Damian Willis, Victor of the 8th Hunger Games

## Background

Damian Willis grew up in a family of three. He worked day and night as a ranch worker for the family's decaying cattle wrangling legacy that barely allowed the family to scrape by. Among his rugged life and upbringing, his parents seemingly too busy with taming the livestock and scrounging money for alcohol, left Damian often alone. He took an interest in horseback riding; it was just him, his horse, and his thoughts every day. Although, his fantasy of having a huge ranch of fine horses and a new, all-leather riding suit was out of reach for the young boy. Admittedly, the Willis family was better off than many in 10: they operated their own little ranch and owned their own livestock. Yet, their homesteading operation didn't have the insurance or resources to bounce back. After years of disease ripped through 10, the profits the Willis family didn't drink away barely bought them an old hoary cow to help rebuild their dwindled stock. Not even the horse his family shared survived the years of plague. As it got harder around the ranch, Damian could only take pleasure in believing the cows he was feeding were horses themselves; picturing riding through the sunset, dressed head to toe in leather and bronze without a care in the world . . and then distant yells for him to finish his duties caused the dream, even if it seemed to really last for a moment, to disappear. This harsh repeat of an everyday that only smelled like degraded meat and animal droppings made Damian resent his parents for their pure lack of ambition. The dead looks Damian received back from the cows every day was becoming all too much for Damian. It boiled him to the core.

## The Games

Damian only ever ventured into the center of his district for the yearly event of the Hunger Games. Although the gore and screams of terror might have sent some into a frenzy. Damian simply spent his time studying the youths that surrounded him. What did he find? Nothing. There was not a single difference between any of them. All of them had the same look in their eyes and the droopy heads of his parents. The same look at the very cows he cared for. Even the Peacekeepers, were so high above any of the citizens. They were all cows. It made Damian want to vomit more than any other animal droppings he had ever cleaned in his life.

The age of eighteen came just exactly two weeks before the annual reaping that was set to be held in District 10. He spent the day moving the cows to new grasslands without any recognition from his parents. At that point, the usual rounds of firewater (a local, homemade alcohol) were the only recognition his parents gave. Thirty-two pieces of tesserae were the one gamble he ever took. Even when the escort with the cheap tiger prints that were claimed to be real. Called his name, but the only recognition he gave was a pair of scrunched-up eyebrows in a look of slight irritation and confusion. When he was finally escorted onto the stage with the tight grip that was ever loosening by a pair of Peacekeepers, the only thing he saw in front of him was a crowd of dead cows. Reeking and looking exactly like them.

Maran Gritter, Damian’s district partner, was a sixteen-year-old girl who looked to be a deer caught in the headlights with her rugged blouse that was littered with cigarette burns and her mud-stained boots. Her brown skirt dangled at her bruised and blistered ankles that looked to have slugs growing from them. Damian held his disgust deep inside his throat, although his escort gagged at the look of Maran without a care for her feelings. The only response towards this was a defeated look from Maran; the steadfast flies that circled her head had already sealed her fate. What didn’t prepare Damian, however, was the tribute train. Damian was bewildered as soon as his eyes lingered upwards at the open door. Mahogany wooden tables, chantilly curtains, platinum utensils. Damian was speechless, a plethora of luxuries he could barely believe was real. The designs, the colors, it was all too much for Damian to process at once. It felt like Damian was floating on an endless euphoria. This dream was short-lived however from the loud gurgle that was aroused by Maran, who had just started clawing at all the neatly placed food in a revolting manner before stuffing it into her mouth. The urge to not stuff a mother of pearls knife into her throat was enough to power a bullet train. If the train’s decor was enough to put Damian in a bewildered state for a few minutes, then the arrival at the Capitol was sure to put him into a coma.

Who would've thought a rugged District 10 boy, of all people, would become a hit sensation in the Capitol? With a vast wash and toppings of glamor and makeup, the fly-swatted boy was transformed into a fan favorite. As if born for the spotlight and stage. Damian stole the hearts of many and kept the citizens of the Capitol wanting more. A standing ovation no tribute from ten had ever received before. An ovation that would place a heavy target right onto his back. As for the pitiful Maran, who had become blinded by the bright lights and more so, the fake teeth, had been stuck in a blank stare the whole time she spent in the Capitol, leaving her with a disastrous interview, and a low training score of two. Compared to Damian’s respectable eight. It was clear from the beginning, an uprising of spirit was rising in District 10, leaving many ready to see what the rugged superstar of the cattle district would bring. What nobody was ready to see, however, was the explosive twist that was about to be brought.

The eighth annual Hunger Games took place in an arena that was certainly set to light up someone's day. A mountainous range fluttered with sunflowers for as far as one could see. A valley of brightness and beauty. That would soon be littered with explosions and blood. The smiling sunflowers facing the sky were soon dyed in the blood of screaming tributes as a raging bloodbath took place. Cutting the competition almost in half with tributes from two and four claiming the most kills. A sunflower that was completely dyed red by blood after being stuffed into the District 8 female’s mouth by the District 2 male was later kept at the Historical Records of the Capitol Museum. As blood-thirsty citizens of the Capitol eagerly watched, none of them expected on the fourth day for the tributes from three to dig up the explosives under the northern pedestals and use them as a trap and weapon against the ferocious career group. As Capitol citizens watched with shock, five explosions all rang out consecutively, leaving a shower of limbs, smoke, dirt, sunflowers, and blood to rain down, taking the lives of every single career pack member. The duo from three odds dramatically increased as their eccentric cries of joy echoed throughout the arena. These cries, however, were quickly ended when the scythe of Damian Willis cut through their necks effortlessly. Leaving their headless bodies to roll down into the explosive craters they had built themselves. In their tracks, left five perfectly working explosives right at Damian’s feet. A sinister smile appeared on the blood-splattered face as the intention was instantly clear. As day five finally rang out, the remaining eight tributes, including Damian, had all traveled closer to the cornucopia, being driven by monkeys and thirst. All lead into the hands of Damian, whose explosive traps and sinister scythe cut them down instantly.

