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axsoa saerio , district eleven .


i'm gonna make you bend and break,
it sends you to me without wait.
say a prayer but let the good times roll
in case god doesn't show.

A horrid sound comes from inside of Axsoa. A grumble, a murmur, slowly increasing in volume. That wasn't the only thing. There was an emptiness in his stomach rising up through his esophagus to his eyes. Something simple. Not hunger, not dehydration, not tiredness, nor sadness. He had reached a new low, and this was something he never felt before.
I'm... lonely. That's what the seventeen year old boy was, lonely. His sister was still sleeping, fore it was five in the morning, but how come the sun was peeking at Axsoa? Was it too shy to visit him today, or did it not want to encounter the criticism it would get from the warmth it would be bearing that day. Axsoa just wanted one thing to talk to.

He was used to being with his best friend, or his sister, or his mother, or his friends from school. Today, though, Axsoa woke up at five o'clock, and decided to go outside, get a whiff of the fresh air; his house-warming gift. After-all, the forest was his home. Just off to the right of his house, a dense forest grew with trees that grew a bare-minimum of leaves, and animals that roamed around looking for the dead worm hidden in the moist soil.

Humans, though, were technically animals. So why weren't there any of those species? Did the wild-cats in the shadows scare them off, or was how the sun was, angled so that the lightest part of the forest was the top of it, and it slowly faded to darkness. That's what Axsoa felt right now, darkness. It was growing inside him, turning his pale skin to purple, his green eyes to black, and his dirt marks to blood. He was starting to believe that if he lied down on the dark, wet ground, he could blend in, and become one with earth. But he was already one with earth.

let the good times roll.
and I want these words to make things right,
but it's the wrongs that make the words come to life.
who does he think he is?

At least Whiskers was with him, his cat. Orange with green eyes, colors that to Axsoa are ugly together, but they clash together on this feline. The cat meowed and purred and circled around Axsoa, like a dog tied to a tree. The three-year-old cat found itself crawling into Axsoa's lap, with his owner's legs criss-crossed-apple-sauce. The large hand of Axsoa stroked Whisker's coat of fur flat, and made the kitten purr like nothing else.

Axsoa has been alone in the forest a lot, of course with Whiskers by his side. But when's the last time he was actually with someone? He has no clue. His heart was extending through the crisp air, trying to grab onto another soul, someone to bring him up from his lowness.
No more waiting, he was just going to find someone. So Axsoa got up, with Whiskers in his arms, and he started venturing off to somewhere in this forest.

Finally, his feet led him to somewhere he never went. Somewhere in which only a certain type of sound is there, the most relaxing sound in all of Panem. The river. The blue, clear river which flowed down and down, far enough where Axsoa could no longer make out the rest of it. Axsoa walked down the river, the way it was flowing. Hoping someone else would be walking towards him.

one night and one more time,
thanks for the memories,
even though they weren't so great,
he tastes like you only sweeter.