i_want_to_feel_again.exe | dee. marr. cato. flyss.

The feeling I get when I look to the sky- when my eyes are vividly attentive to the stars lining my arms, and my lips part in unison with the bare breath following suit- is the feeling of one too many glances stolen subtly in the courtyard; I am five again, and it's as if all the worries of the world melt off into the heat of my fingertips. 

"I'm sure you'll have a great first day, Neptune." (She's lying)

Her eyes were full of galaxies when she spoke- like a true mother- and the aged lines on her cheeks danced with every word that slipped from her rosy-golden lips. A flower is what she was, and the smile she knotted in her lips was not kin to me, but father insisted that she was to be the woman in my life, so I agreed despite the protests that welled up almost threateningly in my throat. Her expenses may have scrawled zeroes in our checkbook, but it made the world to a man who had too little and lost too much. 

"There's nothing to fear in other children." (She's lying)

But now he doesn't even have his son, and somewhere in district twelve, he is weeping- the father of Neptune Liefde is weeping- and not even the acrylic nails of his now-wife can sooth the ache that has been lit inside of his chest. Beside him, is the form of a woman who has come to hate me; he hasn't worked in weeks, and it's cost her the luxary of having a full stomach and a sound mind. Still, though, she comforts him, until the tears are dried and his legs are stable enough to walk to the kitchen table. He's fed, bloated on the pills she pours into his bowl, and when he begins to throw up, she smiles and insists it's just a part of the depression. The next morning, she will report him dead to the peacekeepers and acquire the wealth that his first wife- Neptune's mother- had been hiding since the day she was burnt to a crisp and put into a little jar on the little mantle of their little house. He never knew about this just as I will never know about his death, and it's a low blow to think that the one tessarae I had put upon myself at the brisk age of thirteen was but a speck to the amount she had taken out ever since I had become of age to die. 

But I do not know any of this, so whenever two of my allies leave to investigate some sort of 'light' they were absolutely sure that they had seen, I sigh and let them go. It's better them than me, I can't help but think as the chill of morning brushes over my bruised and bandaged legs; by now, we've made it to the final destination for today's travel, and when I look to my side I see Taurus, and two others- merely shadows- at least a hundred feet away, if not more. I wield my halberd with caution, but do not swing. Too much bloodshed in too little time has scarred me and left a blasting mark in my brain; twenty-four minus six is eighteen, or the amount of tributes that still walk this ground alive. One is me, one is Taurus, one is Ruth, one is Septys, and one is Chloe- my district partner.

When I see the whites of her eyes and her position at the side of the larger, and definitely stronger male tribute from eleven, I pull my weapon up higher, loosening my grip but keeping it taut all the same. I do not wish to battle, but to speak, and when I pull my arm out to the front of Taurus to tell him to hold back, I can only hope that the injured boy listens. I wait for the thump of my heartbeat to turn into stardust, one hand reaching down to my bag, and pulling out the capped inkwell set. I write a faint message on my arm before showing it to the others.

'Peace?'

I’d give anything to hear
You say it one more time
That the universe was made
Just to be seen by my eyes