miles rhodes; mentor, district six (milesperhr) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-03-14 21:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! backstory, victor: 49th miles rhodes |
WHO: Miles Rhodes
WHAT: Arena, prompt
WHEN: The 49th Hunger Games
WARNINGS: Well, its the HG. So.
STATUS: Complete
His head still spins as his mother holds him tightly against her chest. Miles breathes in and catches the scent of soap and oil. Her fingers feel rough where they dig into his bare arms, a lifetime of hard work forever imprinted on them. Shift is eight and wide-eyed, only just on the cusp of understanding as he clings to Miles’ leg. His dad pats his back, and for a moment the four of them stand there united.
Peacekeepers open the door; his family vanishes amongst blood curdling sobs. But not before he sees that glint in his mother’s eyes. The one that says goodbye.
Forever.*
Warm sweat beads on his brow as he waits. Sixty seconds is a life time. Pavement can be seen in every direction. Fog hangs heavy in the air. He smells oil and rubber and burning. Miles wonders, in a crazed thought, if District Six is the arena.
The gong reminds him that this isn’t really District Six. He runs off the plate. There is no time to hesitate or second guess. He can see a sector of tall crumbling buildings and he races toward them. Screams and laughter echo in his ears as so many of the tributes around him rush to the supplies. He thinks he sees the Girl from His District - Steele? Stella? - sprint past him to the Cornucopia. Miles thinks she’s stupid as he gets away.*
The anthem plays for the seventh time. A speck of oil on his shirt tells him so. Miles has been staining himself every night so he doesn’t go mad all alone in the dark. But there are footsteps. Or are there? He can’t tell. The sound of another person is foreign and unfamiliar.
This is it, he thinks. Miles holds his breath when he sees a slender girl slip through the beaten down door and into his kingdom. Two days of his sweat, blood, and tears have brought the machinery roaring to life. He can tell by the way she creeps that she knows someone is here. Miles stands still behind the large support column, hoping she’ll leave.
But she doesn’t.
She never leaves alive. He gets an axe to show for it.*
The oil stains have smudged together now. Miles no longer knows how long he’s been in the arena. Days? Months? Maybe an eternity. All he knows is the darkness and loneliness. The silver parachute from his last gift is wrapped around the remains of stale bread crumbs - the last of his food. It’s been a lifetime since he received a gift. They’ve all forgotten him.
He knows he has to do something or he’ll die like this: alone and forgotten. That’s when he leaves his kingdom.
The axe shifts in his hands, held awkwardly by someone who has never had one before. It’s heavy and was wielded by better by its previous owner. But Miles sees the red mop of hair and he doesn’t hesitate. Adrenaline and madness propel him forward with a barely human scream as he lunges at his newly found opponent.
Miles is much bigger than the other boy. It happens quickly; the other boy is knocked onto his back. Miles knees are pressed on either side of him, pinning him to the floor. The boy is crying, but Miles only hears the sobs as an echo in the distance.
He blocks out the screams and the horrified face of a twelve year old boy. All he sees is an enemy; someone who doesn’t want him to survive. Warm blood splatters his face but he doesn’t really notice. All he can feel is the rush in his stomach and the frustration that seeps out of him every time the blade connects with skin and bone. Miles is out of breath and his arms are burning in pain by the time he stops. The cannon blasted minutes ago but its only now that he lets go of the body.
And its only then that he notices the taste of salt on his lips.*
Miles watches the end unfold. Two fierce warriors fight - one is killed by a surprise attack from behind. The newcomer swiftly falls against the sword of Girl Two. They’re now the only ones left. Miles shakes as he clutches the crimson stained axe.
Girl Two has slumped to her knees. The clatter of her sword is amplified in the otherwise silent dawn. Her face contorts in an expression that makes him feel sick. Then he sees it - the small knife protruding from her neck.
It emboldens him.
Adrenaline starts to pump through his veins and he can feel a pleasant rush soak his brain. The corners up his lips turn up in a small smile as he lunges forward, poised to win. Her eyes shut. Can she see it coming? Is she hiding from it?
Boom.
It's loud and startles him so much that he drops his weapon. His mouth opens in surprise; he isn't even near her. The sound of his own name is foreign when it's announced. Miles Rhodes; Victor of the 49th Hunger Games. It’s the only time he’s ever glad to hear it.