Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Xion Academy For Boys

“Why do I have to go?” he asked.

“It’s your birthday present. Why wouldn’t you want to go?” his mother replied with a smile.

“But I like the school I’m going to now,” he said, ready to start whining.

“Don’t you dare start young man, Xion academy has better facilities. It’ll make you better and more ready when the time comes,” his father quickly joined in on the conversation.

“But I heard they will make me do things, things I dont want to do.”

“You need to toughen up boy. I’ve already pulled some strings to make sure you have a place in the 74th games.” His father then turned to him and looked him in the eye. “I paid a lot of money for this.”

Sighing, he nodded in reply. If his father had paid a lot of money, he should go and try to make his parents proud. And since he was finally thirteen, he told himself to start acting like a responsible adult.

The following day, he put on his new black and silver custom tailored suit. And before he entered the car, he shook his father’s hand, and gave his mother a kiss.

“We will see you during the weekends, O.K honey?” his mother said as she smiled broadly at him.

“Bye,” he replied, sliding into the backseat and waving at them as his driver drove further and further away from the gigantic mansion he called home.

Xion Academy was a one hour drive from home, in the heart of District 2. It was a huge school, with superb and detailed stonework, one of which he had not seen before.

As the car pulled up the driveway, a woman in black ushered him into the academy and led him straight to the headmaster’s office. After waiting briefly, a man walked into the room and took his seat.

“Before you start classes, we need to give you a test,” the headmaster, a balding middle-aged man, spoke.

“Sure. I’m ready. What do I have to do?” he asked confidently.

“Follow me,” the man said as he got up. Quickly following after him, he found himself walking along hallways and down staircases. By the time he reached a small room, he started to wonder how big the academy was.

As the headmaster pointed to a glass door in the marble walled room, he said, “Behind this door is an arena.”

“You want me to fight someone?” he asked excitedly.

“I want you to make sure that THAT someone doesn’t get up again.”

“What do you mean?”

“The person you are to face is a no good-er. You know what to do with these kind of people, don’t you?”

He finally understood what he had to do, but he still wasn’t sure. Was he being asked to kill someone?

“You want me to kill him?”

“There are nicer ways of putting it. Let’s just say we want you to terminate him. Good luck.” And with that, the headmaster left the room.

Unsure on what to do next, he slowly headed to the glass door and pushed it open. Taking a step into the big arena, he spotted his opponent.

His opponent was a tall, rather skinny man. His eyes were bloodshot red and when he turned to face him, he looked very ready for a fight.

Hesitating on his next move, he eyed the skinny man.Then taking a quick glance around the arena, he spotted weapons laying on the ground near him, and glass panels a storey higher, that made him sure he was being watched.

Straightening up, and putting on a brave face, he picked up two long blades and charged towards the man. To his surprise, the man didn’t charge back, but he ran instead. And being that he was younger and in better shape, he caught up with him and pounced onto his back, pinning the man on the ground immediately.

Then, as he placed his blades below the man’s throat, ready to slit him dry, the man pleaded, “Please boy, don’t do this. I have a son at home, just like you.”

For a brief moment, he hesitated. He thought about his father and his mother, and then he looked up at the glass panels. And as though he could see through it, he imagined the people in it nodding at him to finish the job.

“Please boy, you are not a killer,” the man said, trying to hold his head higher up, away from the blades.

“How do you know?” he asked with a laugh.

“Because… because…”

“Wrong answer,” he said as he pulled the blades across each other, slitting the man’s throat before he could finish his answer.

In all honestly, he didn’t want to hear what the man had to say. He was rather afraid of the truth, because all his life, he was told what to do and how to do it. He never knew who he really was, just that he was made to kill and to bring his family glory.

As he stood up from body of the man, lying in a pool of blood, he hoped that someone would reassure him that he was doing the right thing, and when the voice over the speaker spoke, he got what he had hoped for.

“I’m proud of you Cato.”

