the sensual world of rotting away [ lvfvpvc - day 3 ]

Her hand falls onto the floor.

I look at her and know that she wants me to feel something; there's pain in her eyes and she looks towards the boy with desperation that fizzles from the very depths of her core. But it isn't enough for someone like me—exceptions cannot be drawn for anyone in this arena. No matter their size or stature, all are capable of reaping the death they sow; little boys and little girls are nothing more than monsters who haven't managed to find a home under the bed. Their time comes eventually, but this time, I can't let it happen.

Yesterday taught me that the Capitol creates muttations that are bred solely for the purpose of heartbreak. The glass sound of a child's voice in my ear, the vision of a person smaller than I—it is all concocted with darkness in mind. And I know that no matter the innocence on the outside, even if the shell seems too fragile to break, what lies within is worse. I could not see that before—maybe before yesterday, I might've considered sparing someone with their whole life ahead of them—but today is a new day. And today, I can't take that risk.

The boy from yesterday calls out to me. He barely promised peace yesterday: three creatures against three tributes and I took down two. He has illusion in his mind that leads to delusion; peace only has a place within a person, not between people. It's not a contractual concept because it is so easily distorted, shaped and crafted into something more brutal than it was intended to be. I find peace when I close my eyes and see nothing there; when the darkness fully consumes my insides and the monsters run away, family values disappear and are swept under the rug and all disappointment and expectation is strictly unspoken.

"Nobody made any promises," I say to him, his axe placed strongly in his hands as he moves closer, ready to get a taste for himself. "I have only ever chosen myself," because remembering other tributes names and stories is too complicated. I act in the moment because my self-interest is key to my survival. "I saw something in the night and things go bump in the night—unless they are bumped first."

He continues on to say he has chosen me, his axe coming down against my leg and I look down and across to him and think that's alright, rather, that's perfectly fine because if a war is what he wants, a war is what he will get. Danger is all I have ever known: raised in the treachery of ties which were knotted in the shadows of tall buildings and power moves. Growing up on tip-toes because these razor-laced floorboards are too sharp, sharper than the tongues of businessmen, of scam artists, of the devils who disguise themselves as men with money—danger is what I know, it is what I do.

The girl is next to call out; her innocence feels more feigned that the robotic children of yesterday. Sure, it be put down to pain but it could just as easily be put it down to playing the victim. My heart does not have room for people who think of themselves as higher or better just because they have a longer life to live. We are all equal here: taken from our homes, given the chance to wipe the slate clean in order to pursue a life that sees us sit on a throne of the bones we have broken.

People can make the choice not to fight, they can make the choice to not do anything. But here we are: we stand with weapons in our hands with blood in the air and we battle on because we like the taste.

"Yes," I say to her bluntly. "It's either instigate, or implicate. Implications are complications. Complications are relegations and I don't want to make things harder for myself."

I want to stay alive just as much as the next guy, but I'm not willing to apologise for it. I know what I have to do and I am willing to do it—no matter the cost. I have seen religion fall and my brother still die, I have seen my family dance a fine line and almost fall from grace and Daniela still died. Not everyone has suffered like that, but I have, and throughout the heartbreak and trauma, the only thing that has changed is my perspective.

Life is short and I only have time for myself.

Another boy makes an attack against the small girl and they stay silent. Perhaps punishment is only for the girl who is branded as the Rasoio legacy because that means there is something to destroy. Pride comes with taking down someone who already has a name—which is the exact reason I consider myself Laurel and just Laurel.

I look at the guy fighting alongside me and give him a wink. There are two sides to every story and his silence speaks volumes. He hits out at the girl and draws blood from her leg. She starts to live a nightmare.

"I made a choice and I chose myself. But you chose me. Don't you know that your choices make you?"

They have chosen wisely; it means I get to make them into what I want them to be: broken.

I am met with silence.

He just wants me to stay quiet; it's pretty rude for him to ignore the truths I have just told. Perhaps if he had an ounce of wisdom behind that shell of an exterior, he would've listened to what I said and realised that trust does not exist in this arena. All we have are the choices we make, and those are the choices that make us the people we are. It does not matter how good you think you are, how great you have been—now is the time, and now calls for a decision.

Indecision may still be a decision, but it is the coward's way out. I look at him and spit on the ground. If he does not want to pay me respect for trying to help him out, then he does not deserve my time or respect. Giving himself up for the sake of a girl who should be able to fight for herself; I know that if it were me, I would not feel the need to have sweet nothings whispered into my ear for the sake of proving to myself that I am capable of performing horrible acts.

The confirmation from yourself is crucial—nobody else can provide that to you. I may have grown up in a system of crime but I am the one who thrived in those situations. With each shadow in the night, strings were pulled and I was the one who pulled them. Creating my own darkness because the light was too bright for my eyes, I managed to find the strength within that I knew was in there. And sure, being a Rasoio got it out of me, but now that it's out—I do not need that anymore.

"I'm not going to stay quiet just because you want me to," I say to him, frowning from across the way. "People who don't listen never learn." Because my words fell on deaf ears, and his concentration seems incorrectly focussed on a girl who is going to die. If not today, then probably the next. My easy target today is tomorrow's even easier target.

His axe comes down on my foot and it is set free from my body. An eye for an eye, I think to myself, but my attention quickly turns to the girl who should have done that for herself. Because that would be the ultimate proof she could ever need to show herself that a little girl can be as big as she wants to be. Instead, she questions whether she is a big threat to me—she shouldn't flatter herself so much. "A threat?" I scoff.

"You aren't a threat. That's why I chose you. Are you listening to anything I'm saying?" I told them both I wanted to make this as simple for myself as possible. Perhaps putting it into layman's terms would spell it out in a way they might understand, or perhaps it would just make a fool of myself. I figure that time is the best remedy because my words are a weapon that bite to the bone, and though they may not feel their pain yet, I know they will remember them when they desperately need a lesson to learn.

The guy who fights with me calls the girl a banshee before cutting against her. To call her speech a scream seems an exaggeration because she speaks as brokenly and as bluntly as the muttations from yesterday. Just as robotic in her words, just as feigned, and it becomes easy to predict her next line. She seems just as cold as the tributes who have come before—the type who pride themselves on having heart and that being the root of their innocence, yet they want to live just as much as everyone else and the proof is obvious: they fight.

"Living for someone else is a losing game."