::It's only the real world// [Nofo]

Days like these remind me that boredom is a disease. It's an ugly, rotten sickness that doesn't leave after the very second that I catch it. There is no cure, no easy solution to the inescapable problem. Even if it is possible to get rid of, it always comes back. It will never leave. Just a disgusting, vomit-like disease that makes me feel uncomfortable and decreases my oh-so-wonderful mood a hundredfold. It never leaves me, at least. I really can't say anything about how it goes for other people. Ha! It's like my own personal stalker. It's an annoying feeling, and it doesn't seem to like bothering anyone else but me. Almost as if I were a previously chosen target, and I could do nothing to escape it once I was picked.

That would be just my luck.

In all seriousness, it's just a joke. If I wanted to cure my boredom- and any of my other problems- I could very well achieve what I choose to. I have full control over my boredom, but right now it seems otherwise.

Maybe that's just what it does to my brain, latching on to my other thoughts and clouding them so easily that I start thinking too much. Once it begins to aggravate me, it changes how I act. And when it starts to break down the thoughts and change the actions, nothing can be helped anymore. My actions will be angry, forceful, and every thought that crashes into my mind is taken and changed, because that's just what it does.

Or maybe I'm just bitter. There isn't any disease, but I wish that I could kick something right now. It hasn't taken over my mind or any silly thing like that, and my actions are always mean as it is.

That's more likely, but the idea doesn't change the fact that I don't have anything to do. I never have anything to do. For living so many days that are repetitive and unremarkable, living like this is no simple feat. Boredom is the least of my worries, but I would much rather ponder that than anything else.

The funny thing is, I have a hundred different useful tasks that I could be working on at this moment. Searching for possible food options, sneaking into the small District stores to steal something small, peeking in through the windows of houses to check if they are empty or not to shelter me from the wintry icebox that this place has become. I swear, it seems as if this year is colder than any other. The cold months were never much of a picnic, even when I still lived with my family. Our house was never very warm, but nights were always bearable when I had an abundance of sleeping siblings all around me to keep me warm. It was the only thing that they were ever useful for.

There are nights that I fear that I'm going to freeze to death. I'm capable enough- hell, I'm ten billion times more able and strong than everyone else, am I not? No matter how capable I am, the cold still bites. I never realized how many homeless people there were in District 8 until they all started claiming places to sleep at night a few months ago. I used to go out to search for shelters of any sort too late in the day, for they were all taken on the first real frigid night of the year. That was one of the worst nights of my life, if not the very worst I've ever had to sleep through. Homeless people are remarkably selfish. Then again, I doubt I would want to be snuggled up in the same sleeping spot as some filthy perverted old guy. This is reality, and pervy old guys are not to be trusted, especially the homeless ones. I once heard of a girl that was raped and killed, and then the guy stole her clothes to keep warm.

Silly selfish perverted homeless guys. Silly them.

It's not even night yet, and I'm shivering uncontrollably. Every move I make is extended with a soft shudder of my freezing muscles, but I would much rather be shivering than not. It's when my muscles stop jerking that it will really be time to worry. When the shivering stops, I will either be warmer or freezing to death. Not that I'm going to freeze to death or anything. The wind is what really freezes the early morning, whipping lightly but painfully around my bare arms. I had a jacket just last night, but when I awoke it was somehow missing from around my body. I was shocked when I found that it had disappeared, but it was too baggy for my upper body to really fit. Someone could have easily unzipped it and pulled the sleeves carefully off of my arms so that I wouldn't notice as I was dreaming peacefully. What's really surprising is that I didn't wake up a few minutes later from the harsh temperatures. The jacket didn't do much to shield me from the horrific weather, but it was far better than having nothing but bare arms.

The first task on my to-do list is to find a place to sleep when it comes night time, or even somewhere to hang out for the day, if I'm lucky. I don't want to spend any more nights worrying about whether or not I'll be alive the next morning, and days spent wandering the windy streets don't do anything for me. Standing up from the corner of the alleyway (it blocks me from some of the wind, with buildings on both sides- I'm not dumpster diving unless I have to), I brush my clothes off some and nonchalantly meander around through the District Square and then through the streets, turning my head around in circles, looking for any house that might lack activity inside.

Out of the corner of my eye, a small shack jumps out at me. It bothers me how similar it looks to my old home, but I know that this is not the same place. My old home is on the other side of the District, obviously nowhere near here. It would be a long walk if I wanted to go back there to stay. It would be a difficult talk with my parents, who sincerely don't want anything to do with me. That's definitely not an option. So instead I saunter over to the abandoned shack and glance up and down at it. Rotting wood and a dangerously concave roof stand out clearly to me. If a small windstorm passes through this part of the District, this place is toast. But still.. it's somewhere to keep from dying of hypothermia, which I'm surprised I haven't had yet.

My curiosity brings me to the front door of the place, gently turning the knob and pushing it open in fear that it will simply fall over if I use too much force.

I gasp and then back out of the doorway as I make out the face of a person right in front of me.

Nobody lives here.

Or so I thought.