Post by countlivin on Jun 5, 2019 6:32:45 GMT
Chapter 23: Warm Winds
Marten Lewis
The stone in the creek… Marten's mother's words had resonated with him ever since she'd uttered them. There was something about the image of it that was soothing, and inspiring. The stone, unyielding, beside its brothers and sisters in a world that didn't want it there… The Games were like that creek. Marten wasn't sure he could stand against them.
"You have one hour," stated Marc Bishoppe plainly. Marten could tell the man didn't care whether he was alive or dead. That type of thing was typical from the Capitol… "Gather your things together. You are allowed to take one token with you into the arena. Talk to your family, since they clearly care very much about you. In sixty minutes, I will leave and you will be by my side. I will wait outside."
And when the door closed behind him, Marten knew the decision was final. The three women around him knew it too. Mom couldn't help but immediately burst into tears, and Willy followed closely after. Aunt Myra was more angry than solemn, uttering atrocities under her breath at the escort from the window.
"Don't…" Marten told her. "Don't blame it on him, Aunt Myra."
She turned her fury on him. "What do you mean? Of course I can blame it on him! At any point, he could have turned right around and dragged his sorry rear back to the Capitol."
"But he was under orders…"
"So are the Peacekeepers. Doesn't give them excuses to be tyrants!" She screamed and slammed her fist against the wall. "Why are you defending him, Marten? Why are you defending them? They're the ones who stole you out of your home. They're forcing you to death! There is no reason the Capitol should not have the blame! Why do they get to decide your fate?"
"Because I smashed a boy's face in with my bare hands," Marten said. His aunt was instantly quieted.
Willy took a step back and stood by the wall. "My brother… Is going to be in the Hunger Games… God, how did it come to this? You're a good kid, Marten." Marten, as usual, only replied with anxious silence. Words stuck in his throat like glue. "I can't imagine what something like that will do to you…"
"You've watched them on TV," Mom said. "They are what they are: savage. Nothing good has ever come from that damn show and nothing ever will."
"I haven't watched them since they killed the victor from Six." Myra opened the violet curtains just enough to see the escort outside drinking from a small glass. "They're animals…"
"Myra, quiet…" Mom told her.
"Who gives a damn?!" she cried, even louder than before. "Marten's going to die! You're worried about how the neighbors are going to hear me? At a time like this?! That godforsaken man out there is threatening to take your son away, and you're hounding me about noise pollution! God, that is so like you, Salla!"
There were tears leaking from her eyes. She had been trying to hide them, but there they were. A week ago Marten might have cried too. He was scared by the fact that the only thing he felt now was pain for his family. He felt no fear. He felt no sadness. Just pain and regret… He wanted to reassure them that he would be fine and that he would live through this. But Marten wasn't a liar.
"You don't think I feel this?" Mom screamed at her sister. "I've been sick with worry ever since he was arrested! I haven't been able to eat anything without vomiting it up the next hour! Don't talk to me about this… I can't handle anymore."
"Mom…" Marten said. He couldn't think of any more to say, but when she wrapped her arms around him, he knew it was enough. He watched over her shoulder as her curly brown hair swung behind her head. It startled him to think that today might be the last time he ever saw his mother, or any of them… Vinni, Ty, Uncle Bandy… He'd never see any of them.
Willy placed a hand on her brother's shoulder and looked him solemnly in the eye. "I have to show you something," she told him. He followed her around the corner and up the stairs. The screams of his mother and aunt could still be understood clearly even there, but Marten chose not to listen.
Willy led them upstairs to her room and shut the door behind them. She sat on the bottom bunk on the left side of the room. That one was hers. The other three belonged to Rhoda, his cousin by Uncle Bandy, and the twins, Myra's daughters. Marten took a spot on the empty bed across from her.
"I wish I could go fishing with you one last time," Willy said. "Do you think the guy out front would notice if we snuck out the back?"
"I wouldn't risk it," Marten replied. "They can't hurt me because I'm their tribute. You're free game."
