we're going down, down. {esther/celeste}
Feb 15, 2022 8:27:36 GMT -5
Post by Cait on Feb 15, 2022 8:27:36 GMT -5
celeste brere
The Reaping reruns, for the most part, are white noise to fill in the silence of my room. District after district showcases deadly games of “Tag!” – so many children playing god and sentencing classmates to certain death.
I don’t know how to feel about it. Part of me is envious of those who choose to save themselves, an entire life stretching in front of them with no imminent threat to their survival. Another part of me takes solace in the fact that the guilt of the Quell twist won’t sit on my shoulders.
But then the pain in my stomach slashes across my skin, temporary and blinding. A reminder: I’m no better than the rest of them. A life is a life is a life.
How do you decide which is worth saving?
The numbers of the volunteered climbs so high that it becomes easier to keep track of the ones who keep their spot. Four, I count them up and draw the tally marks into the soft of my palm.
Around every turned corner is a person with the same question: “Why did you do it?” And every question is met with some form of the same half-truth: “I didn’t want to kill anyone.”
You’re in the wrong place to have a conscience.
It’s not the full truth, but it’s enough to keep them sated. A truth only stays buried for as long as a lie is believed.
It gets tiring, after some time. I feel like I’m on the outer before I even realised there was a clique to belong to. We’re in the minority, myself and four other names, counted and memorised and engraved into my skin. This is a game of survival, and so I do what any dying animal would do: I seek out the rest of my pack.
I wonder if they have had the same prying questions as me. It doesn’t matter, not really. I don’t want to know what their answers are. I just want to feel less alone.
I see her red hair across the dining room and take a deep breath to steel my nerves as I approach her.
“Hey,” I begin uncertainly, and it takes all of my self-control to not turn around and fly back to my nest of safety in my prison room. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”
