Ikaika Mathilda

''"AIDS isn't the way to define someone. Personality is." ''

-Ikaika Mathilda

Basic Information
Name: Ikaika Mathilda

Age: 14

District: 8 (6, 7)

Gender: Male

Personality: Ikaika is known for being a "crying killer." He finds it fascinating to become a victor and has learned how to use weaponry, but he's emotionally weak, although he tries to act tough. If his sister were to die before him, his life would completely crash and he'd be bawling for days straight, until he finally die from dehydration. Ikaika, however, is a little anxious at times and tends to make stupid calls. He's wanted to be in the Hunger Games for so long that he can't wait for them to start, but he will make stupid mistakes and make poor calls at times when they're needed. He also tends to be very protective over his sister, but she mostly protects him. However, in a time where she really needs protecting, he'd jump in to save her without blinking. Ikaika can also adapt very easily to the surrounding environment or when learning a weapon.

Weapons: Ikaika is trained in one weapon: throwing knives. He's learned the technique for using them and has been training with them for about four years, making him pretty skilled with them. Occasionally, he may slip up, but he'd throw another knife fast, having perfect accuracy then, which might come in handy if the victim doesn't run away. As for a secondary weapon, Ikaika would use a sickle. He tends to be extremely bad at using swords, but the sickle is the perfect fit for him. He can swing them easily and behead people easily with them, but sometimes holds back at the last second, only giving a little cut into their neck.

Appearance: 

Backstory: In my family, nobody could live without a disease. My mother had vitiligo―her skin was started to fade into a different color. She was once a tanner, middle-aged woman, but after vitiligo started to affect her, she started to look like a pale, elderly woman. My dad had AIDS―a disease that made his immune system weaken and, eventually, lead him to his death. I, too, have AIDS due to genetics. Then, my younger sister has breast cancer―making her bald. And we're the Mathilda's.

Our family is rough and tough, we've enduring multiple attacks against us from the society and from the diseases. When I was only five-years-old, I got infuzima―a common cold―which kept me out of school for roughly a month. I wanted to die, the disease seemed to make me throw up my own blood and not allow me to eat anything, but my sister, Maala, helped me through it. Every day she would sit by my bed, telling me about her day and what mom and dad have been doing. She helped ease the stress and fright away.

After the cold was finally out of my system, my dad received it and told us that he couldn't get through this. It took me a few moments to realize what this meant, but when it clicked in, I couldn't imagine living without my dad. He was basically telling us that he's going to die. The day of his death, he told me something that will always stay in my mind for the rest of my life: "Watch over your sister. She's smart and cunning. Who knows what trouble that will lead her into?" Those were his last words.

Our family was starving and crying for days. My eyes were red and it stung when I saw daylight again at my father's funeral. I held onto my sister's arm tightly, keeping in mind what dad said, but I couldn't keep myself together. The tears were running down my cheeks and she had to be the bigger man, even though dad told me to be.

Then, one day when I was eleven, Maala and I were running out in the yard, she tripped and fractured her ribs. We brought her to get medical treatment and the doctors fixed her up. However, Maala didn't look the same. Her eyes were bloodshot and she wouldn't look into our eyes. Later that night, she revealed that she had breast cancer which dampered all of our moves. I was in the middle of eating a biscuit and started to choke on it as she gave us the news.

Halfway throughout the night, I was sleeping―well, I mean, what else was I supposed to do―when my mother woke me up in a panic. She looked insane, possibly drunk―her breath was heavy and her hair was crazy. She dragged me out of the bed and down the stairs. As she drag me, I noticed a cut in her neck―not sharp enough to kill her, but enough to cause heavy bleeding. Puddles formed under our feet every time she stopped to get a better grip of me.

As we walked down the stairs and got into the kitchen, I found two knives laying on the counter―one already with blood along the blade. She placed the clean one into my hand and said that we can't live these lives. Both of us are bound to die soon and we can't just live like this. But Maala now needs us, and I didn't want to commit suicide. However, she tricked me into telling me Maala gave me the idea.

At the time, it seemed logical. Maala was just confirmed that she's sick like the rest of us, but I still couldn't believe it. I held up the knife and shoved it into my stomach. Out of the corners of my eyes, my vision faded from black to blue to pink. I closed my eyes, hoping it will help speed up the process. When I hear tears from someone, my eyes flickered awake and I saw Maala. She's not dead!

