Writer's Games Entries

Task 1: "The Training-Session"

"Boy, what are you up to?" Those are the first words I hear as I have my back turned to him. The drugs must've worn out. Of course he'll recognize me from seeing my back...he's been used to seeing that the past eight years. When I turn around, I start to wonder how this pathetic puny human-being has been able to intimidate me in the past? I mean look at him. I've let him literally get under my skin and molest me and now he just looks pathetic. He always has looked pathetic. I just didn't realize it until I learned of his true nature.

"Are you feeling a little out of your element, step-father? That's funny, so have I for the last eight years." I let out as I turn around to face him. God, he looks even more pathetic now that he's probably going to beg for his life. "We are both gathered here today to teach you the lesson you've taught me the past eight years. It's actually funny that I thought I knew what pain was when I lost my mother, but you, you introduced me to an entirely different kind of pain. Needless to say, I haven't been able to think about much else."

I bend my upper body slightly towards him, still keeping a distance as I look into his green eyes of scum. I walk back to the table of darts and berries that I've mixed together. I then walk towards him and sting the dart into his neck. "What the hell, Cyrus?" He lets out as I grab a stool and place it a few meters in front of him as he starts to feel some of the effects of the poison. "I'm impressed...you actually do remember my name." I let out as I just look at him for a moment. Weak, pathetic...you got any synonyms for him? I could possibly think of more but he wouldn't even understand them.

"What are you doing, Cyrus? Why are we here?" He lets out, slightly shakier in his voice. I give him a crooked smile at the tone. "You should save your breath, step-father. Going all 'Cyrus' on me won't save you. I never went all 'Lex' on you all the times in my bedroom so you don't get to do that." I let out. My pulse is high I sense. Keep in control, Cyrus. Stick to the plan, I tell myself. "No, I'm gonna hand to you what you've been handing to me all these years. You're just gonna feel it twice as much as I have...I've made sure of it." I let out as I get up on my feet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In a rather pathetic District-uniform, even more pathetic than what I've been wearing in prison the last couple of years, I'm sitting on a chair outside of the session-room waiting for my turn. I lean back against the wall, dragging my foot up to rest it on my knee as I see a couple of the guards around me straighten up the moment my eyes hit them. "You guys seem a little tense..." I let out in a calm and probably unnerving voice.

I look back down on my hands as I chuckle lightly to myself as I turn my attention towards the doors in front of me. I decide to make a little entertainment for the guards so I start cracking my hands and fingers up to the point where they almost snap, but they don't. The guards around turn tense to the sounds as I distinctively show them my wrists out of position. It's enough just showing them. They'll imagine it as their own and they'll just feel this lump in their throats, trying to avoid vomit. "Hold it in now, guys." I let out as I can see it in their faces.

I've been given a lot of time to experiment in prison. Things do go to hell if it's properly dislocated. I learned that the first time, but I had to learn to fix it myself. Nobody dared to come in and fix it for me. They're all just a bunch of cowards in there. I mean, come on, how can any of them be considered as the right man for the job if they can't handle an 18 year old prisoner like me?

Right, I almost forgot, I'm the most intimidating inmate they've got. They're all too damn scared no matter what experience they've got in the past. The "Joint-Wrecker" has made quite a name for himself so nobody dares to have anything to do with me when I come to think of it.