Poetry [Sinead & Arthur]

Dear Sinead,

Yo. I keep thinking about how I want to see you, alone. We fitting to be something after that kiss. Can’t stop thinking about you. If you want to find out what this mouth can do, meet me on the roof. I’ll be out by the fountain. Be ready to get wet.

-Arthur

Before Arthur had put pen to paper, he’d gamed out the odds. Nylon was too prickly, so that was right out. Tsara felt too close to home. He didn’t really know Nixie, and he’d skipped over Cecily, too. In fact, the further he went down he list the less he realized he knew about each of the remaining female-identifying tributes.

Now, did it make him so terrible that he’d only thought about the girls?

Sure.

He acknowledged that most of the problems the world faced had been caused by men like him. Thinking with their dicks. Misogyny leading to the subjugation of various peoples and places that would never be named and who’s oppressors never held accountable. And that most enterprises had been run by straight men – look a ol’ Snow – swinging their dicks around. At least he had the wherewithal to recognize his problematic upbringing and identity’s long and unfortunate history.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting attention. And just what sort of power was he going to have? Days from now he’d be running around some hellscape just trying not to get his head smushed. Even then, when his face was up in the night sky, he somehow doubted people would care much about Arthur Rollei dying. Which meant taking full advantage of whatever sort of opportunity that presented.

He’d settled on Sinead. Not because he felt a particular affection for her, but that she was pleasant and seemed the type not to be disagreeable. She was from twelve, and if the rumors were true twelve was either a desperate place or an easy one, neither of which Arthur minded. So, he’d scribbled out his little letter, left it in front of the twelve’s apartment, and went up another floor to the roof.

He’d sat at the edge of the fountain, water splashing behind him. When he’d heard the elevator ding, he’d flung himself down to rearrange and have his head rest on his palm, elbow on the marble as though he’d been deep in thought before his guest’s arrival.

"Sup," he said to break the ice, smirk brimming across his face. At least this could be fun, right?