She sighed and twiddled her toes on the creaking floorboards. "Do you remember when Great Uncle Went forced us all to stay in bed because the boards would make noises when we got up and woke him up?" Marten nodded. "We all thought he was the devil at the time… He wouldn't even let us go to the bathroom… Seems silly now, doesn't it? I would give anything to go back to petty problems like that. The world was a lot simpler when we could walk from one side of it to the other in the span of an hour."
"The world has always been the same size," Marten said.
"You know what I mean." She continued, "When we were younger, District Four seemed like the entire world since it was the only place we ever were. I guess you'll be seeing a lot more of it soon. That's the good side of being a tribute, I guess…" Something about the way she said that was almost cold, and she realized it had come out wrong. "I mean… It's terrible— I— You know what I mean…"
"Yeah…"
Aunt Myra's screams could be heard from underneath his feet. "I can't believe you!" she shouted at his mother. Marten didn't blame them. They had been at each other's throats ever since Zak and Salla married. Any time the two of them were in the same room together there was tension, and with Marten's sentence, it had only made the ice thinner. He wondered if Marc Bishoppe could hear them.
"Don't mind them, Marten," Willy said, bending down for something beneath her bed. She pulled from it a small cardboard box the size of a house cat. When she opened it up, she reached inside and pulled out… a baseball cap.
"What's that?" Marten asked her, but he thought he already knew.
"This was Grandad's," she replied. The hat was orange, with the fish insignia of the family business inscribed on the front. "Before he died… He wanted you to have this. I couldn't think of a better time to give it to you than now…"
Marten took the cap from his sister and peered down into the fish on its front. He imagined it on Grandad's head when he'd founded the company all those years ago: the company that had provided one of the most luxurious houses in all of Four. Surely he could have given it to any of his sons—Marten's uncles… Why was he chosen among them all? After all, as so many had told him, he was nothing.
"Mr. Bishoppe said you could bring something with you into the arena," Willy told him. "This could be your token. I'm sure others will bring weapons and other useful things, but if it were me, I'd want to bring something that meant something to me. If I had to die, at least I'd die with a scrap of myself left."
"Don't think about that," spoke Marten softly. It was tempting, although he'd never been fond of hats. Yes, they kept the sun out of his eyes, but they also blocked an entire direction of vision. That being said, the hat was very soft, and as he slipped it onto his head, it felt just like home.
But Marten had had a lot of time to think in his cell, and he had already decided on something else as his token. He stood up, pushed open the door and stepped into his own room, the one he shared with Vinni, Ytri, Ty, and Orvil. His bed, the lower bunk in the back right, was completely covered with his fishing poles and sacks of bait. He had been planning to go out the next morning the night it had happened. He opened the case of lures and found his prize possession.
It was a small fishhook about a quarter inch long, completely blunt and scratched up from years of use. He had used it to catch his very first trout back when he was only five years old. It was one of his first memories of his father before he was imprisoned, and he'd kept it as a memento ever since. It felt almost unnatural to be without it.
He showed it to Willy. "What's that?" she asked.
"My first fishhook," he replied plainly, taking off Grandad's cap and weighing it in his hand. He could only take one of them…
Willy looked from one item to the other and scoffed angrily. "You shouldn't even have to choose this. The Capitol is already taking everything from you. Why do they have to take your only possessions as well?"
Marten peered down at the hat and the fishhook in his hands. Each held fond memories for him. To choose between the two was unbearable, but he was able to make the decision. Choosing came easily to him. Choosing to kill Ronn in the creek was an easy choice, why shouldn't this be?
100% of readers chose to [B. Take the hat as token.]
But, for a tribute, making decisions meant life or death, and Marten wouldn't allow this one to lose him sleep. The cap of his grandfather's business was a reminder of his family. Every time he felt it on his head he would remember what it felt like to be home. It would be his lifeline in the midst of all the death and destruction.
"I'll take the hat," Marten told his sister. "I have to remember who I am. It's been getting harder the past few days. This will help. Thanks, Willy."
Willy smiled and teared up as he fit the cap onto his head. "It's a good look for you," she said. He handed the fishhook to her. She rubbed the ball of her thumb over its blunt tip and said, "You're not going to die, you know. You'll be great at the business. You were born for it."
