lourdes { wanderer } cb, fin

I guess this is growing up.

Empty footsteps everywhere and every day, I trace them just to keep my conscience clear. I do what I was taught to do to stay alive; I follow my human nature. I don't battle other girls and boys any more, I play with small game. It feels wrong, sure, but I realised that I left morals in the womb. Panem isn't a place for morals, it is a place for the wrecked.

Ain't wrong of us for trying to fly, but it is hard work. Guess I didn't know it would cost a fortune to sell my soul.

I won't lie, finding a way out had always been my dream. The training centre turned me to a small woman from a small girl and I realised life wasn't going to stop flashing past me unless I forced it to—joy, sadness and shock were all becoming a permanent gaunt, expressionless stare on my roundabout face. I didn't say goodbye, I didn't explain myself because there was no one who would listen. Chasing the dream I'd had since childhood, I was going to show myself the world I'd always wanted to see.

I walked. Behind me was the place I once called home: the place where people preferred axes over books, where babies were having babies and where you have to catch yourself in front of careers, because if you slip up, you'll be torn to shreds. A place where they promise you the moon and stars if you can be great.

Shit had me praying that I die good.

And I know I will because I have what they don't. I have freedom.