Catch Me [i'm falling] // kaelenkieron

Lonely.

That's the only word possible to describe what I am feeling as of lately. Each of everyday is filled with routine, you go here, you do this. They might as well have locked me up instead and the result may very well be the same, except then I would have a home to return to. A home with satin sheets and worldly possessions. A house full of clothes that weren't cargo shorts and bland t-shirts, a house full of strong open wounds that would keep stabbing, over and over again, never allowing themselves to heal over. Every day was filled with duties, everyone had something to do and it was printed on my arm like a tattoo. I'd always been partial to getting a tattoo, however the daily schedule had really turned me off from the entire idea. I didn't really have much to do, still being classified as a teenager, and also still being classified as mentally unstable.

The hospital bracelet still rubbed repeatedly against my left arm, unwavering in it's effort to constantly remind me of what I'd done. The demons danced playfully around my head reminding me of how close I was to falling in their grasp, and they were just waiting for the right time. The right time. When was the time that they'd come down and sweep me up before anyone could know any different? I was a boy in a constant state of waiting, and I've always been impatient. Rub. The yellow band was starting to create a irritated area of skin on my wrist. I'd picked up an awful habit of compulsively rubbing the band up and down along my skin out of pure anxiousness.

I'd been very anxious the past week, it had only been that long since I'd arrived in District Thirteen. The whole idea was sort of shocking to me, the hovercraft that picked me up, the people, had told me that we'd be journeying here, but the whole idea of it still being alive, still thriving was absolutely shocking and incredible really. Surviving against all odds, just like me. Upon arrival, I was dumped right into a hospital bed. Normally, I would have fought but my bones were tired and weary and I'd had enough, I let them take me. The hard mattress was nothing compared to the small pillow that they gave me to rest my head, no longer was I a priority, no longer was I a luxury. I was a rebel.

One of the officers, recruits, I wasn't too sure on which considering they all wore the same exact uniform, had seen fit to tell someone of the situation in which they'd found me. The soft smell of the meadow still burned in my memory. The whole tattle tale situation, really was just a mandatory report, but as I was shoved into a hospital room under constant surveillance for five whole days, it felt as if I was being interrogated. The room was small, dark, a small hole had been eaten through in the top right tile in the ceiling. Rough rope sliding through my fingertips as it wrapped itself around and around into a noose. The ceiling had sixty-four tiles, eight by eight, I'd counted them over and over again to make sure. Three flickering fluorescent bulbs lit up the room, if only barely. The farthest one flickered ever so slightly as if at any moment the world around me would go dark, again.

Solitude was not enjoyable. My father had spent years barred up in his room, doing absolutely nothing, closed off from the world. How he did it I'll never know. The nagging feeling of regret pulled at me constantly, had this been the right choice? Coming along with these people? It hadn't been complete solitude, sure. Nurses had come in on occasion to assess my condition, to feed me and more often than not to see how I was feeling. They'd hobble in the room, ass almost too big to fit through the door with shoes clanging against the floor out of near frustration. They would then scrape the chair from under a desk over to beside the bedside, piercing the silence with shrieks. I almost preferred the shrieking. "And how are you today, Mr. Allard?"

The question was repetitive and pointless, I felt the same as always, an extreme case of annoyance and frustration and that ever-nagging feeling of regret. But that wasn't the answer they wanted to hear. Each nurse would give a nudging smile as if to say, get better you freak, we're got better things to deal with. It was clear that I was no longer roaming the streets of District One any longer, I was a rogue holding the rebels back because I was sad. "Fine." I muttered, clenching my jaw. This room, was this where I'd spend the rest of my days? Locked up and treated like an animal, like a bomb waiting to explode at any second? It seemed so completely ridiculous and stupid. Perhaps carving the walls with lines to track the days might become a hobby of sorts, an award for making it past the day. One streak, two streaks. I could carve them later.

"You're free to go." Perhaps one day I would line the entire room with lines to prove I'd survived, but what would happen when the walls were filled. The white walls weren't very large, this room was about two times if not three smaller than my normal bedroom, my old bedroom. If I'd carved out that, I'd surely live a lifetime and die of old age. Maybe break the curse, if one killed themselves so old, would it even matter? "Mr. Allard." No one would be around to change my diapers when I was old and useless and riddled with arthritis, wasn't it the right thing to do to just kick the bucket at the point? If only I had a room large enough the carve the walls, then perhaps I'd be fine. "Mr. Allard." The nurse sounded pointed, frustrated and annoyed, she wanted to leave as much as I did. "You're free to go. You've been assigned room C5-635. You'll find a uniform in there and everything." Oh, I was good to go. C5-635, home? This was my new home, District Thirteen, C5-635. "If you need any help, just come and find me and I'll be happy to help."