“Dad?” he asked immediately.

“Yes. And your mother is here too. Lets celebrate shall we?”

Smiling to himself, Cato didn’t care if all he knew was murder, because it made his parents proud.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Adopted

Some said she was a weird child, others said she was disturbed. To be frankly honest, she was both. Often times, you would see her sitting by the pond, throwing knives at the frogs. And every time she hits one, she would smile. She was already like that even before she started her training, and the family that adopted her when she was 8, accepted her the way she was.

You see, she was born in a poor family, with a mother who would take beatings from her father. Sometimes, her father would even take it out on her.

He would take scorching hot rods and jab them at the young innocent girl. But even with that little mind of hers, she realized that if she stopped crying, and pretended that it didn’t hurt, her father would start wearing an expression of utmost confusion, one of which she enjoyed watching.

But the more she became expressionless, the more pain her father would inflict on her. Even her mother dared not stop him when he started hammering nails into her thighs. It would have been a very disturbing experience for most children, but oddly enough, she didn’t feel a thing, and the blood that came oozing out from her wounds felt good.

Finally, when the neighbors saw the burnt marks, the bruises and scars on her little body, they reported her father to the peacekeepers and he was sent away. Her mother, who was not in a proper state to look after her, was forced to watch as the peacekeepers took the little girl of the age of 7 to an orphanage.

There, she spent a year playing by herself, collecting sharp objects and staring at the other children till they were all so scared of her. Every family that came to see the children always asked about that little girl, who sat by the corner by herself. But every time they asked, they leave with no intentions of adopting her. It was at the mention of her horrific background that people were turned off.

One year later, a rich family, with no children of their own, decided to adopt a child. Their intentions were clear as they told the people who worked in the orphanage.

“We don’t want an ordinary kid. We want to raise a career tribute kid.”

And it was then that they were directed straight to the weird little girl, who did not stir any problems when she was told to follow the elderly man and woman.

When she was brought to her new home, she was lavished with new clothes, new toys and a huge bedroom. The elderly couple gave her everything, even though she he did not ask for anything. And when they saw that she was finally ready, they sent her to a special school to be trained.

One evening, on her 12th birthday, she asked her adopted parents one question, “Why did you adopt me?”

“Well, because we need someone to accompany us, and to make us proud,” her foster mother replied.

“O.K. Can I have a new set of knives for my birthday?” she replied.

“I’ll bring you to town tomorrow, you can pick them out,” her foster father replied from behind the daily newspaper.

And that was how she spent all her birthdays. She would ask the same question, followed by something she wanted, and her requests would be met.

But on her 15th birthday, she made a different request.

“Why did you adopt me?” she asked as usual.

“You know why my dear, to make us proud,” her foster mother replied pleasantly, not at all annoyed at the same question she was asked every year.

“Then, can I join this year’s hunger games?”

“You can volunteer if you like?” her foster father suggested, smiling broadly.

“No. I don’t want to volunteer. I don’t want people to think I’m ready,” she replied quickly.

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to pay them money to lie during the reaping,” she ordered.

“I don’t know about that my child, it’s a tricky thing to mess with the reaping process,” her foster father said.

“Maybe you can wait till you are eighteen, and then you can volunteer. It would make us both very proud of you?” her foster mother quickly added.

“I’m ready now. And you two are getting older, you might die before I turn eighteen,” she answered coldly.

It was no surprise to her foster parents that she spoke to them in such a way. As she grew older, she felt as though she was entitled to everything, and when she was given what she asked for, she became the spoiled, and rather sadistic brat.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do,” her foster father finally gave in.

“Good. I would also need a dress for the reaping,” she added.

“We will go look for one tomorrow. Is there anything else you need Clove?” her mother asked.

“No. That’s all for now,” Clove said, as she gathered the knives she was polishing on the table and headed to the garden to throw them at more frogs.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Daddy’s Little Girl

He never wanted this for her. He never wanted it for any of his children, but now that his daughter was finally of age, he wished she was never born.

