~Shiny Happy People Holding Hands!~ ;) [OPEN!]
Jul 28, 2013 1:23:44 GMT -5
Post by Raeoki on Jul 28, 2013 1:23:44 GMT -5
Today was the third day; the final day of training for the tributes of the Twenty-eighth Annual Hunger Games. Then would come “the second most important of tomorrows” (the most important of tomorrows would be the day of initiation for the Games) – also known as the day of the private training sessions. Most tributes would claim nervousness; others would recognize within themselves a sense of urgency, to squeeze in as many hours of training as humanly possible, in preparation for the Games – and, perhaps, the private sessions, though perhaps not so much. The Hunger Games would be the true test of survival; the private sessions were merely dubious harbingers of the near future: none could take them literally. There were several tributes in the past that had earned themselves tens or elevens, only to be cut down by children who had gained fives or fours. It all truly relied upon the level of selfishness within each tribute – the least altruistic of all would be the one to triumph, for they only cared about their own preservation, not that of others.
Now, let it be admitted that Caritas did not think anything of the private training sessions or the “most important of tomorrows” – that was merely an introduction into the setting of this thread. However, Caritas did ponder the level of selfishness in victors and triumphant tributes, and he thought that he would be the first to die, for he was the only hyper-altruist in the whole bunch (at least, he was quite certain he was), and thus, surely, he would give his life to save the majority. Surely this was so. Surely?
Certainty in himself was now miles among miles away. Caritas had considered all that had been done prior to the day, and what he was doing in the present, whilst he stood on the training floor, standing in front of the fishing station, which was right next to the swimming station - which a smarter tribute would have found quite curious and possibly a hint to the arena’s landscape, but as Caritas was neither curious nor bright, he thought nothing of it. Instead, he considered his acts and his emotions – and upon his arrival to the Capitol, never had he known the brightness and lightness of altruism. Instead, he had felt fear and hatred, the children of the vice Preference, spawned by the devil Selfishness. This was wrong; this was very, very wrong! Caritas knew that he must be – aside from the president and his lackeys – the most altruistic person to have ever roamed the earth, for he believed that suffering was the key to virtuousness, that poverty was the key to metaphysical riches! He believed in giving; for the love of God, his very name meant “charity”! (In what language, of course, he knew not, only that it was very rather dead.) And, truly, what a fulfilled prophesy that had been, for his parents to decide upon “Caritas” prior to his birthing, and, by some miracle of Providence, the young boy had grown from a needy infant to a fellow of hyper-altruism and fervent nationalism and an ardent ideology built around subservience and suffering. How could he not be the most altruistic fellow of all? How could he – in all his virtue and harmony and charity – not be a perfect God among men; a second Jesus, if you will, in his love and willingness to suffer for the group – if there had been a first Jesus, of course, which was a likelihood that Caritas doubted, as it was sinful to believe that any individual – deity or otherwise – was above the collective’s government. And the rest? The rest were all selfish, and without a patriot bone in their disgusting, defiant bodies. They deserved their lives of turmoil and selfishness. Caritas, on the other hand, would surely earn himself the true triumph: the act of dying for the government he knew was good, for the collective that he knew was right.
But why did he now doubt this? “Surely, perhaps, how could he not…” Those were all questions and uncertainties; never had a certainty assured him that this would be his fate. But it was proving more difficult by the day to believe that he was truly – not surely – the hyper-altruist that he was; the one who die for his absolute altruism. And yet…and yet…
He knew this to be Melpomene’s fault. Everything was her fault. She was the reason why Caritas hated; why he feared; why he was selfish. Melpomene was a virus, spreading and tainting all healthy things; her selfishness and moodiness had reached into him and possessed him, as a devil possesses a poor, unknowing human. She was the cause behind all evil, and for this reason, Caritas wanted to stomp his foot onto her treacherous throat; for she had taught him to disvalue altruism and had caused him, in some instances, to replace it with a desire to abscond for the sake of himself. This was wrong; she was evil. And Caritas was glad that this was the last day of training, for that meant that his time with Melpomene would soon be over; that he would he soon enter the arena, and surely, the emergence would purge of him of this selfishness that she had brought into him. Yet, Caritas desired some more time, to consider any possibility to rid the world of the evil known as “Melpomene”, for she was an evil that deserved eradication before it spoiled everything. But Caritas knew somewhere deep in his heart knew that he could not – and not for any reason aside from himself; and when he realized that, he wished that he could yowl and throw himself onto the ground, for that was that the moment he knew he was evil; for Caritas was too fearful of death to destroy an individual for the sake of the group, and this was very horrid thing in his mind.
