literature

Training Final: December

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Literature Text

Something’s chasing him.

Everything’s dark, he can’t see but he sure as hell can feel the hot breath on his neck. A light appears in the distance. He runs harder, panting, pushing the hair from his eyes. He pulls his hand away and the hair clings to it. It’s light enough now to see his hair coming away in chunks. The blonde strands slip away and he wants to cry, but he has to keep running.

There’s a river. The water rushes past in a swoosh, getting louder and louder. He wants to look back, but the breath’s still at his neck. He dives into the river.


“FUCK.”

December’s eyes snapped open the moment the word left his mouth. Water drenched him from above, soaking through his pajamas and plastering hair to his face. He scrambled out from under the stream (knocking over a million expensive shampoo bottles in the process) and face first onto the cool tile.  He lay there for a moment, heart racing as he tried to take in his surroundings. Slowly, he picked his head up.

That’s right. His bathroom. In the capitol. Everything was sterile and white, a strain on his eyes, but a welcome sight.

As he lay there, a sopping wet pile of pajamas and hair care products, he contemplated shoving his face into the gooey mixture steadily seeping onto the floor and drowning himself. But just then, the door flew open and nearly hit him in the face. He skittered out of the way, slipping and sliding in the sticky mess.

“What’s your problem? Do you realize what time it is?!”

His head snapped up to see Charlotte standing in the doorway, hands planted on her hips. He scowled and sat up. “No I don’t!” That wasn’t exactly the number one priority on his list. “I was sleepwalking, okay? Leave me alone.” It was early and he was soaked, so he was in no mood to even pretend to be nice to Charlotte.

Which hadn’t been working out anyway.

When they’d first met on the train, and December figured out who her sister was, (Ms. Ragbone, only the most attractive teacher in the universe) he made a solemn vow to get on her good side. Then, when he arrived home, triumphant, Ms. Ragbone would see he was a mature, sensitive individual and he’d protected her sister to the last, but, tragically, a twelve year old girl just couldn’t hold up to the rigors of the Hunger Games.  

Or maybe she was 13?

In any case, nothing had gone according to plan. Charlotte disliked him at once, irritating December to no end. How hard was it to get someone to like you? Nevertheless, he kept at it the entire train ride. But once they reached the Capitol he was totally done with that and resorted to only being nice to her in front of the cameras. That was the only thing that really mattered anyway.

Even if Charlotte’s obvious distain for him did bother him personally.

It was written all over her face as she glared. "It's 3am. Dammit, December. You need to make sure you don't that shit out there. You're gonna get us killed."  Ugh, so not cute. How could she be so drastically different from her sister?

December pouted as he picked himself off the floor. The water still ran behind him but he didn't feel like reaching in there and turning it off just then. “I won't,” he muttered, stripping his soggy, sticky shirt off. “If anyone's gonna get us killed, it’s you.” He scrubbed at his eyes, in attempt to get the water off his eyelashes, but it stung terribly. Shit, shampoo in his eyes. He squinted and rubbed it more furiously. “You're... tiny.”

"At least I'll be able to hide," Charlotte huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the door. "You'll just give our position away. Or we'll get separated. What then?"

The soap stabbed into his cornea, only getting worse as he continued to rub. "They're gonna find you." Shit, he was gonna go blind. "And if we get separated, great, then I can find a new ally." Never mind that he knew none of the other tributes.

“No they won’t. And if they do, I can outrun them.” December could barely make out her small form turning through the slits his eyes had been reduced to. “Fine with me. You’ll definitely find another ally with your immense skill set and winning personality,” she spat, rolling her eyes. “Try some water in those eyes. You’re just rubbing more shampoo in.”

December grimaced but didn’t remove the hand from his face. “Don’t tell me what to do!” Like hell he was going to do as she suggested in front of her. He’d wait until she left for that. “Just… go back to bed.”

“Fine. Have fun getting that toxic shit outta your eye.”

She was already out the door by the time he stuck out his tongue at her. Whatever. She could be that way, it wasn’t like he needed her or anything.

Now that that was over, December stripped off the rest of his gooey clothes and stepped into the still running shower. As the goop slid from his skin, he vaguely wondered how much water he’d just wasted, but immediately dismissed it. He would never have to worry about stupid poor people stuff like that again. He’d just emptied several expensive soaps. It didn’t matter anymore. These people were rich and soon he’d be too.


When December woke again, he was safely in bed. The dreams had not returned, or maybe they had because he was left feeling distinctly odd and empty as he padded across the wide room to the closet. He tried to shake off the feeling, but it persisted as he dressed.

It boiled over when he spotted his flower hair clip lying on the table. Bree had given it him, just before he left…

He swallowed back the unbidden emotion rising in his throat and told himself he’d see her again. No one knew the games better than him.


