mogar garaden; district three; fin.

Michael Garaden.

My parents named me Michael Garaden.
They didn't pick the Garaden, of course, and Ripred knows where the Michael came from, but still. That's what they went with.
Michael Osric Garaden.
If you ask me, it's a dumbass name. But nobody bothered finding out my opinion- course not, I was a fucking baby. Babies don't have opinions about anything besides crapping their pants and whining til they get a Ripreddamned bottle.
Anyways. That's why I changed it.
I mean, people call me Michael, still. Mostly teachers and the like- and my parents do, usually. I catch them slip up sometimes. I'm wearing them down.
Yeah. I changed it.
In short: You call me Michael, I will probably punch you in the face.
My name is Mogar.
Mogar. That's what I called myself-one time. It was one time, and I'm pretty sure I was drunk off my ass. But it stuck, and I like it better than Michael anyways. So that's my name now.
Cause like- it sounds fucking badass, doesn't it? Like- I don't know, swords, caves, all that. All the shit the Capitol never wants us to see.
That's bringing me right around to my next point: Fuck District Three.
This is a place where dreams come to die, I swear. It's probably a good thing the Capitol has all those fences up, cause I don't know who in their right mind would be here by choice.
Ripred knows I wouldn't.
Like, my life here's decent enough. I eat, I have somewhere to sleep. I got everything I need, according to my parents. I've even got my gang, and my girlfriend-who's damn beautiful, thank you very much. Her name's Zooey Kazmere, but I call her Kaz. We all go by different names with each other, I think. Maybe that's supposed to mean something. I've never been much for psychoanalysis.
I've never been much for anything.

She's beautiful, though- Kaz. She's got long red hair, and the sexiest laugh you've ever heard, and I like being around her. She makes me feel better than other people do. My parents think I suck. My friends think that I suck-well, granted, they think that they suck too. But Kaz's the fucking-sun, or something. I don't know.
She's not gonna stick around for long, I know that for sure. We've got an expiration date. That's okay. I think I'm more surprised she stayed this long than anything else.

I like to think about leaving someday.
I talk a big game.
People don't look at me, much. When they do, I usually flip them off. They stop trying after a while.
Physically, I'm not all that out of the ordinary. My hair is kinda curly, I guess. It's reddish-brown, mostly, I don't- Yeah. I guess- fuck. Okay, I'm covered in freckles, I guess? That's one of the things people mention most often. I've never really cared about physical things myself, but I mean, I guess I'm decently attractive. I don't think I've ever paid much attention to myself physically. The idea of mirrors makes me nauseous, anxious, feels like something rushing around in my veins. I don't like the idea of knowing who I am, knowing that there's a body attached to my mind, a physical instrument to carry out my thoughts.

I'm not a good kid.
I never was, really. But as the years have gone by, I've gotten worse and worse. There's something about me that lets people know to stay away- or if not, something that tells them what they're getting themselves into. I'm not mean, no. I'm not particularly scary. But there's something that makes people cross to the other side of the street when they see me walking.

I may not be mean, but I'm not nice.
I mean, I'm not exactly a perfect son. But I'm not as bad as I could be, either. I don't smoke, I don't get into (many) fights. I drink, but I'm not a drunk. I've gotten punched before, more than I could count, and I give as good as I get. But I don't go looking for fights, either. I take them as they come.
I would say I don't start them, either, but that's not always true. I think the last time it happened was because someone insulted Kaz, though, and I believe that's a good enough reason to start a fight. Kid was asking for it, I fucking swear.


So if you talk to me, here's the thing you need to get:
I want to leave.
People say that shit all the time, I know. Nobody follows through, I know.
I'm not saying I will, either.
I'm saying it's what I want.
This place is suffocating me. I know that if I stay here, I'm just gonna keep drinking and fighting and wasting away into nothing of importance.
And listen- I hate that.
I hate it! I cannot fucking stand the idea of dying in District Three.
So I know I will, but I'm gonna do whatever I can to prevent that.

I'm not good at talking about myself.
Kaz, sure. My gang- yeah, them I know. Myself, not so much.
I can tell you what I do. I can tell you what I want.
I can't really tell you who I am.
Cause I have no idea.
Can't be helped, though, that. Nothing to be done about it except hope that things come across well enough that you can translate.
Things could be worse, sure. Things could be better, too.
I cannot stand the idea of falling into mediocrity here.

The Games aren't my thing.
Nobody in Three is ever particularly invested in them, anyways. It's just another fact of life. We're not one of the crazy-training-districts, like One, or Two, or even fuckin' Four. Whether that's good or not, well, you tell me. I don't have an opinion, cause I don't know my options well enough to say what I'd like.
Much as I like to think I'd train well, truth is I probably wouldn't put in the effort. That's pretty depressing, yeah. Most things are when you look at them close enough. This isn't exactly the greatest place to live.
I hate District Three.