You Can't See Me {Asher+Geo}

You Can't See Me {Asher+Geo} Jun 6, 2015 6:50:07 GMT -5

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Post by LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio on Jun 6, 2015 6:50:07 GMT -5

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[presto]

[/presto]

Geo Venn

The hardest part about this whole “Training” thing is, that there are people watching your back everywhere you turn, trying to figure out if you’re their predator or their prey. I run a hand quickly through my hair as I take my leave from trying to make throwing knives with perfect aim look effortless. I have no doubt that I’m more likely the prey. I look around, for perhaps people that are a bit nicer, or maybe for a training station where people might not be able to watch you. I head over to a place where there seems to be a different terrain than steel surrounding me, and I look over to the training who has a monotonous look on his face. ’If you want to hide, do it. If you want to seek, well you can’t.’ the trainer says, with a clear look on his face that smiling wasn’t an objective of his. ”I guess I’ll hide, then?” I nod awkwardly and walk away from him.

I walk quietly around the tree-full area, trying to find a good place to ‘hide’. But the bad part is, who is going to come find me? I begin to hear yelling, shouting for someone to find ‘him’. The other person, who must be a tribute, seemed confused, from what Geo could hear. Apparently he tried to walk away, but the trainer demanded he’d stay. Damn, why you gotta be so nasty, Mr. Trainer Man Sir. I think, remembering that this is only a little game preparing you on how to LIVE OR DIE. I guess being demanding is the best form of discipline, but politely asking may be a simpler way.

’Who’s there?’ I hear the boy question, and I debate whether to answer or not. If he’s rather intelligent, he’d know that the ear he can hear it better from is the direction to go. The eyes upon my body blink twice, and I begin to boost myself up the tree, only to fall down, almost making a noise. But the feeling of defeat drives me. I try again, and this time I get higher up to a low hanging branch, and just as I pick up a hand to reach it, the firm grasp drops out like someone hanging on for dear life. Even though it’s just a game, maybe winning is the better part. I keep going, and this time the hands reach the branch, and pull the rest of my body up onto it. I stand there, knowing that if I sit or lay down on the branch he (or she) could most likely see me.

I remember he asked a question, and find it is only polite to answer. ”I am me,” I say, trying not to laugh.