Marten could have used the fishhook in the arena. He wouldn't have had to worry about food as long as there was any sort of body of water nearby. The other tributes certainly wouldn't know their way around a fishing rod… Although, in a way, he was glad it was staying home with his sister. It was safer here than it would be in his hands.
"The wind's always warmer this side of the creek," Willy spoke softly, brushing a strand of curly, blonde hair from her eye.
"What?"
"It's something Dad used to say a lot before he was arrested. You might not remember it—you were really little at the time. The wind's always warmer this side of the creek," she repeated. "I guess it was his way of saying enjoy the time you got while you have it. It's only going to get worse."
Marten vaguely remembered his father mentioning this, but as she said, he had been very young. He hardly remembered the day the Peacekeepers broke down the door to take Dad away. And now Marc Bishoppe was here to take him away…
"I can't think of any time that's more true than now." Willy began to cry, looking Marten in the eyes. "I'm going to miss you, little brother. You know that?"
"Of course," Marten replied. "I'll miss you too."
"You know… Back at the creek, when you killed the carpenter's boy, I saw a part of you I'd never seen before. I saw a part of you that I didn't think existed." She covered her mouth with one of her hands to keep from sobbing. "But… I don't know what you're capable of, Marten. Maybe you're more like Dad than I'd thought…"
"Maybe."
"Just…" She choked out the words like she couldn't even bear to think them. "When you get to the arena, unleash that side of you. Don't show mercy. I don't want to recognize you. And when you get to the Capitol, after you win…"
"What?" he asked after her pause. He couldn't make out the words in between her sobs.
"Don't hold back," she muttered. "Marten. You can't let them live. Don't. Don't hold back…"
"I won't."
"I love you." She hung her head in sorrow and Marten sat beside her, wrapping her in his muscular arms. She set her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. He wasn't the best at showing it, but he loved her too, more than she could know.
In the mirror, Marten saw his reflection. The hat fit snugly on his head, proudly displaying the sigil of the Lewis family company. It frightened him to know that after he boarded the train for the Capitol, this would be the only remainder of his possessions. It would be the only piece left of his home. The winds were warmer here. He wanted so badly to stay, but the creek flowed ever on, and a stone couldn't stay forever.
End of Chapter 23
Marten Lewis
The stone in the creek… Marten's mother's words had resonated with him ever since she'd uttered them. There was something about the image of it that was soothing, and inspiring. The stone, unyielding, beside its brothers and sisters in a world that didn't want it there… The Games were like that creek. Marten wasn't sure he could stand against them.
"You have one hour," stated Marc Bishoppe plainly. Marten could tell the man didn't care whether he was alive or dead. That type of thing was typical from the Capitol… "Gather your things together. You are allowed to take one token with you into the arena. Talk to your family, since they clearly care very much about you. In sixty minutes, I will leave and you will be by my side. I will wait outside."
And when the door closed behind him, Marten knew the decision was final. The three women around him knew it too. Mom couldn't help but immediately burst into tears, and Willy followed closely after. Aunt Myra was more angry than solemn, uttering atrocities under her breath at the escort from the window.
"Don't…" Marten told her. "Don't blame it on him, Aunt Myra."
She turned her fury on him. "What do you mean? Of course I can blame it on him! At any point, he could have turned right around and dragged his sorry rear back to the Capitol."
"But he was under orders…"
"So are the Peacekeepers. Doesn't give them excuses to be tyrants!" She screamed and slammed her fist against the wall. "Why are you defending him, Marten? Why are you defending them? They're the ones who stole you out of your home. They're forcing you to death! There is no reason the Capitol should not have the blame! Why do they get to decide your fate?"
"Because I smashed a boy's face in with my bare hands," Marten said. His aunt was instantly quieted.
Willy took a step back and stood by the wall. "My brother… Is going to be in the Hunger Games… God, how did it come to this? You're a good kid, Marten." Marten, as usual, only replied with anxious silence. Words stuck in his throat like glue. "I can't imagine what something like that will do to you…"
"You've watched them on TV," Mom said. "They are what they are: savage. Nothing good has ever come from that damn show and nothing ever will."
"I haven't watched them since they killed the victor from Six." Myra opened the violet curtains just enough to see the escort outside drinking from a small glass. "They're animals…"
"Myra, quiet…" Mom told her.
