Sounds of Silence [angel; blitz]

When the party was said and done, when all the energy that could be burned had done so, there was nothing left to do but to return to their cages for the night. Cyrus made his way back into their living quarters slowly and quietly, hoping that his mentor and escort were fast asleep and that he would not get in trouble. The last thing he wanted to do was to get into trouble and have anyone upset at him before the games. He rarely ever had broken rules, and he knew that a bunch of them had been broken that evening. But will they ever know what happened, if we are to go to the arena tomorrow, maybe forever?

As he brushed his teeth before bed—his usual sixty-seven circular brushes—he could not help but stare at himself in the mirror. Tomorrow I will not be the same as I am today. Tomorrow I will have to see blood, and to hurt, and even kill. He spat out into the sink and washed his mouth before stopping to stare again. His confidence had been so high lately, he wondered when it might dip. He wondered when he might think of what he actually had to do rather than the after. He had come this far, and now it all rested on the luck of tomorrow, on the hope that he could do this and not that.

Instead of tucking himself into bed, he moved back out to the living room. He sat on the floor, looking out the window at the bright lights of the capitol and all the people asleep. Dreaming without waking, all wanting so much to see them tomorrow at their worst. He pulled his knees up to his chest and sighed. I only hope my best is not my worst, that I am not exactly what they want me to be.