His father had always told him to value human life, no matter for any purpose, unless it concerned him in a very personal matter; but he was only a silly, wizening man who had seen the aftermath of dissention, and most likely did not regret any of the things he saw, for they were of an evil purpose, and Caritas had always known that his father’s silliness was a side effect of some hidden evil. A scene from not many years ago suddenly sprang into his head, with himself and his father as the actors, and the clucks and cries of hens being their background music. “Preservation’s a very important thing in human life, Cari,” Devhish had once said. “Killin’s only for when you need something, such as protection or when you are hungry. It’s kinda like our chickens – we don’t wanna kill ‘em, but we ‘ave tah, cause we gotta eat – that’s our trade; ‘ow we make our livin’.”
Caritas then promptly felt disagreement tug at his heart, and he did not ward it off, for the dissent was in agreement with the collective, and that was the only time a fellow was permitted to disagree with his elders or betters. “I don’t milk to that, Pop,” he said very bluntly. “We kill chickens ‘cause the gov’ment tells us too, ‘cause we gotta feed the population.”
Devhish’s face had become a little more open when he heard this, and Caritas could tell that he had surprised his father. “Ah – well – technically, that’s true, that’s true…But, well, we milk to all them gov’ment stuff because it provides us with our means ‘n’ our ends ‘n’ all that.”
Caritas had promptly become outraged, for this was a very selfish thing his father had just said, as it suggested that he harvested eggs and wrung chicken necks for the sake of himself and his family, not the government – not only acts that implied selfishness, but also preference, in the case of providing for only his family, not the nation. Caritas could feel his blood boil beneath the flesh of his face, and perhaps it was then that he realized that there was a hidden evil lurking within his father – but only at present, whilst he stood in a training floor, did he wonder why he called it “hidden”; why didn’t he ever think of it as a blatant evil? Because his father had taught him the virtue of suffering? Yet it was all so strange, that his father would tell him that suffering and starving made him a better person, and then go onto say that they lived among filthy, distasteful poultry for themselves and not the nation. Caritas considered the day of the reaping, and his time on the train, during the few occasions where he considered his father, all of which he had concluded with the decision that Joshua Devhish was a very silly man. But never had he pondered upon the extent of Devhish’s silliness; not once had he thought on the possibility that this “silliness” would beget philosophical contradictory. In those days, Caritas had rationalized only upon the emotional impact that his father’s own silliness brought to him; now, however, he wondered if Devhish’s silliness was, in fact, dangerous – for only madmen with a well hidden evil contradict themselves. And it was at this point that Caritas flushed crimson, for merely the idea that his father was capable of bringing harm to Panem’s utopian state brought to him great shame – for he knew within him that it was possible; that an emotional, contradicting old fool like Joshua Devhish could easily upset the balance of things, and he decided that if he returned home, he ought to halt his father from doing some drastic things.
Suddenly, Caritas’s body jolted forward, and thin form became very rigid, and his eyes dilated and darted about in wary fear, as if he fretted that some ill-spirited shadow-person was following him and observing him. His heart palpitated and became agitated by a great panic, and his mind promptly proceeded to attempt a cleansing of all that had been thought by him in that hour. For something very strange and very evil was within him, something that had crawled out from the deepest and darkest bowls of the hate and selfishness that Melpomene had implanted within him, had wiggled into his brain, and had whispered to his mind something very dangerous, something very egotistical – a reason to live; a desire to survive. For now Caritas wished to return home, to stop his father from performing something selfish, something rebellious – and perhaps that was right, in the eyes of the collective, but currently, after all that he had planned, after deciding several times over that he would be the first to die, Caritas judged that this desire was selfish, and called for something – anything – to purge it. Like what, though, huh?! Like what?! Caritas wanted to scream at himself, and his hands flung upward and pounced upon his ears, just as they had done when he had first seen the president’s pets. Caritas’s eyeballs darted about in his sockets, until they finally decided to look ahead of him – and there, before him, was the fishing station.