Happy to help, my ass. Her smile was as fake as the tan that she'd somehow accumulated. She was the only nurse I'd seen with any sort of colour to her skin, and it was pure orange. Fake. I watched as she hobbled at the door, ass barely managing to fit the constraints of the door frame. The room stayed silent, I couldn't move. Where was I to go? Walk through the door into a whole new world? It was then that the door I'd been ever so desperate to walk out grew large and scary, what could be out there. I'd only seen glimpses of the District as I'd stepped off the metal walkway of the hovercraft, everything was dark and metal. What could be out there?

Day 6, I thought to myself. Lately I'd been coming up with a mental journal to track everything. Perhaps sometime soon I'd take up actually writing it all down, but for the moment I needed to clear my head.

Day 6,

I escape again.

One foot in front of the other, the self-reminder was sort of stupid really. How hard was it to walk. Left, right, left, right. Before I knew it, I'd cleared the doorway and managed to walk out in to a busy hospital centre with nurses rushing all over the place to different rooms and men walking in with nice pressed clothing and small injuries. This was home. Meandering about the hallways, I followed the numbers. A4-223. Wasn't even close. I follow the noise of the crowd, watch where they go. Everyone seemed to be assembling into a general area, maybe a meeting of sorts, discussing rebellious activities? Taking charge against something in Panem. It seems wild and crazy and I can't believe I'm already being thrown into things like meetings, to take down the Capitol. It seems so crazy!

The low buzz of the crowd turns into a dull roar as a approach closer and closer to the meeting space, exhilaration, adrenaline pouring through every single pour of my body. To think minutes ago I was nothing but a little boy trapped in a white room, and now I was something bigger, better. Left, Right, step. Keep moving forward with the crowd and the deadly lion roar screams in my ears. I see it, the doors, four big blue doors next to each other, almost there.

I walk into the room to a series of tables and the scraping of metal ladles on the bottom of pots. A cafeteria. That's all it was after all, no big grand meeting, no big rebellious movement, lunch. All it was was lunch. My stomach growls for the first time in days, I didn't even realize I was hungry until the smell hits my nose. The food doesn't smell all the pleasant, but any sort of food would be welcome at this point. Walking towards the line up, I look about the room. Tons of children and parents, happy, wild and free. They're safe from any reaping ever, live together, it's safe. The line shuffles along bringing me closer and closer to food. I wonder where these people come from? Were they born here, did they walk here like me? What circumstances led them here, cause I'm more than sure it wasn't all suicide. Step.

I see him. It doesn't seem real at first, the sinking feeling of knowing him from somewhere. A boy across the room walking about happy and smiling yet radiating this aura of home. A boy from District One, and it's not the superb sense of style or the beyond teased hair that give it away. A feeling deep in my stomach is telling me something is not right, this is someone I know but not for a good reason. He walks forward towards me and I'm halting the line, I can hear the angry chatter behind me as I don't move forward, but there's something tugging at my brain that I can't quite yet figure out. Eyes and head unmoving, I reveal my medical bracelet to those behind me, "Sorry, I'm mentally unstable."

The line of people move around me as I watch the boy walk closer and closer, his tall thin frame recognizable and scary. Something of home that isn't quite good. He brushes by me and I see his amber-brown eyes and it clicks. Dempsey. The whole story hadn't really been in the paper for months and months. A boy, Kaelan Dempsey, serial killer. The room grows eerily quiet around me as I watch him stride out of the cafeteria. Wasn't he dead? No, the streets were still covered in his face. Wanted posters plastered every open area, every store front, especially in bars. The boy who poisoned so many men. I let my feet lead the way once again, where was he going? Were his pockets laced with poison ready to take out anyone that came in his way? The fluorescent hallways seemed to become blinding as I follow him through the hallways as his shoes clack against the metal floors.

Step, step. Hiding around the corners hoping he won't hear me walking towards him. Could I be seeing things? The yellow band becomes present in my mind, perhaps I am just mentally stable. A whole group of cafeteria people sure think I am, could I be subconsciously seeing a boy from my District? But, of all people to project in my mind, why would it be a serial killer? Perhaps he was the demon inside me, but more than likely he walked. Just like me. Walked away from the place we'd once called home to build a new life. The Prince and the Serial Killer. A fairy tale waiting to happen.

He stops, I stop. A sign reads that this is the school wing, I'm sure that sometime soon I'll have to find my way here again to attend classes. One wouldn't think that this was a school area, there's no distinct differences from the rest of the place. All metal, doors, walls, floors. Music. I hear it fill my ears and listen as voices rise up in harmonies. Singing? I walk over to the door Kaelan had walked into. Through the window I watch a group of people singing around and dancing. What was this? A singing group of serial killers? The music fills me inside, it'd been a while since I'd listened to melodies, let alone sang them. This was new, the beginning of a new life. A new song. A new symphony.

And maybe I could lend some poison when I need to.