But it was too late to go back now. His little girl has been trying to survive in an arena full of teenagers much more well trained than she was. And as the father of the girl whose late mother he had promised to protect, he couldn’t watch.

“Turn the broadcast off Reg,” he told his son.

“Dad,” Reg replied, not bothering to finish up his sentence.

“I don’t want to watch this,” he said to his oldest son, who went through 6 years of the reaping and was lucky enough not to be chosen.

“I need to know if she is safe dad,” Reg replied softly.

He shook his head in reply as he headed to his room immediately. As he slumped into his bed, he pulled open the side table drawer and took out a stack of letters.

As he untied the bundle, he took the first letter. It was the newest letter she had written to him. And though some may find it odd, but the bond he shared with his daughter was through the letters they wrote each other, which they would slip under their bedroom door from time to time.

Pulling out the brown crumpled paper, the neat handwriting immediately brought tears to his eyes.

“Dear daddy,

Today is my first reaping. I’m scared as hell, but Reg and Rave told me that the odds would be in my favor, cause there’s only one paper with my name on it. So I think I would be fine. But just in case I get chosen, I just want to say a few things.

1) I’m sorry I broke your picking pole. Yes, it was me. I lied to you when I said a dog did it. But I didnt mean to break it though. It was an accident, I swear. I hope you would forgive me.

2) I want to say thank you, for all you have done for Reg, Rave and me. I know I can be stubborn sometimes, so thank you for not getting mad every time I don’t do what you say.

3) I love you so much. And I love writing letters to you, and reading yours over and over again. I know I’m twelve this year and I should start acting my age, but I won’t ever stop writing you letters.

4) If I do get chosen for the hunger games, please don’t be sad. I am fast and I am good with trees, so I think I have a chance of surviving, and when I do win, I’ll come home with a lot of money, and you don’t have to work so hard anymore.

I think that is all. I’m going to put on that pretty dress you got for me now. I know I’m going to look prettier than most girls with the dress you bought. But I think you shouldn’t have wasted money on that, we could buy more bread with the money.

Anyways, I’ll be waiting for your reply!

Love, your only daughter, Rue.”

Immediately, he broke into tears. He couldn’t understand how her innocents could make her so strong and brave for a twelve year old. But as he reread the letter, he could see how alike she was to her mother, independent, courageous and loving. Yes, she definitely has a chance of winning, because she was his brave daughter.

Grabbing a piece of paper from the drawer, he started to write a reply letter.

“My lovely Rue,

I love you so much. So much more than you could ever imagine. I am so proud to have a daughter like you, who is not only as beautiful as your mother, but as brave and kind-hearted.

My naughty girl, I have already forgiven you, cause I knew you broke the picking pole. You can’t lie to me even if you tried so hard, because I know you too well! And I love writing letters to you too. I really hope you don’t grow out of it when you get older.

I know you would try your best to win the hunger games, but even if you don’t, remember that you have made us all so proud of you, not just our family, but the entire district.

I hope to see you soon because I miss you so much!

Please come home Rue. Daddy wants his little girl home.”

With that, he wiped the tears off his cheeks, folded the letter, slipped it into an old envelop, and strode over to his daughter’s room.

While his two sons watched him, he took a deep breath, slipped the letter under her bedroom door and turned to his sons as he said, “She’ll be coming home. I know she will.”

(I watched the Hunger Games today, and Rue’s death made me cry. At the end of the day, I couldn’t help but write something for her. So, this is in honor of Rue.)

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Snow’s Princess

This year was the start of a new kind of fear. And it was not the fear he was used to feeling.

Ever so often, Coriolanus would come face to face with his mortal enemy, the fear of losing. But every time the elections came around, he tramples on the very account of fear with his power statements accompanied by the cheers and applause from the people of Panem.

But this year, this was the least of his problems. He was the vice president of Panem, and he had nothing else to fear but the reaping.