"Who gives a damn?!" she cried, even louder than before. "Marten's going to die! You're worried about how the neighbors are going to hear me? At a time like this?! That godforsaken man out there is threatening to take your son away, and you're hounding me about noise pollution! God, that is so like you, Salla!"
There were tears leaking from her eyes. She had been trying to hide them, but there they were. A week ago Marten might have cried too. He was scared by the fact that the only thing he felt now was pain for his family. He felt no fear. He felt no sadness. Just pain and regret… He wanted to reassure them that he would be fine and that he would live through this. But Marten wasn't a liar.
"You don't think I feel this?" Mom screamed at her sister. "I've been sick with worry ever since he was arrested! I haven't been able to eat anything without vomiting it up the next hour! Don't talk to me about this… I can't handle anymore."
"Mom…" Marten said. He couldn't think of any more to say, but when she wrapped her arms around him, he knew it was enough. He watched over her shoulder as her curly brown hair swung behind her head. It startled him to think that today might be the last time he ever saw his mother, or any of them… Vinni, Ty, Uncle Bandy… He'd never see any of them.
Willy placed a hand on her brother's shoulder and looked him solemnly in the eye. "I have to show you something," she told him. He followed her around the corner and up the stairs. The screams of his mother and aunt could still be understood clearly even there, but Marten chose not to listen.
Willy led them upstairs to her room and shut the door behind them. She sat on the bottom bunk on the left side of the room. That one was hers. The other three belonged to Rhoda, his cousin by Uncle Bandy, and the twins, Myra's daughters. Marten took a spot on the empty bed across from her.
"I wish I could go fishing with you one last time," Willy said. "Do you think the guy out front would notice if we snuck out the back?"
"I wouldn't risk it," Marten replied. "They can't hurt me because I'm their tribute. You're free game."
She sighed and twiddled her toes on the creaking floorboards. "Do you remember when Great Uncle Went forced us all to stay in bed because the boards would make noises when we got up and woke him up?" Marten nodded. "We all thought he was the devil at the time… He wouldn't even let us go to the bathroom… Seems silly now, doesn't it? I would give anything to go back to petty problems like that. The world was a lot simpler when we could walk from one side of it to the other in the span of an hour."
"The world has always been the same size," Marten said.
"You know what I mean." She continued, "When we were younger, District Four seemed like the entire world since it was the only place we ever were. I guess you'll be seeing a lot more of it soon. That's the good side of being a tribute, I guess…" Something about the way she said that was almost cold, and she realized it had come out wrong. "I mean… It's terrible— I— You know what I mean…"
"Yeah…"
Aunt Myra's screams could be heard from underneath his feet. "I can't believe you!" she shouted at his mother. Marten didn't blame them. They had been at each other's throats ever since Zak and Salla married. Any time the two of them were in the same room together there was tension, and with Marten's sentence, it had only made the ice thinner. He wondered if Marc Bishoppe could hear them.
"Don't mind them, Marten," Willy said, bending down for something beneath her bed. She pulled from it a small cardboard box the size of a house cat. When she opened it up, she reached inside and pulled out… a baseball cap.
"What's that?" Marten asked her, but he thought he already knew.
"This was Grandad's," she replied. The hat was orange, with the fish insignia of the family business inscribed on the front. "Before he died… He wanted you to have this. I couldn't think of a better time to give it to you than now…"
Marten took the cap from his sister and peered down into the fish on its front. He imagined it on Grandad's head when he'd founded the company all those years ago: the company that had provided one of the most luxurious houses in all of Four. Surely he could have given it to any of his sons—Marten's uncles… Why was he chosen among them all? After all, as so many had told him, he was nothing.
"Mr. Bishoppe said you could bring something with you into the arena," Willy told him. "This could be your token. I'm sure others will bring weapons and other useful things, but if it were me, I'd want to bring something that meant something to me. If I had to die, at least I'd die with a scrap of myself left."
"Don't think about that," spoke Marten softly. It was tempting, although he'd never been fond of hats. Yes, they kept the sun out of his eyes, but they also blocked an entire direction of vision. That being said, the hat was very soft, and as he slipped it onto his head, it felt just like home.
