Private Training
Time was passing by very slowly. Hours would go by before it was Brady's turn to go before the Gamemakers. He sat patiently with the rest of the tributes. Some were come and confident, others sat nervously with fear written across their faces. Brady was neither. He was just tired. Tired in both body and mind. Tired from the days of training. Tired of being away from his family. Tired of his life being dictated by a cold President that knew nothing of his life. Tired of his life being on the line.
He closed his eyes and dreamed of home. Anabel's hand held in his. The smell of her hair and the sound of her voice. The way she kissed his cheek each night before bed and each morning when she woke up. The fields of orange trees stretching out as far as the eye could see. His children when they were still children, running around the yard. Laughter floating out of their small home. A reaping bowl with his name in it.
Brady Olliver, District 11.
The automatic voice woke him, announcing it was time for his private training.
Brady slowly stood up and walked towards the training hall. He hadn't really thought about what he would do, but now he knew. The walk to the center of the room was too long, but he moved just the same, ignoring the ache in his knees with each step and trying to be strong. That's what Anabel would want. He looked over the Gamemakers for a moment, and then started.
"I was born in the fields of District 11," Brady began, making his voice bounce around the halls. There was a slight echo and he paused to let it finish. "Quite literally in the fields. My mother was only allowed three days before birth and a week after off of work. Unpaid time, of course. And then I came a few days early. So there I was born, right in the middle of a corn field. Ironically I never was a big fan of the stuff myself."
"I worked there for most of my childhood too," Brady began to move about the room, examining different items. He bent close to look at the shine of one of the swords. It was likely one of the Careers used it earlier. He moved towards the plant station, and began picking at a few of the plants. He put one too his tongue and tasted. Sour. "I had three brothers and a sister. They worked with me in the fields. They're all dead now except my youngest brother." He tasted another. Even more sour. He hoped he didn't end up in an arena with nothing but that. "Didn't get to go to school much, and never after I turned twelve. I was too strong, meant I was needed for the hard labor in the fields. They say its an honor. But that's just another lie."
"When I was old enough I moved out and started moving around to find work. Instead I found Anabel." Brady moved on to another station, didn't see anything interesting, and then moved to another. "I was smart. Head down, do the work, live. But she was a fool. A beautiful, beautiful fool," he closed his eyes for a moment and saw her smiling face. He hoped she would be proud of him. "She couldn't keep her mouth shut when it came to the Capitol abuse. Was nearly beaten to death several times by your supposed Peacekeepers. But they couldn't get her to stop. That's why I loved her. No idea why she loved me."
"We had kids. Three. Each as beautiful as their mother. And then they gave us grandchildren." The children were all so beautiful, even if they weren't children anymore. It killed Brady that he might not see them again. "They all grew up in the fields too unfortunately, though we did our best to make sure they got more schooling than I did. The fields are hard, but they are beautiful. There are trackerjacker nests in some, and there are always the risk of other mutts in the outskirts, but when the flowers bloom, Lord is it something. I love the orange trees the best. Though the apple orchards are nice too."
His voice trailed off as he turned again. For the first time in several minutes he was looking at the Gamemakers again. They sat on their platform with their feast and drinks adorned in bright colors that made them look as ridiculous as the Capitol audience.
"No." Brady said quietly. They were ignoring him. He was one of the districts to go. He was the second oldest contestant. Of course the Gamemakers were ignoring him. He was boring and uninteresting, why should they care? They'd give him a randomly selected low number and be done with it. Why waste their precious time giving him a chance when they could be socializing with each other?
"No," he said again this time his voice had risen into a yell. He hands gripped the cart in front of him until his knuckles turned white. For sixty-two years he had let them ignore him. He had lived because he was invisible. This was his chance to take a stand. It was the opportunity few wanted and few got. Brady was going to make something of this. Anger boiled through him and his hands seemed to take a life of their own. His arms swung out. The metal cart flew away from him. The metal clattered across the ground. It stopped halfway across the training center floor. Brady may be old and his body not what it used to be, but the man was still fairly strong from his lifetime of farm work. The hall was silent except for the cart. The Gamemakers had stopped their festivities and turned to watch them.
Brady began to speak again, this time fully yelling. "You will listen to me when I am speaking."
There was a long pause of silence. The Gamemaker's attention was caught. He looked each and every one of them in the eye. The men and women who were sending him to his death. Their eyes were harsh and unforgiving but Brady kept looking. He would not let the Capitol intimidate him any longer. He kept eye contact with the Head Gamemaker. He held his head high for every time he dropped his head down for a Peacekeeper, for every time he let them walk over him and abuse him, for every time he let them abuse someone else. His unyielding gaze kept steady. Without looking away he spoke, his voice lower than before, but carrying better now that the Gamemakers had quieted. "You will do me that courtesy."
"I am Brady Olliver of District. I am sixty-two years old. I am a husband, a father, a grandfather. I have worked in the fields my entire life. I have two bad knees and pain in my finger joints. My favorite color is the red of just ripened apples. I have a scar above my eye from the first time I met my wife. I have scars on my back from when my sister decided to steal an apple from the field we worked. I love the taste of beef but I only get it once or twice a year. I'm scared of the days to come, but I'm not afraid of dying."
The buzzer went off. His time was done.
"I thought you might like to know the man your about to kill." Brady said.