The Third Annual Writer's Game: Roots

Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit | Jeffrey R. Beers

"They shot your Papa, Jeffrey. They shot him because of you."

He felt as if he was trapped in a dream, as if he was comatose and this was the alternate reality that he was living in. Although the words themselves had been uttered from the lips of his mother herself, Jeffrey R. Beers did his hardest to disbelieve that fact. His Papa couldn't be dead. He wouldn't allow his Papa to be dead, even though common sense told him that he could not control the mysterious forces of fate and death. After all, he was but a mere boy, miles from home, trying to stop himself from being killed in the third annual Hunger Games.

There was nothing that he could do, and that was the truth.

"There's nothing you can do, Jeffrey."

"But Papa," frustrated that his father had not even taken a minute to think about his request, sixteen-year-old Jeffrey stood up from his chair and all but marched to where Antonio Beers was standing by the window to force their eyes to meet. "I want to help! There has got to be some way that I can earn some money." Options flashed before his eyes as he waited to his father's answer – he could always do some odd jobs around the community, like help elderly Mrs. Falstry buy her weekly groceries, or continue gathering firewood to sell them at the market.

These options were smashed to the ground, however, when Antonio shook his head numbly, staring blankly out the window, "We can't pay the rent, Jeffrey. We're hundreds of dollars in debt. There's no way we can pay it all back now."

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying not to remember that horrific day when the screams and blood and lights had all began – the day that the Beers family faced possible homelessly, to be kicked out of their home and forced to beg off of the streets. The day that Jeffrey had rebelled against his father's wishes, unable to give up hope, and had subsequently made the worse and most regrettable decision of his life, all because of his stubbornness.

It was the day he agreed to steal.

The moon was riding high in the sky, pearled and feathered with the high-wind clouds as Jeffrey slipped through the abandoned alleyways of Eleven, eyes fixated upon the towering form of the mayor's mansion located near the centre of the District. A little wind sighed across the tangle of crisscrossing branches with a slight aeolian hum as he finally came to stop beside a meandering stream, which wound its way towards the magnificent house, where his trophy lay. "Break into the mayor's house," were his explicit instruction, from a tanned-skinned, muscled boy by the name of West. Leader of District Eleven's most infamous and powerful thieving gang. "Get your hands on whatever you can find. Jewels, silverware, food – anything of profit. We'll divide the spoils with you."

He agreed. Instantly. It would pay off the debt.

However, now Jeffrey bit his lip in anxiety as he continued his trek onwards towards the mansion, staying close to the shadows and trees for shelter. In the alleyways he had just left, West's gang stood, waiting patiently for their newest recruit to prove his skill. Though in reality Jeffrey had never stolen before, he had lied and said that he had stolen apples off of his neighbor's trees "a few weeks ago". The fib, combined with his powerful body and budging muscles, made it seem like he was an obvious choice for the group.

But he wasn't.

Because he was afraid.

Something inside him forced him to stop. I can't relive this, he thought, head buzzing with the hum of a thousand bees. I can't see this all again, oh god. Please, please stop. Even as he thought it, Jeffrey knew. His internal pleas were useless, for fate was and forever would be cruel. So instead of fighting the onslaught of memories, he closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and let himself be washed away by the waves.

"Hey! Stop that thief!"

One hand clutched a silver candelabra, while they other gripped the neck of his rough sack which bounced awkwardly on his shoulder as he fled out the front doors. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, blood was roaring in his ears, and the howls of the tracking dogs terrified him to the very core. At the edge of his vision he could see the original path that he had taken to get to the mansion – through a gap in the immaculately trimmed hedges which led to the gentle, bubbling brook, which paved the way towards the alleys. On instinct, his feet guided him in that direction, but halfway there he stopped, rational taking over. West's gang was there waiting. He could lead the authorities straight to the ones who could help him pay off his parent's debt! Already with a heavy conscience weighing him down, Jeffrey sharply veered towards another, less ideal exit – through the woods.

And through the woods he ran.

The world was silent and still around him, emitting false calmness and tranquility to fool the tributes into thinking that they were, for the time being, perfectly safe. Yet, there was a tingle that ran down Jeffrey's spine that told him that he was not safe, that something bad was about to happen, and his entire body stiffened, so that he was ready. Waiting for attack. To anyone who did not know the full backstory of Jeffrey R. Beers, they would have praised the boy's caution – but to those who did know (which were none) they shook their heads. It was attentiveness and paranoia that had sent him over the edge, to cause his arm to lose control and swing the candelabra at Sarah George's head.

It was the first step of the murder.

"Get out of my way!" He did not stop to contemplate the reasons why his orphan friend was wandering around the abandoned alleyways of Eleven so late at night, but he didn't stop to think. Behind him, the stretch of forest he had emerged from loomed ominously, shimmering underneath the pale glow of the moon. The vicious yapping and growling of the dogs had diminished, but they were still there – a threat to his and his family's safety. His heart was pounding at a thousand miles per hour, his vision was tainted with red, and when Sarah George only stared at him in shock, Jeffrey reacted. He brought the candelabra up, letting it hover in the air for a second, before swinging it down at the speed of light so that it connected with the little girl's head.

By all means, he would've kept running, if not for the cry of pain that Sarah George emitted, the cry of pain and hurt and betrayal. So Jeffrey stopped, only for a few seconds, but a few seconds were enough for the guilt to start eating away at his heart. He reached down and tried to offer her his hand, but a fire instead the girl had been ignited by the shock blow, and instead of taking Jeffrey's hand, she bit it. Hard. "Fuck you, Jeffrey!" A stream of crimson trickled down a gash on her forehead and don her nose. Though she was only young, her range of vocabulary was wide from the rowdy teenagers she'd often encountered on the streets. "Go to hell!"

And that, combined with the thieving, the running, the worry over the debt, was what finally broke him.

Jeffrey R. Beers went in for the kill.

In the end, he'd escaped. He'd left Sarah George's body lying bloodied and still on the ground, mind numb and shocked over what he had just done. He'd given the spoils to West, he had looked through it, and given Jeffrey the money that he thought it was worth. The debt was paid, though Antonio and Annabeth could never figure out where the earnings came from. Life returned to normal, or rather, for Annabeth Beers it did. The only member in the Beers family who remained blissfully unknowing of what had occurred, the years were kind to her, for she did not have to deal with the shame and anxiety and guilt that both Antonio and Jeffrey faced. The boy who had killed for his family, and the man who had risked everything – even his life – and lied for his son.

They were scarred for life, wounds that would never heal.

Perhaps, if his conscience continued to haunt him with memories of his past, turning everyday into a nightmare, then he should be free of it.

Perhaps, he should stop being so afraid.

Perhaps, Jeffrey R. Beers should end it all.

Perhaps.