At last, covered in blood, organs, and an eyeball or two, Damian had secured himself six consecutive kills driving the boy down an even farther path of insanity: the insanity that was bloodthirsty for more. What an adrenaline-driven Damian had not expected, however, was for his last opponent to be the very same district scum he had stared down with rage and disgust. It was his district partner, Maran Gritter. She had shrunk a size, a side effect of the absence of food and water. She looked as if she was a walking corpse barely processing what was happening. As she slowly made her way through the tall sunflowers, and into the cornucopia clearing, she left a stunned, blood-covered Damian standing with his jaw dropped to the floor. It was shocking, it was disgusting, it was outrageous. How did such a pathetic girl make it so far? How did she end up coming all this way? She never proved herself, she just fed herself the whole games . . on flies and sunflower seeds. It boiled him to the core. His throat hardened and his face reddened. He exploded at her, screeching at how embarrassing it was that she was his final opponent. How she had done nothing but been a mistake. After three minutes of nonstop raging from Damian, Maran simply looked up at him, seeming to have barely registered what he said. Damian went to lunge at her, but she suddenly took a sharp bolt to the right leaving him to slam into the dusty ground. Heaving, Damian wildly dragged himself around the clearing trying to catch the illusive bag-of-bones. He was sure she would tire out soon, but she did not. Then he saw it: the life-depleting look in her eye. She was cattle. From the corner of his eye, Damian noticed a glint of an object.

Damian walked over and gripped the object laying in the dust. In his hand, he held a fine black rope. Then a knife imbedded itself into his right hand: Maran had found something too. Receiving another throwing knife into his side, Damian hobbled behind the Cornucopia racing against the clock and the blinding pain of an impaled hand to tie a lasso. Reeling back around the other side, Damian spotted Maran still at a distance, refusing to be caught. When her back was slightly turned, Damian threw his lasso clear around her neck before instantly tightening it and slamming her face into the mud. A mangled cry escaped Maran's dry lips: the first sign of emotion she had shown this whole game. Damian, however, didn’t register the cry one bit. He bolted to her side; his hand whitened from the grip. With his foot pushing on her back, he harshly yanked the lasso up. Two loud, spine-chilling snaps echoed throughout the whole arena. Damian had snapped her spine and neck. The cannon rang out, and for a short couple of minutes the only thing that could be heard was the heavy breaths of Damian as the wind passed. The people of Panem watched in shock. All of them were seemingly hit by a truck after watching such a finale. Damian’s breaths slowed as the hovercraft flew above him, slowly lowering down. Damian looked up with an emotionless expression, still gripping the rope with the same force he had on Maran. He realized her plan all along. She didn't have one. What had angered him so much was that such an easy victim should have been a short victory, but she was simply not allowing herself to get caught. What little she had, she would not surrender to what seemed like an inescapable fate. Now, he was the one that was trapped. Without a second thought, Damian walked onto the hovercraft covered head to toe in fresh blood and muttering words to an old District 10 rhyme sung by schoolchildren.

## Life as a Victor

After convalescing and receiving psychological care, Damian Willis started an era of sensational celebrity in the Capitol quickly becoming a fan favorite for his brutal nature and charisma. Armed with a glittering smile and a farm boy body that would make anybody faint, Damian became a Capitol playboy. Yet unprecedented in this early generation of victors, he was invited to elite parties and earned a reputation for being a hell of a ride. Home in District 10, however, he was largely disliked. Due to this, Damian often spent his time with his collection of Capitol quality horses or noisily joyriding his richly bedazzled rhinestone cars. Throughout his younger years, these public disturbances and picking of unnecessary fights earned him mass hatred from his fellow citizens and often landing him on the cover of Capitol tabloids. Damian also went on to be a troublesome mentor to deal with, often refusing to work with his tributes or sponsors for little offenses. Damian eventually abandoned his life in 10, buying his way into the Capitol and creating a fitness brand along with the largest mini golf course in Panem. Damian grew up to have no kids and no stable romantic relationships, becoming famous for his many high-profile flings. However, his signature moment of irreverence became the neon pink cowboy suit he wore to the wedding of Kelani Malraux and Aeron Pentier. Cameras couldn't take their lenses off the fringed number and tall hat due to how eye-catching and obviously attention-grabbing it was. This was rumored to heavy anger the newlyweds, particularly Aeron Pentier, who was later heard at the afterparty complaining loudly about Damian’s appearance which paparazzi quickly ate up and spit out across the Capitol newspapers. Sadly, the iconic, showstopping cowboy passed away in the year 48 ATT due to heart-related problems.