Caritas ran to it as if it was Eden – the place of perpetual paradise and hope. He went there by the whim of arbitrariness, without logic or rationality or consideration of his hyper-altruism; there was no reason to think, for it was thinking that had set him into this dire state that he was attempting to free himself of, and thus, thinking was evil – was wrong. Nothing could be accomplished with thought; one had to be driven or lead to do something pertinent (such was Caritas’s belief). He halted abruptly before a table, and his hands jumped on the tools and the various materials that were meant for the creation of the fishing rod. Caritas did not wait for one of the trainers to notice him, nor did he call for one; without knowing what his hands were doing, he started working, building…something. Caritas didn’t know, but he didn’t care either; so long as he was moving, never thinking – Caritas knew he could purge himself of this newly crafted desire to live.
_____________________________________
Water Closet: 2,034
Now, let it be admitted that Caritas did not think anything of the private training sessions or the “most important of tomorrows” – that was merely an introduction into the setting of this thread. However, Caritas did ponder the level of selfishness in victors and triumphant tributes, and he thought that he would be the first to die, for he was the only hyper-altruist in the whole bunch (at least, he was quite certain he was), and thus, surely, he would give his life to save the majority. Surely this was so. Surely?
Certainty in himself was now miles among miles away. Caritas had considered all that had been done prior to the day, and what he was doing in the present, whilst he stood on the training floor, standing in front of the fishing station, which was right next to the swimming station - which a smarter tribute would have found quite curious and possibly a hint to the arena’s landscape, but as Caritas was neither curious nor bright, he thought nothing of it. Instead, he considered his acts and his emotions – and upon his arrival to the Capitol, never had he known the brightness and lightness of altruism. Instead, he had felt fear and hatred, the children of the vice Preference, spawned by the devil Selfishness. This was wrong; this was very, very wrong! Caritas knew that he must be – aside from the president and his lackeys – the most altruistic person to have ever roamed the earth, for he believed that suffering was the key to virtuousness, that poverty was the key to metaphysical riches! He believed in giving; for the love of God, his very name meant “charity”! (In what language, of course, he knew not, only that it was very rather dead.) And, truly, what a fulfilled prophesy that had been, for his parents to decide upon “Caritas” prior to his birthing, and, by some miracle of Providence, the young boy had grown from a needy infant to a fellow of hyper-altruism and fervent nationalism and an ardent ideology built around subservience and suffering. How could he not be the most altruistic fellow of all? How could he – in all his virtue and harmony and charity – not be a perfect God among men; a second Jesus, if you will, in his love and willingness to suffer for the group – if there had been a first Jesus, of course, which was a likelihood that Caritas doubted, as it was sinful to believe that any individual – deity or otherwise – was above the collective’s government. And the rest? The rest were all selfish, and without a patriot bone in their disgusting, defiant bodies. They deserved their lives of turmoil and selfishness. Caritas, on the other hand, would surely earn himself the true triumph: the act of dying for the government he knew was good, for the collective that he knew was right.
But why did he now doubt this? “Surely, perhaps, how could he not…” Those were all questions and uncertainties; never had a certainty assured him that this would be his fate. But it was proving more difficult by the day to believe that he was truly – not surely – the hyper-altruist that he was; the one who die for his absolute altruism. And yet…and yet…
He knew this to be Melpomene’s fault. Everything was her fault. She was the reason why Caritas hated; why he feared; why he was selfish. Melpomene was a virus, spreading and tainting all healthy things; her selfishness and moodiness had reached into him and possessed him, as a devil possesses a poor, unknowing human. She was the cause behind all evil, and for this reason, Caritas wanted to stomp his foot onto her treacherous throat; for she had taught him to disvalue altruism and had caused him, in some instances, to replace it with a desire to abscond for the sake of himself. This was wrong; she was evil. And Caritas was glad that this was the last day of training, for that meant that his time with Melpomene would soon be over; that he would he soon enter the arena, and surely, the emergence would purge of him of this selfishness that she had brought into him. Yet, Caritas desired some more time, to consider any possibility to rid the world of the evil known as “Melpomene”, for she was an evil that deserved eradication before it spoiled everything. But Caritas knew somewhere deep in his heart knew that he could not – and not for any reason aside from himself; and when he realized that, he wished that he could yowl and throw himself onto the ground, for that was that the moment he knew he was evil; for Caritas was too fearful of death to destroy an individual for the sake of the group, and this was very horrid thing in his mind.
