Writer Games | Masquerade of Martyrs & Family Ties

Task Five: The Exile - Males

District Three - Fidelis Teague

I stumbled over a rock,  nearly falling to the cold, unforgiving ground. As it was, I staggered,  half-doubled over, for several steps before regaining my balance. A cold  wind ruffled my clothes, the sound of it a gentle sigh filled with  regret. I kept walking, eyes scanning the bleak landscape, not taking  note of a single feature.

He was dead. My dad, the  brilliant, kind, valuable citizen of District Three, was dead. And  there was nothing I could do about it. He had died in my arms. My hands  were tinted a dull ochre with his blood.

"It should have been  me," I whispered. Hours ago I had screamed it to the skies, sobbed it  into my father's lifeless chest, cursed it at my competitors, the  Gamemakers, and the silent trees. Now, I only had enough energy to  whisper it, tears caressing my cheeks until I fell into an exhausted  slumber.

If God were merciful, he  would have let the sleep absolve me of my pain, of my memories. I was  not so fortunate. Even as I woke to a ruined garden, all I could hear  were his dying gasps, the sound of a violent end brought to a gentle  man. To a man who was loving, beloved, worthwhile.

There is more than one kind of worth in this world...

I shuddered, moving on.  It was easy for him to say that; no one in Three, no one in the world  would have contested his value, his contribution to society. He could  afford to say I was worthwhile, even when we both knew the truth.

In the grand scheme of things, I am no more important than you.

I shivered, wrapping my  arms around myself in a childlike gesture. For the first time since I  had woken up, I thought about Avner, wondering what had happened to her  and Tesla.

Two lady friends. Not bad, son.

"So Avner's a girl," I  said dully. "How odd. I should be shocked. Shouldn't I? Would shock be  the smart reaction? Would anger be better? I can't know for sure, now  can I?"

You're a good man, intelligent or not, and that matters far more than Three will ever understand.

I was walking faster,  trying to escape that tiny, nagging voice in the back of my mind, the  one that spoke with a dead man's voice. This was no serpent's whisper;  it was quieter and infinitely more insistent. Its toneless words  resounded with precise, matter-of-fact wisdom, as well as the simple  certainty that I would listen and take heed.

"I should be the one dead. He had a chance to live; how could he betray me? Devalue my decision, my acceptance, my sacrifice-"

I do not give you permission to sacrifice your life for mine.

"I didn't want  permission!" I yelled, in a full-on, shambling run. "For such smart  people, none of you can see sense! Why couldn't you let me be an  offering? Why couldn't you let me save you all?"

I am your father, and I love you.

"Vita needs her father. So do Fortuna and Valerius. Mom needs her husband."

Vita, Fortuna, and Valerius need their brother. Sabrina needs her son.

I was sprinting now,  desperate and unashamed. Tears flowed freely down my face, and I cast my  gaze about, looking for someone, anyone to speak, to drown out the  voice within. Its last words were my father's, with the same quiet ring  and confidence. However, he had never said such things, not like the  other words before. He had coughed and died, gone from me forever.

I am with you always.

I tripped and sprawled,  scraping my hands on the lifeless dirt. Ruby-red blood welled from  shallow cuts on my palms, beading into tiny droplets and sliding down,  mixing with the ochre tint already present. I stared at it, numb.