But as he sat in the holding room, next a silent Charlotte, he still had no idea what skill to show the judges. Before he’d left, Carwyn simply told him to “show them your amazing personality” but he was fairly sure the man was just being sarcastic. Sure, December hadn’t been the best trainee, but that didn’t mean Carwyn had to give up on him so easily… He’d probably told Charlotte all the secrets to the arena, keeping December in the dark so he’d be forced to stay with Charlotte and protect her until the very end when she, the favorite, would stab him in the back.

 Maybe he’d just have to kill her first.

But as he looked to the little girl out of the corner of his eye, he thought better of it. If he did that, he’d have zero chance with Ms. Ragbone.

“December Cropperwood.”

He sprang to attention, causing Charlotte to snicker. But he ignored her and sucked in a deep breath. Without looking back, he strode to the door, hoping he projected confidence.

But as December walked into the training room for the last time, he still had nothing. Though his hair looked great and his training clothes were freshly pressed, he knew that wasn’t anything that impressed the judges. Panic rose in his chest as he stood out in front of the judges, feeling entirely too warm.

He smiled shakily at the people before him  (who appeared to be slightly bored by this point) and turned to the weapons laid out behind him. His eyes landed on the sword. Impressive, pointy, sexy… No, he had royally screwed up the first day. There was no way he’d be able to show something impressive with that. But what else did he have? He could barely hunt or fish and somehow running the obstacle course didn’t seem like a glamorous talent.

Unless he ran it with the sword.

It was a really stupid idea, but the more he thought about, the better it sounded. Anyone could run the obstacle course, but it took an exceptional person to run it with a weapon. And wasn’t that the most practical thing? It wasn’t as if he’d been running around the arena with his hands free all the time. He’d have a bag or something at least.

December picked up a sword from the table and headed back to the obstacle course. He could just imagine the judges’ raised eyebrows.

He leaned down and braced himself for a moment before sprinting towards the hurdles. The sword was heavy in his hands, but slightly less so than on the first day. He climbed the small wall with one hand, holding the sword in the other and being very careful not to cut and or impale himself.

He hit the balance beam running and nearly overbalanced, unused to the weight of the sword. But the day before he’d gotten better at it, so he managed not to windmill too badly as he thundered across.

Monkey bars. Dammit.

It occurred to December that he should hold the sword in his teeth like a true badass. It was heavy, but wasn’t jaw strength like… something ridiculous? If his jaws could snap a finger like a carrot (or so he’d been told) he could hold onto a sword.

After climbing up the small ladder, December stuck the sword in his mouth. The cool metal pressed against his tongue and threatened his sensitive gag reflex, but he fought it off.  His arms ached from yesterday’s workout, but he gingerly made his way over to the other side, hilt clenched firmly between his teeth. But he dismounted too hard and it slipped, cutting his tongue as it clattered to the floor. Grimacing, he spit blood onto the immaculate floor.

He tried not to look at the judges as he snatched up the sword and sucked on his tongue. He could feel various other cuts on the insides of his cheeks and cursed himself for such a stupid move. Not eager to repeat the same mistake twice, December left the sword on the ground to tackle the big wall and picked it up again for the crawl under barbed wire.

As he slithered under the sharp barbs, another brilliant idea came to him. He would not merely emerge and stand. Boring. He would instead roll out and spring to his feet.

He swallowed as the end approached and set aside the sword when he reached it. Closing his eyes (not the best idea, in retrospect) he pulled himself out on his hands and did a front roll.

It would have worked, had he given himself another inch.

Instead he snagged his pants on a barb and they tore with a racket that echoed off the metal walls. Shitshitshit.

A million things flashed through December’s mind (including his life) as he jumped to his feet. Judging by the breeze, the hole had exposed his left leg from top to knee. And the judges knew it too, for when he looked up at them he could see some of them snickering or attempting to keep a straight face.

He could have just left then and there, but December was far too used to being laughed at. Instead, he leaned down and ripped his pant leg the rest of the way down and tied the two ends together around his leg.

High fashion, bitch.


It wasn’t until later that he found out Charlotte had also run the obstacle course, and he was Super Pissed at her for stealing his thunder, but that’s another story.
MAN I DON'T EVEN KNOW.
I sat down to write this with the intention of getting December a good training score, but then all these ideas came to me and I couldn't just NOT use them so... Sorry, December, I kinda screwed you over.

Charlotte: ~54fetypin
© 2013 - 2024 ObsessedXShipper
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X-I-L2048's avatar
lol - this was a fun read. XD December and Charlotte have such a lovely working relationship, don't they? Smooth move with the ripped pants there, too. ;D