But Marten had had a lot of time to think in his cell, and he had already decided on something else as his token. He stood up, pushed open the door and stepped into his own room, the one he shared with Vinni, Ytri, Ty, and Orvil. His bed, the lower bunk in the back right, was completely covered with his fishing poles and sacks of bait. He had been planning to go out the next morning the night it had happened. He opened the case of lures and found his prize possession.
It was a small fishhook about a quarter inch long, completely blunt and scratched up from years of use. He had used it to catch his very first trout back when he was only five years old. It was one of his first memories of his father before he was imprisoned, and he'd kept it as a memento ever since. It felt almost unnatural to be without it.
He showed it to Willy. "What's that?" she asked.
"My first fishhook," he replied plainly, taking off Grandad's cap and weighing it in his hand. He could only take one of them…
Willy looked from one item to the other and scoffed angrily. "You shouldn't even have to choose this. The Capitol is already taking everything from you. Why do they have to take your only possessions as well?"
Marten peered down at the hat and the fishhook in his hands. Each held fond memories for him. To choose between the two was unbearable, but he was able to make the decision. Choosing came easily to him. Choosing to kill Ronn in the creek was an easy choice, why shouldn't this be?
100% of readers chose to [B. Take the hat as token.]
But, for a tribute, making decisions meant life or death, and Marten wouldn't allow this one to lose him sleep. The cap of his grandfather's business was a reminder of his family. Every time he felt it on his head he would remember what it felt like to be home. It would be his lifeline in the midst of all the death and destruction.
"I'll take the hat," Marten told his sister. "I have to remember who I am. It's been getting harder the past few days. This will help. Thanks, Willy."
Willy smiled and teared up as he fit the cap onto his head. "It's a good look for you," she said. He handed the fishhook to her. She rubbed the ball of her thumb over its blunt tip and said, "You're not going to die, you know. You'll be great at the business. You were born for it."
Marten could have used the fishhook in the arena. He wouldn't have had to worry about food as long as there was any sort of body of water nearby. The other tributes certainly wouldn't know their way around a fishing rod… Although, in a way, he was glad it was staying home with his sister. It was safer here than it would be in his hands.
"The wind's always warmer this side of the creek," Willy spoke softly, brushing a strand of curly, blonde hair from her eye.
"What?"
"It's something Dad used to say a lot before he was arrested. You might not remember it—you were really little at the time. The wind's always warmer this side of the creek," she repeated. "I guess it was his way of saying enjoy the time you got while you have it. It's only going to get worse."
Marten vaguely remembered his father mentioning this, but as she said, he had been very young. He hardly remembered the day the Peacekeepers broke down the door to take Dad away. And now Marc Bishoppe was here to take him away…
"I can't think of any time that's more true than now." Willy began to cry, looking Marten in the eyes. "I'm going to miss you, little brother. You know that?"
"Of course," Marten replied. "I'll miss you too."
"You know… Back at the creek, when you killed the carpenter's boy, I saw a part of you I'd never seen before. I saw a part of you that I didn't think existed." She covered her mouth with one of her hands to keep from sobbing. "But… I don't know what you're capable of, Marten. Maybe you're more like Dad than I'd thought…"
"Maybe."
"Just…" She choked out the words like she couldn't even bear to think them. "When you get to the arena, unleash that side of you. Don't show mercy. I don't want to recognize you. And when you get to the Capitol, after you win…"
"What?" he asked after her pause. He couldn't make out the words in between her sobs.
"Don't hold back," she muttered. "Marten. You can't let them live. Don't. Don't hold back…"
"I won't."
"I love you." She hung her head in sorrow and Marten sat beside her, wrapping her in his muscular arms. She set her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. He wasn't the best at showing it, but he loved her too, more than she could know.
In the mirror, Marten saw his reflection. The hat fit snugly on his head, proudly displaying the sigil of the Lewis family company. It frightened him to know that after he boarded the train for the Capitol, this would be the only remainder of his possessions. It would be the only piece left of his home. The winds were warmer here. He wanted so badly to stay, but the creek flowed ever on, and a stone couldn't stay forever.
End of Chapter 23