His father had always told him to value human life, no matter for any purpose, unless it concerned him in a very personal matter; but he was only a silly, wizening man who had seen the aftermath of dissention, and most likely did not regret any of the things he saw, for they were of an evil purpose, and Caritas had always known that his father’s silliness was a side effect of some hidden evil. A scene from not many years ago suddenly sprang into his head, with himself and his father as the actors, and the clucks and cries of hens being their background music. “Preservation’s a very important thing in human life, Cari,” Devhish had once said. “Killin’s only for when you need something, such as protection or when you are hungry. It’s kinda like our chickens – we don’t wanna kill ‘em, but we ‘ave tah, cause we gotta eat – that’s our trade; ‘ow we make our livin’.”
Caritas then promptly felt disagreement tug at his heart, and he did not ward it off, for the dissent was in agreement with the collective, and that was the only time a fellow was permitted to disagree with his elders or betters. “I don’t milk to that, Pop,” he said very bluntly. “We kill chickens ‘cause the gov’ment tells us too, ‘cause we gotta feed the population.”
Devhish’s face had become a little more open when he heard this, and Caritas could tell that he had surprised his father. “Ah – well – technically, that’s true, that’s true…But, well, we milk to all them gov’ment stuff because it provides us with our means ‘n’ our ends ‘n’ all that.”
Caritas had promptly become outraged, for this was a very selfish thing his father had just said, as it suggested that he harvested eggs and wrung chicken necks for the sake of himself and his family, not the government – not only acts that implied selfishness, but also preference, in the case of providing for only his family, not the nation. Caritas could feel his blood boil beneath the flesh of his face, and perhaps it was then that he realized that there was a hidden evil lurking within his father – but only at present, whilst he stood in a training floor, did he wonder why he called it “hidden”; why didn’t he ever think of it as a blatant evil? Because his father had taught him the virtue of suffering? Yet it was all so strange, that his father would tell him that suffering and starving made him a better person, and then go onto say that they lived among filthy, distasteful poultry for themselves and not the nation. Caritas considered the day of the reaping, and his time on the train, during the few occasions where he considered his father, all of which he had concluded with the decision that Joshua Devhish was a very silly man. But never had he pondered upon the extent of Devhish’s silliness; not once had he thought on the possibility that this “silliness” would beget philosophical contradictory. In those days, Caritas had rationalized only upon the emotional impact that his father’s own silliness brought to him; now, however, he wondered if Devhish’s silliness was, in fact, dangerous – for only madmen with a well hidden evil contradict themselves. And it was at this point that Caritas flushed crimson, for merely the idea that his father was capable of bringing harm to Panem’s utopian state brought to him great shame – for he knew within him that it was possible; that an emotional, contradicting old fool like Joshua Devhish could easily upset the balance of things, and he decided that if he returned home, he ought to halt his father from doing some drastic things.
Suddenly, Caritas’s body jolted forward, and thin form became very rigid, and his eyes dilated and darted about in wary fear, as if he fretted that some ill-spirited shadow-person was following him and observing him. His heart palpitated and became agitated by a great panic, and his mind promptly proceeded to attempt a cleansing of all that had been thought by him in that hour. For something very strange and very evil was within him, something that had crawled out from the deepest and darkest bowls of the hate and selfishness that Melpomene had implanted within him, had wiggled into his brain, and had whispered to his mind something very dangerous, something very egotistical – a reason to live; a desire to survive. For now Caritas wished to return home, to stop his father from performing something selfish, something rebellious – and perhaps that was right, in the eyes of the collective, but currently, after all that he had planned, after deciding several times over that he would be the first to die, Caritas judged that this desire was selfish, and called for something – anything – to purge it. Like what, though, huh?! Like what?! Caritas wanted to scream at himself, and his hands flung upward and pounced upon his ears, just as they had done when he had first seen the president’s pets. Caritas’s eyeballs darted about in his sockets, until they finally decided to look ahead of him – and there, before him, was the fishing station.
Caritas ran to it as if it was Eden – the place of perpetual paradise and hope. He went there by the whim of arbitrariness, without logic or rationality or consideration of his hyper-altruism; there was no reason to think, for it was thinking that had set him into this dire state that he was attempting to free himself of, and thus, thinking was evil – was wrong. Nothing could be accomplished with thought; one had to be driven or lead to do something pertinent (such was Caritas’s belief). He halted abruptly before a table, and his hands jumped on the tools and the various materials that were meant for the creation of the fishing rod. Caritas did not wait for one of the trainers to notice him, nor did he call for one; without knowing what his hands were doing, he started working, building…something. Caritas didn’t know, but he didn’t care either; so long as he was moving, never thinking – Caritas knew he could purge himself of this newly crafted desire to live.
_____________________________________
Water Closet: 2,034
