underdressed at the symphony / andromache & andres

It’s the final day before we’re shunted into the arena. It is, in all ways that matter, the last day of my life. Time and I have been running along different paths at different speeds for a while now. I don’t imagine that will change once I get into the arena. If anything I’m anticipating that time will somehow slow back down, falling back into step with me to make sure I experience every second of the carnage.

I have medical supplies in my lap. I’m supposed to be practicing my first aid skills by sewing up the same dummy that I messed up with some throwing knives earlier. But I’m not. Instead, I look out at the rest of the tributes busying themselves at the various stations. Most people have their heads down. Has reality just hit them, at the same time that it’s left me?

This is the endpoint I’ve been training for my whole life, and now that I’m here I’ve become a ghost of myself. I think the others can tell. My brothers always used to tease me for trying to act tough. Are others here doing the same behind my back? Who here is still afraid of me? Anyone?

Evidently not. I feel the presence of somebody joining me at the first aid station and whip around to face them, broken out of my sulky stupor.

A guy from Ten, who I’ve never spoken to. I raise an eyebrow. The mask falls back into place.

”Can I help you?”

_{[ DARS ]}