I was filled with a sudden joy, but I couldn't do anything. I tried to say I'm sorry, but her eyes were looking from my eyes to the knife in my stomach. As she yanked out the knife, I let out a moan of relief and was greeted by the ambulance. They brought me all the way to the hospital where I received about twenty stitches along my stomach and was extremely lucky that I didn't hit any major arteries.

Maala and I were now, officially, orphans. We were brought to a terrible orphanage with all these nasty children, all of them finding joy in mocking us. They gave both Maala and I nicknames, but she didn't seem to mind. Instead, she just calmed me down and tried to keep a smile on our faces. But what could I do to the children who nicknamed me "Cold Succumber" and "Crooked Abs." My sister's were much worse, but she didn't seem to be bothered. Every night, I was basically crying myself asleep.

However, I found my own strength. I found a way to get revenge. The lady who ran the orphanage was obsessed with the Hunger Games and would constantly show replays of them. I was only ten when I first saw the recording of the previous Hunger Games and was fascinated by it. However, I didn't want Maala to be involved in it in any way. I made an arrangement with the lady that every night, we would watch the rerun of the day as long as she doesn't show it during the day or when my sister's awake.

During the entire Hunger Games, the lady would tell me how each kill happened. She'd show me what caused the death of the tribute and how they were able to be killed so efficiently. I learned the technique of throwing a knife, but the lady would never let me throw a knife in the orphanage. Instead, I put these situations into my own hands.

Even though I was only eleven at the time, I would go into an alley after school where I found a used target and would throw a pack of knives against it. The first time I tried, it took about thirty minutes for the knife blade to actually stick into the target, but after that, it was a breeze. After school, I'd always go there and found it fascinating how just one throw could mean the life of another person.

Eventually, my routine of throwing knives became an addiction. I'd sneak out during the night to throw knives and early in the morning. After school, I'd spend way to much time throwing knives that I was afraid someone would notice. However, nobody did, so I was fine. The lady from the orphanage gave me some dummies as well, saying that she was originally from a Career district and brought them with her.

All that information I was learning, all the things that I've been absorbing from throwing knives, the Hunger Games and the orphanage were too much to handle―I had to tell someone. I just had to! Unfortunately, I told Maala and regretted it once I was done. I noticed her having nightmares from the way she twitched and tossed and turned at night. Instead of throwing knives, I'd stay to comfort her.

By the time of my first Reapings, I was scared, but anxious. If I were reaped, I'd be ready for it, but if I wasn't, then that means I have more time to practice. I always intended on volunteering for the Hunger Games―since The Capitol must know the cure for AIDS and cancer. However, I didn't know when I'd find the courage to actually do it. I always hoped I would be reaped instead, but it didn't happen that way. Someone else was brought into the Hunger Games.

My mind wouldn't stop thinking about strategic ways to get through the Hunger Games. I always thought of different possibilites―being cornered by the Careers, having a severe injury, catching onto a cold―all things that would be deadly to me. And, there was always a twinge of doubt in my mind that The Capiol might not have the cure. Maybe nobody does. But, that can't be true. If they make themselves seem all powerful, they would have to help a victor receive the cure to their disease.

The more I thought about the disease and the cure and the Hunger Games, the more I thought about being a victor. I imagined how cool it would be to be one. But, what would my talent be? So many people who are good at camoflague do painting. Some of them do singing and others do dancing. However, I can honestly say that I'm not the best at any of those things. I can't paint, have terrible singing and constantly trip over my own feet.

The more I thought about being a victor, the more I was praying that I am forced into the Hunger Games, whether it's by me being reaped or volunteered. The day of the Reapings, my sister's first Reapings, I was standing next to my close friend and my sister volunteered. I shuddered and my friend grabbed onto my arm, but I elbowed him in the face and volunteered. I was bit in the butt from my prayers.

"If you want something so badly, then go for it. But make sure it's important to you, because it might just end up biting you in the a**."

Reasons for Winning: Ikaika is a crossroad: He wants to win the Hunger Games because he thinks it'd be cool to be a victor and find a cure for AIDS, however, he doesn't want his sister to die. Since only one tribute can win, he'll be going through the days of the Hunger Games as they come. He won't have time to think ahead to what he'd want to do, but just flow with it. In the end, he might kill himself to save his sister or stab her in the forehead.

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