Sweet Treats// {Thundy}

We're the lifers here till the bitter end
Condemned from the start

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I've worked my way through a candy bar and some sour fruit things when this girl walks in, all pretty and dressed like she owns the place. The afternoon shift on a Wednesday isn't exactly the most exciting thing ever, but we get a customer here and there. But today, today won't be so boring. Because now here she is, a pretty girl in a pretty dress. The corners of my lips turn up as I smile shyly at her, then look down at the counter and observe the colorful pieces of candy arranged below the glass.

"How can I help you?" I glance up at her slyly, but she's turned away from me, holding a basket over her arm as the ding of the door closing behind her sounds. She moves silently, searching for the items supposedly on a list in her hand. Tapping my fingers against the counter in a beat, beat, beat, beat, I bend over and pull a piece of chocolate out from a shelf to get her attention.

"Try a sample," I say, holding the box of assorted goods out for her to pick from. Caramel-filled chocolates, those ones with the cherries inside, maple, walnut..

I wonder for a moment if she recognizes me as the dead boy's brother, the one most-interviewed during the Games about him and all of his wonderful escapades. Perhaps, but perhaps not. Most have felt sorry for me up until now, but they've also been curious about my home life. Reyes didn't exactly make it a secret, the things that go on in there, and now all of the District is watching us. Watching me.

Oh, the fame.


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What a great achievement it was
To find someone who shirks such little self-restraint

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She turns to me, and I think a flash of recognition plays across her face. She knows who I am. They all do, of course. Who could possibly be more important?

I don't know her name, of course, and I'm about to ask when she reaches out and takes a chocolate from the box, one of the caramels that's delicious but usually ends up sticking to the teeth and the lips. Delicious, yes, but annoying. You can't have too many candies before becoming sick of them, in my opinion. Not that I've gone by his rule today, what with the chocolate bar and sour candies.

Those brown eyes that recognize my face glance at the rest of me, and at the same time her voice drops and becomes teasing. ”Mmm. Tasty,” and I wonder if she's talking about the caramel and the chocolate, but she can't be. The look on her face suggests otherwise, staring at me. And why wouldn't she? I take care of myself, I'm handsome – and now, thanks to my no-good suicidal brother – I'm famous. A poor boy who has lost someone so dearly close to him, oh, the pity. After he died, they talked to me. What did I think of my late brother?

They don't want to know what I think, so I told them a lie. I said I love him and would miss him, and I even managed to crash down right there in front of the interviewer, on my knees, my face in my hands in a cold, dead sob.

They loved it.

I think of this now, with this girl – this woman in front of me. Perhaps she knows my name already, and that's why she doesn't ask.

I pull the box back, setting it on the shelf again. We actually don't give out samples, but, you know. "I've got a few things to pick up, I could use some help if you're not too busy," she says, but then she grabs something else. A container.

"Would you like a sample as well?"

My first thought is poison?

My second thought is alcohol.

I tilt my head at her, turning my gaze towards her hands and her arms and her shoulders and the way her dress falls delicately around her. I hold out my hand and take the flask, that mischievous smile still painted onto my face as I take a drink. Something with a berry taste – I don't drink much, but it's better than most others I've tasted.

”Better not be poison,” I say with a laugh, handing it back to her as I walk around the counter.

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