Killing Stuff... With Friends (The Running Men)

"Time makes you bolder, children get older."

There were very few fine, simple things in life that I was capable of finding enjoyment in.

One of them being to stab a dummy with a fishing spear repeatedly until it's stuffing fell out.

Don't judge me.

But when I found myself doing precisely that in the fracas that was the early morning training center, an strange thought entered my ever thinking mind.

I had no one to enjoy such moments with.

That was a depressing thought.

Now, normally I would say screw everyone else, what have they ever done for me? But these were certainly not normal circumstances. You'd just need ask any tribute there to learn that simple truth.

Now, let's not kid ourselves. While I did have a one in twenty-four chance of surviving just a little longer than everyone else in the room I was currently training in did, that wasn't much hope to hold onto.

I was going to die. Probably anyways.

So if I was going to die in the not so distant future, I found myself again wondering why I didn't try harder to make friends. I would need allies in the arena, of course. I suppose that was the logical reason. The illogical reason was that I was, simply put, lonely. So why shouldn't I try and make friends? I would have more in common with every other tribute in this room than I probably would with anyone else in what remained of my fleeting lifespan, so again, why not?

But of course, who wants to make buddy-buddy with a guy who derives sincere pleasure out of stabbing things and talking lightly to himself about how he enjoys the aforementioned activities?

Come on, we had a week and a half left to live, liberally. There had to be someone in this room who could tolerate me, and vice versa.

The oddest people form the most sincere of friendships, after all.