they're gonna eat us alive // {willis/lyric} - train

(To welcome death with open arms). 

And here it comes. The soft screech of metal dragging across it's tracks. The very sound of my death approaching at increasing speeds. How long would it take for us to arrive at the capitol? To be thrown into a luxurious suite with all we could ever hope for in a pathetic attempt to make up for the fact that in a matter of days, twenty-three of us would be dead. That the one who emerged "victorious" would be nothing more than a pawn for the rest of their days. That it would all happen again only a year from this very second I step on the train. 

(Like the good girl you are) 

My back soon rests in a velvet embrace. The cheap fabric of a dress replaced by that of white cotton and blue jean. My head rests upon my knees, pulled closely to my chest. The golden wire that falls from my scalp limply hangs in front of closed eyes. More than anything I want to feel small. To be small, insignificant, and to simply be forgotten. To ride along this train for eternity, never to see my family, never to see the districts or the games or any other fucked up thing that created the world I now lived in. Nothing could be worse than my impending death, hanging over my head like the shade of a giant oak. The anxiety that spreads throughout my veins with every desperate heart beat. My breaths are deep, as though desperate to fill experience lifetime's worth of air in the short time  I would still be able. 

(And you chose your fate)

The tight jean is stained a darker blue. The salty gems that fall down my cheeks are quickly absorbed by the coarse material. And, as scared as I am. I regret nothing of the events that had taken place. I had later learned the girl, though I have never seen her face, was thirteen. A life, a future, lay ahead of her now. And all it had cost was my own. A life filled with nothing but lies and regret. More than a fair trade. No matter how many times my own consciousness repeated that line, it did nothing to stem the tears. For it was only natural to cling to life. It is a gift, not meant to be something so easily thrown to the wind. As if placing your own head under the guillotine and ordering the string to be pulled. A death not by your own hand, but self inflicted nonetheless. And that was exactly what I had done. If I had any chance to do it over again, knowing what I know now, I would still do the same. I'm not a hero, nor am i selfish, and i will never consider myself as such. I am a puppet. 

(And who you are doesn't matter)

And soon the gentle humming of death lulled me into uneasy rest. And just as a sense of peace had begun to settle onto my shoulders, as if an old friend had laid a blanket over them, I am jolted out of my stupor. 

"FUCKING GIVE IT TO ME!"

My feet are soon firmly set upon the group. Whether fear, or plain stupidity fueled me I am unaware, yet I still find myself following the direction which the commotion had sounded. My hands braced a wall, keeping my balance as the floor seemed to move beneath me. My fingers find the handle, leading into the next compartment. It occurs to me the shout had been entirely masculine, meaning that it could only be my district partner, as our escort was undoubtedly feminine. Willis Keeni. I had not heard much of the boy, as we traveled in two separate crowds. And, if this scream foreshadowed anything of what he shall become in the arena, I can only hope we do not cross paths

(Because you are already dead.)

The metal door slides backwards easily, a large clatter reverberating about the carriage. And there they are, Willis and the escort. Tightly clung in her manicured hands is a familiar green bottle. And the rage that had escaped in his roar is suddenly much more frightening. The white blonde wire that clings to his head, his pale complexion, resemble mine so closely. But the rage, radiating from his gaze into that of the escort's, the pure desperation that this scene conveyed, was something that I had felt within me, ever since I had shouted out my name to the crowd. 

(And the games will begin.)