The reaping, for those who lived in The Capitol, was a celebration, as the Hunger Games was commonly addressed to as an extreme sport of glory. Coriolanus grew up with that idea in mind. And when he was a boy, he always longed to be chosen for the games. Unfortunately for him, he was never chosen.

And though this year’s reaping may seem no different to many people, but it was different for him. Because this year, his princess comes of age. His princess was now old enough to have her name placed in the reaping.

Oh, to think he would be a proud father to have his daughter be chosen, you are wrong.

You see, Coriolanus’ daughter was special. She was a small, frail, petite girl, who had to live most of her life in her bedroom, inhaling from an oxygen tank. The moment she came into his world was the moment her lungs started failing. And as much as he wanted a strong beautiful baby, he was presented with a dying child, who had miraculously managed to live up to the age of 12.

Over all these years, Coriolanus became the protective father. Constantly paying for a chance of a real life for his daughter. But no matter what he did, there was barely any hope of her leaving her room.

This year, she might be forced to.

How on earth was his daughter going to survive the games when she could barely breath?

Coriolanus pleaded for the President’s exception on his daughter, but the no exception rule was hammered into his head, nearly jeopardizing his status.

“No exceptions! Do you see me pulling my son’s name out of the reaping?” the President said.

“But sir, my daughter can’t even leave her room.”

“Then she would be better off dead, wouldn’t she?”

With that, Coriolanus had to bear the streaming tears and demands of his wife in which he could never meet.

“You’re just going to let her die?”

“No exceptions! We do not have a choice!”

The both of them had to accept the rules sooner or later.

Still, the dilemma remains. If his princess is called to be a tribute, what would he do?

With his head throbbing, there he stood on the platform, next to the President. It was a late afternoon and the crowd that had filled the stadium were already cheering.

Coriolanus watched closely as the President dug his hand into a bowl of glass balls. The deafening sound of the crowd made it harder for him to concentrate as the President pulled out a ball and handed it to him.

As he stared blankly into the ball and the digital name hovering inside, Coriolanus slowly read, “Jasmine…”

The crowd went silent as they waited for him to continue.

“Jasmine Snow.”

It was a long and painful moment of silence. There were murmurs from the crowd, as nobody knew how to react.

“Ah, brilliant! That would be interesting!” the President so cold-heartedly spoke.

“Wouldn’t it be now Coriolanus?” The President turned to him, signalling him to respond.

“Yes, indeed. I am a proud father,” Coriolanus lied.

With distinct pain in his voice, the crowd’s oblivion led to an eruption of cheers.

Yes, the people loved him for his bravery at sacrificing his child. But he didn’t love himself.

When he came home that night, Coriolanus sat by his sleeping daughter’s bed side, weeping and begging for forgiveness.

What kind of a father was he?

As he held on to her small hand, Coriolanus’ only wish was for a chance to take her place, but that was impossible. It was then that her eyelids fluttered, and her lips began to softly mutter.

“What is it princess?”

“Daddy…”

“Yes princess?” Coriolanus fought back the tears as he leaned closer.

“I’ll make you proud.”

Her words penetrated his heart like a stake to his soul.

“I know princess. Rest now,” Coriolanus choked on his drying throat.

His worst fear had won. He now knew what he had to do.

Once his daughter had fallen back to sleep, Coriolanus headed to his office to retrieve from his safe a metal box, in which he kept a collection of untraceable poisons.

Picking up a green bottle, Coriolanus filled a syringe and hurried back to his daughter’s side.

As he watched the heart rate monitor beep, careful not to have his eyes fall on his innocent, precious daughter, he slowly injected the poison into her system.The beeping monitor finally met its end after a few seconds. It was that easy. But bearing the crushing pain in his chest wasn’t.

She was gone. Her pain was gone. So were her worries and troubles. He was her father. And as much as it was killing him inside, he had to do what he had to do. He had to save her. And he did.