milo gaines / d3

7% flesh; bloody and raw. and human (or so they tell me). it doesn’t feel like that, though. under my own fingertips the skin is too sharp. i am too sharp to love myself. 45% smoke; it’s all fog inside – my skull, my lungs – i breathe out and smother everyone in a two mile radius. 20% hunger; i will eat my rotten thoughts just to prove a point. pray for my body, for i will forget who i am, who i could have been. 28% agony; am i broken? i am not sure. but my bones ache.

not the answer you were looking for? it never is. the truth is i'm made of gasoline. been working on cars ever since i was tall enough to see over the open hood of my dad's '57 coupé de ville. i know, i know. it's basically a boat on wheels, but damn if the inside don't purr like a kitten in your lap. he's been gone for about six years now, and since then, mom and i have had to move from our 3 bedroom house in the decent part of town, to a nine-floor walk-up in the slums. i'm not saying it was his fault; can't really control cancer now, can you? it just eats away at you, you know? like a parasite, sucking all the good out and only leaving the shit behind. 

i won't say things are looking up now that i've got this new apprenticeship. you see, school is for suckers, okay? don't let them tell you any different. especially here in three. there aren't any high-paying jobs unless you're one of, maybe, twenty engineers that work downtown. and you think they're giving up those cushy, six-figure positions any time soon? don't hold your fuckin' breath. if you do, you'll die. trust me. 

find a trade, okay? that's my best advice. i was just lucky, learning how to take apart an engine and put it all back together by the time i was ten. i have my pops to thank for that. he set me on the right track. maybe he knew what was coming or something. i highly doubt it; he didn't even believe in all that mumbo jumbo shit ma does. like astrology and them stupid decks of cards she says tell the future. i don't know, every time i pull one out, it's always the same. the hanged man. whatever that means. what, i'm a dead man walking? 

well, i already knew that. 

anyway, it was like he knew, you know? creepy. but here we are now, taking on transportation for the entire country. all of panem's trains, all the cars, everything that gets you from point a to point b right here in our very own backyards. i mean, what is that luck? like i won the fuckin' lottery or something!

my main goal this year is to get one of those cushy jobs now, especially since you don't have to be some smartass geek to get one. all you gotta do? not be an idiot behind the wheel. and there's nothing i'm good at more than driving. and hopefully with that much more income, i won't have to enter my name more than once again. ever. i'm so close to aging out, i just need to make it a few more months.

then i'm free.

to do whatever i want, to be whoever i want. i mean, fuck, maybe i'll even apply for a visa and visit seven. that's where ma says dad was originally from. she always used to tell me when i was a kid that he'd ran away all the way to three just to steal some car part they only make in the district here. but then they met, and he never left again. i find it hard to believe, though. as cute and sappy as it may be. it's a fairytale, and i know that now. 

no one ever runs away and lives to tell the tale. you keep your head down, do your work, maybe get lucky enough to share your life with someone, and then you die. i watched my dad do it. i'm just hoping i'll make it past fifty-five, unlike him.