i'm the worst if you want it {sera & tide}

They just don’t make tributes like they used to.

I mean, once upon a time I could have understood the hype around the Games. Some of those Victors have been iconic. The fragile, frightened Torian blossoming from boy to man. The rugged, personable Andal wrestling with two parts of himself, man and wolf alike. Somehow, even with swords in their hands, they still managed to win the hearts of Panem.

I’m still trying to find the Flynn Garner of our unlikely bunch.

And I guess every year has the crazies that die off first, but like… is it just me or are there TONS more this time around? Not to mention a surplus of cocky Careers strutting around like they own the place. It really is just like high school. I guess that makes me the stoner sitting in the corner of the cafeteria smoking bad weed.

Except there’s only a meagre plants station and not a joint in sight. Trust me, I’ve checked.

Yet another morning raid proves my point, leaving me empty-handed and resigned to return to my bedroom for the day and stare at the ceiling, if only to avoid interacting with any more psycho tributes. I entertain the idea of just asking for a hit, but it doesn’t seem as fun to have someone doing all the work for you. Old habits die hard, I guess.

I make for the exit, hoping for a quick getaway, but simply entering and leaving a room could never be so straight-forward.

The boy from Four is the latest barrier to my escape. Our paths intersect – earth to water, I have the feeling the two won’t mix in the absence of the sun.

“Oh, hey. You’re with Circe right?” I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping this District Four kid won’t have the same hunger for trying to make a lasting impression. Let this be over quickly.

“Are you as much of a self-righteous bitch as she is?”