Jayson Skeenes

Basic Information
Name: Jayson Skeenes

Age: 15

District: 6

Gender: Male

Weapons: Spear (Both melee and throwing), Ability to Make Traps

Personality
Jayson is a very personable person. He always has been. He likes to make friends and make detailed observations about people that he may trust. He is also very trustworthy to people he knows he can trust. With that being said, he is also a good judge of character. However, he is very quiet, and keeps to himself unless he warms up to somebody. He has a mutual respect for fighters. If he gets close to somebody, he often forms a brotherly bond with them, and would protect them with his life.

Strengths
Jayson is extremely strong, and trains in weight lifting and agility to look presentable to Capitol citizens as a porter. During this training, he travels to District 4, and works with Careers. He is mocked for this, but has a leg up on other tributes in the arena. He is particularly good with a spear, and can throw on at great speed. He also has great ears, and is able to tell how many people approach him, how far away they are, and what speed they are traveling. He can also make traps extremely well.

Weaknesses
Jayson will not kill unless he is protecting somebody he is close to or in extreme danger. He also constantly has nightmares about his past experiences (see below). He has never learned to swim, and isn’t a particularly fast runner. He is unfamiliar with the concept of letting go, and will enact revenge on anybody who injures or kills one of his friends.



Fears: Death of his friend Amber.



Backstory
(First-Person)(Aged 13)

It was a normal day. The sun was shining, and the trains were whizzing by the house, shaking the dust that had gathered underneath the beams of the ceiling. In fact, the sun was even brighter than usual. I woke up at the end of the sunset.

“Oh shit!” I cried. I slept in too late.

Frantically, I struggled to put on my uniform for work. I better had not missed my train. A Shirt, some pants, socks, shoes, and a white cap were all I needed for the long and tumultuous trip to the Capitol. I sprinted out the door, paying no attention to the eeriness of the house or the fact that the door was wide open.

Working as a porter was the best thing I could have asked for. Even with the flourishing disgust I had for Capitol citizens and their obstinacy, the beautiful skyscrapers and lavish scenery that I was surrounded by was mind-blowing to someone from a lower-middle class district. Despite the erroneous behavior of the Capitol citizens, I enjoyed interacting with them and hearing their “today I’m wearing”s and their “woe is me”s. I would be stationed there for two days, which I was disappointed about, as the Capitol is much more interesting than the oppression I experienced in District 6.

<p class="MsoNormal">However, as soon as I sprinted outside towards the station, I knew something had gone terribly wrong. The smell of oil and gas filled the air, and the blackest smoke I had ever seen covered the once glistening sun. I was aghast, but continued to walk towards the scene.

<p class="MsoNormal">Once I arrived, I stopped and stared. There were two trains, each shattered into shrapnel, on either side of what used to be the station. Arms and legs and heads and torsos and blood littered the area. I looked down, and saw a bloody torso in front of me, still pulsing from the beat of the heart. This happened just now.

<p class="MsoNormal">There was an eerie silence from around the station. The smoke covered some of my view, but I could hear no sound except the sound of the fire that had broken out. Oil was still spilling on the ground. Nobody had arrived. Nobody had survived. I had to get out as soon as possible.

<p class="MsoNormal">But then I heard a cry.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Help,” she whispered, too weak to force the cry into a yell.

<p class="MsoNormal">I doubted that anybody had actually spoken. “Is somebody there,” I shouted.

<p class="MsoNormal">I heard the cry again, this time stronger. Then again. Again. I followed the voice.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Don’t move!” I said, stepping over bones and flesh. “I’m coming to you!”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Please help me!”

<p class="MsoNormal">Then I heard an all-too-familiar sound. It was the sound of a train traveling on train tracks. I put my ear to the ground and watched the gravel and shrapnel vibrate. The train was moving way too fast.

<p class="MsoNormal">I broke out into a sprint! Looking around desperately, I cried in vain.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Where are you? I have to find you!”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Help!” she cried again, but this time much closer.

<p class="MsoNormal">I went onto my hands and knees and crawled, looking under the wreckage.

<p class="MsoNormal">Then I could see a hand.

<p class="MsoNormal">It was moving.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I can see you!” I cried. There was no response. I saw the piece of thick metal covering her. Knowing that this piece of metal was all I needed to get to the girl, I wedged my shoulders under it, squatted, and then pushed up with my entire body. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I managed to lift the thick metal.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Climb out! I said. There was no response.

<p class="MsoNormal">I struggled to turn my body under the weight of the metal. I reached in, groping for something I could latch on to. I felt her hand. I could see the train now, coming straight for the wreckage. It was not breaking.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Come on!” I said, trying to get a grip on her hand. The train was closer now, only a kilometer away.

<p class="MsoNormal">I got a grip her hand. I pulled as hard as I could, and she became free from the confines of the thick metal barrier. I picked her up in my arms, and ran as fast as I could. The train was only meters away. I dropped to the ground and covered the girl with my body as the train exploded once it hit the wreckage. I heard screams, then silence.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Is it over?”

<p class="MsoNormal">I looked down to see a small girl, maybe 8 years old, crying in my arms.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Is it over?” she repeated, this time more urgently. I didn’t speak. I just carried her directly into my house, and laid her down on the couch.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Where’s mommy” she asked, as if expecting an answer. I didn’t respond, knowing the worst.

<p class="MsoNormal">That’s when it hit me.

<p class="MsoNormal">My parents were supposed to leave on the train before me.

<p class="MsoNormal">What if they were on the train?

<p class="MsoNormal">“What’s your name?” I finally said to the girl.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Amber,” she said. “Where’s mommy?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t know Amber.” I found myself asking the same question. I knew the answer to both our questions.

<p class="MsoNormal">We slept through the morning and woke up the next day. We were the only ones in the house for the next two years.

<p class="MsoNormal">