if it rises fast, it can't last | p&b

〖    b r e n n a n    f i t z g e r a l d    〗

"Wait! Hold the elevator!"

My legs stumble through a sprint toward the front of the lobby where a few fancily-dressed people huddle into the elevator. Surely it's common enough courtesy to hold the door for a tribute who's on his way to getting his entire life turned upside down. Surely.

"Sorry, sweetie! No colluding with the other districts. 'Tis the rules of being escorts and stylists for you all."

Tired ankles bend and limp my stride as the elevator dings and the door begins to close. It's becoming more clear to me now that District Three's physical education classes were wildly oversimplified. Words come through heavy breaths against the elevator door. "Rules? It's a goddamn public elevator."

Their voice rises as the elevator pulls up. "Maybe taking the stairs could be of benefit to your physique, kiddo. District Twelve, though, we're on the twelfth floor, so you can't blame us for-" and they're gone.

It's funny how any one minor inconvenience can ruin my day now. I mean, before the Games became reality, I could compartmentalize every bad thing that happened and pour it out to tears on a pillowcase at night to cope. This isn't home, though. I can barely sell myself on the idea of taking a bathroom break in the Training Center. Can't hide behind four walls and tell me it'll be alright here. It won't. I push the up button a few times, hoping the elevator will come back before I do something I'll regret. To no avail, because why would they?

Heels click on the tile floors in my direction. One of the tributes, with a giant 2 slapped on their upper arm, is coming straight to the door. Straight to me. My hands cover the opposite elbows and my shoulders rise just a bit. Alert and on guard against someone who's bigger, taller, stronger. Awkward and reluctant, I speak to him without any eye contact. "So, um, are you going up?"

I should've just taken the stairs.