You're not going to die. I'll make sure of it."
"But… Only one of us can make it out," she responded. "There's only one victor."
"And it's you."
"What will happen to you?"
It was a terrible question. Saul wouldn't answer. She knew what he meant, and he did as well. Saying it out loud would just have punched a deeper hole in his gut. "Saul…" Peara squeaked. "Why do you stick up for me?"
"What?" he asked, baffled. "Why would you ask something like that?"
"The world hates me. Everyone hates me, just because I was born with this thing that makes my skin white. So, why do you look out for me? Because then they try to get you too."
"Peara, you're my sister," Saul reassured her. That had always been the answer. There was no other. "I love you more than anything. And you may not realize this, but you're there for me just as much as I'm there for you. We're all we have left."
She looked down at her cuffed hands, wrists chafed and red. "But… If I win the Hunger Games, what will I have left?"
I hadn't thought of that… "You'll be alive. I'll look out for you, from wherever I'm at. I'll be there. Don't you worry."
"I'm already worried, Saul…" She held her knees to her chest like a baby.
"Me too…" Saul's words had frozen inside him. Why am I like this? He was never the most eloquent with words, but normally he could get the job done. But this time, every word he said sounded clumsy. "I just…" He let out a long sigh. "I just wish that whatever happens in your life, people would see you as you… And not just an Albar."
"I want to live," she cried.
"So do I."
"I want it to stop."
"So do I."
A few minutes in silence ebbed past before the door nicked open again, yielding some dusty light from the fading evening. "Oh my god!" came a familiar voice. It was the spritely director at St. Rhodes', Ethel Jugby. She was around the side of the table in a flash, holding her small wax candle. Munrow followed close behind. "Peara! Saul! I came as soon as I heard about this. This can't be happening…"
"You speak to them as though they were equals," Munrow spat. "They are prisoners. Our tributes…"
"I've known these kids since they were crying little babies!" Ethel chanted back. "Learn some manners!"
Ethel was only a little older than thirty, but you wouldn't be able to tell from looking at her. She looked no more than eighteen. Her black hair was tied in a ponytail on her shoulder and she wore a hot pink blouse with dots in white. She was often mistaken for a woman from the Capitol. "It's true, isn't it?" Ethel asked, bending down the table. "You're the new tributes…"
"May the odds be ever in your favor…" Saul repeated, slumping down into the chair. "You heard?"
"Everyone heard, Saul. Most of them are in relief… well, because their children didn't get chosen… They told me you were imprisoned by a local shop owner. Just lucky I knew where you were."
"I think you've had enough time, ma'am," Munrow said, scowling into his beard. "This is a private establishment. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
She sneered at him. "It stopped being private the minute you turned it into a prison! These kids don't deserve this!"
"Neither do any of the other kids in District Eleven… Am I the only one looking out for the common interest here?"
"Yes," she shot back, but he took her forcefully by the arm and dragged her out of the room. "Let go of me, or so help me I'll—"
"Ethel!" Peara shouted, coming forward in her chair as far as she could. Her chains clinked together.
"Pea! You're gonna be okay! Never leave Saul's side! Never leave him!" The more she struggled, the more Munrow tightened his ox-like grip. Saul could see the white marks where his fingers were cutting into her arms. "Let go of me, creep!" One of her hands escaped and she slapped him hard across the jaw. When her hand came away, there was a red welt emblazoned on his cheek.
His own palm was in the air an instant later. He brought it down harshly and landed it on Ethel's cheek, forcefully knocking her to the ground. "Learn your respect," he scolded her. Saul felt the tightness of his restraints.
Mr. Munrow began to drag Ethel from the room by her wrists. She put up much less of a fight from the ground. Once back, he slammed the door and went to the center of the room, halfway between Saul and Peara. "You're a monster," Saul muttered under his breath.
"I know…" he replied between heavy breaths. "But so are you."
End of Chapter 12