Writers Games; Alliances

Finalist Tobias Haycraft [unobtrusive-]

"First, however," she broke the moment of silence everyone was taking part in, peacefully resuming her speech. "I have a message for all of Panem."

A man walked out on stage and I gasped, seeing that he dragged a woman behind him by her hair. It appeared to be gray hair that once was blonde. It was long, long enough for him to carry it with ease. She screamed and struggled against him, but it was to no avail. He wouldn't let go, and I think that it would take a certain kind of man to do that - to obey Occisora no matter what her orders, her commands. I think that I could never be that kind of man, even after the Games, even if she threatened my family. I don't know that I could harm another human being to save them.

"By now I'm sure everyone in Panem has gotten to know and love Seaver Parish," I wondered what she had to do with anything happening up front. I wondered if she was even watching, wherever she was. "To those who watched at home or in your district, you know that recently, she was reunited with her beloved brother whom she lost several years ago. It was a happy reunion." My eyebrows slowly knitted together while I tried to piece together this small, insignificant riddle. I didn't need to know, but I wanted to. She had said recently, and "to those watching at home, you know." I felt that that meant Seaver's brother was somehow in the arena, with us. This baffled me, since only one person could become Victor, and he'd probably have to die if Seaver wanted to go home. It didn't make much sense, unless they were planning to use him for something, unless it wasn't her real brother. Putting all concerns aside for the time being, I paid attention to Occisora once again.

"At the tender age of only seven, the poor child was kidnapped by his own mother as she tried to flee the Districts." Her tone was almost back to its usual, callused self. "Obviously Mrs. Parish wasn't the most intelligent person in the world. Part of me wonders where she got it; her husband was certainly smart enough to realize he shouldn't escape. And in fact, Mr. Parish has taken a job here, in the Capitol. Say hello, Mr. Parish." Then the man dragging her, dragging Mrs. Parish by her long hair turned his face to the cameras, and in a very solemn, yet obedient tone, he said simply, "Hello."

"Clearly it was unwise for Mrs. Parish to leave the District, let alone the country. We found her, subdued her, and brought her poor son back. To all of Panem, all of you watching at home and in the Square, remember -" her voice turned down sharply, as if she was about to issue a threat we all need fear. "-do not try to defy us. We have resources, we have means, and we will find you, and cut you down." She looked at Mr. Parish, as if signalling him to do something. He gave a curt nod, his expression blank, like he didn't enjoy his job but wouldn't dare argue; like he'd been broken, lost everything that he once had, left with nothing to fight for. Something he pulled from his pocket caught on a little ray of sunlight, reflections dancing from its silver appearance. It was a knife. I barely had time to ask myself what he was about to do before it was thrust right into his wife's gut, and she sank to her knees. She let out a scream that pierced through the air, leaving no one who hadn't heard it. I felt devastation, horror, but above it was the intense feeling of sympathy toward Seaver, whom I'd gotten to know as a friend and ally. I didn't think I'd feel this much for them after we'd been disbanded, but the pain that surged through my stomach and heart was very real. I felt heartbroken for Seaver, I couldn't even imagine how she felt. But then, she never really talked about her mother as long as I'd known her, what little time that was. She spoke highly of her grandmother whenever given the chance, and there might've been a word or two about her father, but never anything about her mother or brother. I supposed being left to waste in the district by her own flesh and blood probably left her with a little more than slight distaste for them. As unengaged in emotional encounters as she was, I supposed right now she probably wasn't shedding a single tear. The thought comforted me a little, and I continued to watch in agony an innocent woman being tortured. Mrs. Parish's screams only intensified as her husband, who was supposed to love and to cherish her until death do they part, dragged the knife up her abdomen.