my beast isn't yours to kill {train!blitz}

The ghost of my last laugh was already gone by the time I was sitting on the train, waiting to be sent to the world of opulence and grandeur. I might have laughed about it—laughed through it, more like—but reality had finally set in and it was at that moment that I knew I was going to die. It had less to do with confidence in myself and more that I lacked the drive necessary for the Games. What did I have to go back to? An alcoholic father, a mother who still couldn’t move on, and the chance that I myself would become an alcoholic.

I had been good about it, avoiding alcohol as much as possible even though my peers were ridiculously adamant. But the Games gave me a way out, a chance to taste it before leaving the world permanently. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to take a sip and I spent the whole train ride staring out the window.

I was going to miss my mother, even with her had all up in the clouds. If I had known that when I said goodbye to her that morning that it would be my last goodbye, I would have begged and pleaded that she come with me to the Reaping. I wanted her to choose me just once more over my deadbeat father who asked for little more than alcohol, bread, and sometimes water. But that was not how I grew up. I grew up learning that I could not depend on my father, that I could not ask from my mother, that I could not rely on a friend. I relied on no one because no one was there for me to rely on.

And now, it was just me and her, the girl who had volunteered for the other girl for a reason that I would never comprehend. I wanted to sneer, to smirk, but what good was it for me to give attitude when I had just as much chance of dying as her? But I would not rely on her and that was why I made no effort to talk to her. It didn’t mean anything that we were from the same district; we could have been neighbors and I would still feel the same way. As long as we kept our conversations minimal, she would just be my district partner and little else.

But she said my name and I looked away from the window to look in her direction. Her appearance didn’t bring much to my attention, but it wasn’t as if I could completely ignore her. I nodded my head slowly before turning back. But she is my district partner… It didn’t take long for me to fake a gasp, snap my fingers and point in her direction. “Margaret.” As if I had forgotten her name. With the show she gave our district though, I was certain I would never forget it. “I have to say, you definitely made our reaping a little more interesting this year.” A corner of my mouth goes up as if I’m holding a secret that no one is allowed to know. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette, would ya? Wasted my last one trying to make a statement.”

She gave me a simple answer, but it wasn’t without its own sass that I rather appreciated. Most people couldn’t take my attitude and that was why I didn’t talk to many people. I always hated it when people were so nice to each other that it bordered sugar sweet. It looked fake, felt fake, and more importantly was fake. No one could be courteous all the time; I just had a smaller tolerance.

So when someone decided to talk back at me, it felt nice, like I was able to make a conversation. But with this girl, I wouldn’t be trying anything. After all, there would come a point where one of us would have to live while the other would die. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to see her in the arena. “I can’t argue against that.” It did bum me out that I couldn’t have a cigarette to distract me, but it wasn’t as if I didn’t have something to play with.

Don’t do it. No, my conscience was right. There was no point in me talking to her, maybe it would even be a bit unhealthy. Get to know someone enough and they would end up disappointing you. At least that was what had happened between my parents and most of my friends. I opened my mouth to say something before deciding it was better to listen to whatever rational thought I had left and shut my mouth. I gave her another quick glance before returning to the window.