zone-r

 Born eighteen years ago in the glorified district of gold and silver, his parents named him Marvel. A blessing, a curse that they bestowed him with the hopes that he would one day become one in the most literal sense. Marvel. (A curse, then. He was not much of a marvel. Reasonably smart, fair enough face, pretty decent with his spears. But a marvel? Hardly.) And so he was never quite enough. Sometimes he felt that his father was watching him for any sign of Hunger Games brilliance, as if he would suddenly be revealed to be a born genius with say, spiked maces. (The thought actually appealed to Marvel; huge, heavy, and - well, look at th