It's Not as Easy as You Think.

He is the bastard son of society, of the Capitol. His purpose is not to care, but to watch.

He lives and breathes a warped sense of justice. He believes strongly in right from wrong, or what he’s been told is right and wrong. To him, those who break the law must be punished. There is no such thing as tolerance. There are no exceptions. You, the citizen, do not get a say if you have broken the law. To give pity is just as bad as to ever receive it. Make sure that neither ever happens.

It’s not as easy as you think, living this life, when you’ve been tortured the entire time.

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He walked into the building with an assured and cold look in his eyes. Girls occasionally glanced up at him, sheepish and blushing, but he offered them nothing in return. His blond hair fell in front of his eyes, the only thing that was disheveled about him, and he suddenly turned, walking into an office to get his district placement. The man who awaited him was slowly sifting through paper work. He looked up at August and lifted up the corner of his mouth, pleased to see who was in front of him. ”Where am I being sent, sir,”August asked. It sounded like more of a demand than anything, but it’s not as if he would deliberately disrespect his superiors. ”District Four,” the man drawled out, his tone reflected boredom, as if this were an everyday thing, which it probably was. "Have your possessions packed by tonight. A guide will be sent to your home tonight and they will take you to your form of transportation.” The man was smiling, as if he were waiting for an emotional response to his words. August only nodded and turned on his heel, walking out without a word.

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You cannot be born cruel. You can only be raised as so. August was born December 17th, twenty-one years ago. His father knew this and began almost 'properly' raising his son immediately, not even batting an eyelash to his wife’s death in labor. August was never sure if his father truly cared about his mother, but snide comments caused doubt on occasion.

“What, you think you can’t kill? You’ve already killed your mother,”

He had a nanny for the first five years of his life, since his father didn’t want to deal with diapers and potty training. She was kind to him. She was the only kindness in his childhood, actually. She was the closest thing he’d ever had to a mother, but after his father realized how much August cared for his nanny, how she was making him the sweet boy he should have been, he had her done away with immediately. August never saw her again, and his father quickly began transforming him.

August’s days consisted of constant training and studying. He was a natural born fighter, and he worked purely for his father’s nonexistent praise. He was like any other child in the way that he just wanted to have his father love him. The most he ever received though was a “good job, boy” when he was eleven years old, after he was forced to shoot down the family cat with a bow and arrow. It was obvious he would do well at The Hunger Games if it ever came to be that he was chosen, but he never was. After so much training and brainwashing though, he could never go back to normal. So he was forced to do what his father thought best, and became a Peacekeeper.

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He went into his home, grabbed what little possessions he had out of his dresser or closet and threw them in a bag. He was leaving. He was actually leaving. The man that had been cold and assured just an hour ago was now just a boy, afraid and relieved. August put his face in his hands, taking a deep breath, and let it all sink in. No longer would he be subjected to this personal hell he had to call home. No more beatings or insults. No more killings pets or doing the unthinkable. It was like he was about to be set free from prison after twenty years of confinement.