izzy — six / fin 💀 cdb1

every girl thinks a lot about two things ― what to eat and death.

no one ever tells you when the last time is gonna be the last time. back when i was fifteen, i was like really into facts about the loneliest whale in the world ― even though we live nowhere near the ocean. (like did you know the Capitol thought it was a rebel submarine when they first heard it?) and then one day i wasn't.

i've kept the plant on my windowsill alive for ninety-eight days, and i think that's pretty good.

the hardest part about digging up graves is, funny enough, not the morality of it. it's the fucking arm work out.

the money goes in a heart shaped piggy bank under the bed. then we make more than the heart can hold, and it goes into a bunch of other containers. a fancy cookie tin, a pillowcase, the sugar jar.

i buy us more plants. good for the lungs.

we hang outside of morgues, smoking cloves.

medicine keeps hitting the shelves of the Capitol, but no one here gets better. in school they tell us we're studying for Panem. but i think it's not really about the people, but they need the people. or mostly, they need the bodies.

my best friend left the foster home when i was fifteen one day. we don't talk anymore. her name was Emma. she had a book about whales. i think about her sometimes.