Writers Games; Alliances

D10 Male - Tobias James Haycraft [unobtrusive-] Task 1

With just a couple more twists the bolt had been screwed securely back in place, earning a smile of satisfaction from me as I pulled my head out of the hood, and faced the gentlemen before me.

    "She's as good as new. " It was all I had to say, and the three of them gave me a pat on the back each, before thanking me and climbing into their hummer single file. One took his post at the drivers side, the other his shotgun, and quite literally carrying a shotgun. The last man clung to the side of the vehicle, clutching a large handle built for just such an act. I waved the Peacekeepers off, wiping my greasy hands all over the white t-shirt I'd previously been wearing, and now held between my palms. I turned away to find the little rat whom I called a dog attempting to wag his tail as a sign of affection, but only succeeded in shaking his entire little frame. I laughed, tossing my t-shirt over my left shoulder and squating to retreive my animal.

    "Hey boy, hey. C'mon, quit!" I protested by pulling away as saliva made contact with my cheek. The little rat's tongue had escaped its mouth to prove to me, as if I didn't already know, that he loved me with everything he was. I rescued him off the streets, well, the wilds actually. Little boy here had been roaming the wilds, slipping into our district at night to raid the chicken pens, not that he was big enough to carry anything but an egg away in his jaws. One night while on patrol, I discovered his tiny black body -- near invisble in the shadows of the earth at midnight -- caught on the fence, his leg pretty badly torn up. Succumbing to my inner humanitarian, I took the boy home and helped to heal his foot, and fed him. He now follows me everywhere.

    "Well little buddy, I suppose we ought to get a move on. Time waits for no man, not even one as handsome and clever as you." I ruffled the stringy hair atop his pint sized head, and he returned the gesture with the tiniest howl you could ever imagine. My laughter mingled with the soft breeze blowing over the ears of wheat spread over miles around us; sweat rippled off my brow at intervals, my breath and Buck's panting became the only sounds as my feet left tread patterns in the soft earth of our wake. Today was important, and I couldn't believe I'd wasted so much time on the Peacekeeper's hummer. Surely if I were late to the Reaping, they'd understand. With that thought in mind, I took off into a sprint down the rows and rows of sand coloured wheat, which matched the colour of my hair almost perfectly. If I'd been covered in it, I'd blend right in and no one would suspect a thing. Ah, such a silly thought. I shook my head while I ran, keeping Buck tucked neatly on my elbow and pressed against my ribcage, so as to keep him from falling with the power of gravity.

      I came to a sliding stop in front of my own home door, failing to open it because my mother had already done so. She must have seen me coming.

   "What are you doing with that thing?" She gestured to Buck, who sat sprawled over my arm, peeking out at her with that bright pink tongue of his which contrasted against his pitch black fur and matching eyes. The eyes though, shone because of their reflective qualities. I read somewhere that dogs, as well as a variety of other animals, have a reflective layer of tissue at the back of the eye, which helps animals that come out at night to see better. This is called the tapetum lucidum, which is latin for Bright Carpet.

     Mother eyed Buck the way she would Dad every time he came home drunk; with complete and utter disgust. She extended one of her long, slender arms and clumped four of her fingers with the index completing her line of apendage. "He stays out." She muttered, before swirling in her pale pink dress, disappearing back into the house.

    I sighed, but complied. She was my mother, I couldn't just blatantly disobey her orders. I set Buck down with a stern warning to keep his distance from the house, and watched the tiny pup scamper off behind an arsenal of wooden buckets and crates. Smiling to myself, I stepped through the threshhold of our cozy two bedroom shack. I use the term shack, when in reality, our living conditions could -- should -- be much worse. If it weren't for the fact that, on top of working without pay in the Livestock courts, I also worked as a handyman to anyone, including Peackeepers, who needed it, we'd probably be on the streets with nothing but a drunken father and scrawny dog the size of a toothpick.