a boy stuck in the abyss [birch family, one shot]

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Lie to me,
Say you were wrong.
Like you have too many times.
And I'll believe it's not my fault
Like I have too much time.

A thin sheet of papyrus-like dust folds itself across every surface of this godforsaken room, as if it's mercenary owners didn't really expect guests so soon after the deaths of its last two residents. It wasn't likely that they viewed this room as particularly important. Why would it be? It only played host to their livestock, the two sheep (or cattle, depending on how you looked at it) who would be led to their final platter of the Capitol's entertainment and control. What were the value of those who were literally a stone throw's away from their deaths? The likelihood that they would rise up to overthrow the hopes and dreams of the entirety of this years games was slim to none. You had a 1 in 24 chance, but the odds still didn't seem fair. If you wanted to live, you had to really fight for it. You have to live for it. (You had to have the will to live for it)

I am stuck in an abyss of expectations, forced to wander through a labyrinth of deceit until I find the doors of my release. Which door would I choose? Would I emerge victoriously from the throws of my battle (a rainbow swirl of pain, betrayal, and avaricious action)

[/i][/color] or would the warm hand of death's red blood spill from my paper-thin body (it's so cold inside this vessel of my alluring fate)[/i].[/color] The path was worn thin from sixty-two sets of footsteps - each man making their own decision on which fate they would choose (but did we really have a choice?), and now it was my turn. Would I choose to run or would I choose to fall? (the future is unclear to me)

They're all here now, dressed up like three stately-dressed chess pieces. They tower over my unwelcome form as the beanstalk-pole of smoke rises from my lit cigarette. I hardly give them a glance as I continue to stare through the greasy window. "Cassius, dear?" Couldn't they allow me to breath my final breaths in the sanctity of my own mind. My thoughts drift to the other girl, the flexible one, wondering how she's using this allotted time. I anxiously long to see her, to feel her, to take advantage of her. My usually restrained desires were a thing of the past. I would - could only throw myself full force into the world that I had never experienced (damn you. Damn you for taking all of this away from me!)

I want to scream. I want to leap out of my velvet seat and throw the nearest solid object into the shining eyes of my master. (I want to feel the solid length of my fingers close around her wrinkly throat. I want to pull his yellow teeth from his soot-stained mouth and wear it like a necklace across my youthful chest.) I want to kill them.

"Get. Out." My broken voice warns as I drive the burning remains of my cigarette into the neglected armchair. "But, Cassius--" she begins again, desperation leaking into her sore voice once more.

"GET OUT!" The lion roars as the cracks on his facade breaks into a thousand sharp, little pieces. "I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear you. I don't want you, like you don't want me. Get out, get out, GET OUT!" I tear myself from my cocoon and let my surprising strength and anger take control. My burly arms find themselves host to the large square of my previously occupied chair, and I rise it above my head like a trophy. "You have ten seconds to get the hell out of here before I crack this like a egg above your heads." I ignore my cowering sister, and let the entirety of my attention focus on the shaking forms of my parents.

A single tear drips from the chocolate of my eyes and walks at a tantalizing pace down the bridge of my nose. "I can't see you right now." They turn to leave with a melting mask, I can see the shame etched in their stone features.

"All I wanted to say was that I love you." A whisper so brief and silent that if I concentrated hard enough, I could convince myself it was only a wisp of wind. They were gone before I could demand an explanation, and I found myself falling into a crumpling heap of sorrow and heartbreak on the floor. The chair lay forgotten in the corner, its four legs sticking haphazardly into the air (like the family we could never be. steady.)

A small hand forces itself into my own before a pair of arms pulls me into its last embrace. "I love you, Cass." A muffled voice whispers - its ethereal whisper swaying as if its owner had just been heavily sobbing. "You're going to do brilliantly. I just know it. How could you not with all that you...we've worked for?" Hurt continues to rack through my body in a scream of misery and tiredness.

"I love you too, Bea." I tell her honestly as I throw all my weight against her thin shoulders. "This never was supposed to happen. We were supposed to grow up and escape this prison. We were always meant to be free...but I didn't expect this. I didn't want my freedom served on the cold plate of death. I wanted rocky air and musky water. I wanted to bathe deep in the woods while the birds chirped and without the fear of death sailing over my head. I wanted you to sing, and I wanted me to play the guitar. I wanted so much, Bea. And now that's gone. Taken from me without a single apology. I wanted it Bea, and now it's gone! It's gone! IT'S GONE!" I double over in sobs again,

I sound like a broken record player as I shake in my sisters arms. "its gone, bea...its gone." I mutter. She can only hold me until the peacekeepers come rushing in, their black sticks heavy in their hands as they pull us roughly apart.

"Time's up!" They shout stoically. "Get out, little girl, your brother's coming with us." Bea grabs me as they pull at her.

"You'll fight for me, Cassius. You'll survive. We can still have that future!" I open my mouth to respond, to tell her that I'm afraid, but she's gone.

It's all gone.

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So hear me now boy, stay alive,
‘Cause that's the way it should go.
Would your maker have opened your eyes if,
He preferred them closed.

Word Count: 1068