cordelia. d2. cbd2. (fin)

effort is the start of excellence, they tell us, opening the sermon with a prologue of pulled hair and skinned knees, of tripping over bird wings, daylight, growing four inches in a year. they put us on stages and in sparring matches, blows backlit by the families of fresh trophies and gilded names. lambs to the slaughter, it's a science - they've been raising peacekeepers for years now.

but it's some higher calling; the opportunity to prove yourself, to replace love letters with javelins and careless words with tactful ones. it reigns over us all, heavy on growing shoulders, the kind of distraction that goes down easy, be better, the propaganda says, be the best.

but when the classroom darkens and a monotonous voice raves about the glory of panem, i close my eyes and see his face. reach out through molasses and pretend everything is the way it used to be, before all the competition and the responsibility and the feelings. i reach and reach and reach, tracing the shape of his nose until the world tilts and

he's engaged. but so am i - to the the work. a heartbeat. he holds her hand and calls her name from across the room and my spear sings.

be better.