.And We Remain Quite Strangers}~ //Tamina

McKinley Graybuck

The words she says are polite a recited, suggesting that she doesn't like all this propriety. Perhaps she has parents somewhere in the crowd, watching her every move. It could be that they brought her here, and even though she doesn't like parties, she came along anyway. Or maybe she came hoping to catch the attention of a young man she's been pining after. Though by the way she's looking at you, you don't think that's the case. You give her a small smile, hoping it doesn't look too fake. You know you're attractive, and knowing that doesn't make you vain. It just means you have confidence in yourself. But the attentions of such a young girl make you uneasy. She's far too young to be after someone like me. Oh, McKinley. That's never stopped you before, has it? Let's not forget Innocence, that dear young avox of yours. You're quite the liar, but you're not good enough to lie to yourself. Not good enough by a long shot.

You hat yourself for it. Hate that you started to feel things for her. Hate that you never said a word. you were afraid, and now it's too late. She's gone, though you can't say where. She simply packed up and left in the middle of the night, leaving you alone. If you let me in, I could fill those empty spaces. I could cover up those cracks. You've never been one to take the advice of others though, have you? You fancy yourself quite independent. Well, who's independent now? Certainly not you, who invited strangers into his home just so you wouldn't feel quite so alone. How does it feel to be rattling around in that cage, McKinley? If you let me out, I could set you free. You're too afraid of yourself to take the risk. Too afraid of life. This is what you've become, McKinley. You are a shell of what you once were. You could be so much more than this. You could be great. Don't you want to feel the glory? Don't you want to feel full and alive and whole again?

It's not polite to slip away from your own party, but you feel the urge to do so now. To walk up the stairs to your private bathroom, open the medicine cabinet. To shake a few little white pills out into your hand and swallow them, in the hopes that they will shut me up. You're a fool for even thinking they will. But still you'll find an excuse to rise from your chair and swallow them down, knowing full well they won't do a thing. So just stay where you are, McKinley. Make it easier on yourself. Stop pretending and start being who you really are. You've always been afraid of turning into one of them. You've done a fine job of making sure you're different, eh? That's precisely why you're sitting at this dinner table, attempting small talk. Lies. You laugh and sip your wine, eat the finest foods the Capitol has to offer. Lies. You hold it all inside, just like always, praying you don't rip at the seams. Say it with me this time: Lies.

You put in another pitiful attempt at conversation. You should know better by now, really. You don't ever really listen to a word I say, do you? Of course not. There will be time for that yet. You drain a glass of your finest wine, wiping the liquid off your lip before turning to face your lovely companion. "It's the finest food money can buy, of course." And there you go, with the words that don't mean anything. They're just sounds mashed together. "Do you have a favorite dish?" McKinley. When will you ever learn? The only way to a full and happy life is through me.

McKinley Graybuck

The questions stops you for a moment. Fork poised in mid-air, mouth hanging open to receive the tidbit of food. Once you realize what a buffoon you look like, you snap your mouth shut. But the question still rattles around in your brain. It reminds you that she's gone. Not coming back. The worst part is, you can't even chase after her. Not that you're one for chasing. Far too cliche, even for your liking. At least that's one thing we have in common. You'll never let yourself fall again. You'll never believe in illusions. Although you're a man of illusion yourself. You're not what you appear to be, and not a single person here would be able to guess it. Your heart thrums in your chest. Your blood whooshes in your ears. You need to get out, get air - You can't do this. Can't pretend anymore.

You try to rise slowly from your chair so no one notices, but the motion is a bit too abrupt. When you notice them staring, the panic ratchets up a notch. The chair tumbles to the floor, and you're walking fast away from the table, mumbling an "Excuse me," as you pass. Your footsteps are too loud. Too fast. Sweat gathers on the back of your neck, and before you've reached the door, you fling off the jacket, grasping it in one hand. You push the front door open, letting in a blast of cold, comforting air. Your fingers crush the expensive fabric of your jacket, but you don't let go. To let go would mean insanity. Your guests probably think you're insane already, or well on the road to becoming it. Taking long, deep breaths of the frigid air, you convince your lungs to work again. Your heart to beat. Your bones to mend.

But it isn't that easy, is it? Convincing yourself of something does not make it true. Nor does it give you utter confidence. Even if you tell yourself she's alright, safe somewhere, that doesn't stop the nightmares of slit throats in the night. It doesn't stop you from wondering if you're wrong. You pull at the tie around your neck, loosening it, then ripping it off entirely and tossing it to the ground. You let go of your jacket then, let it fall to the ground. It's only a piece of fabric. Money will buy you more of them. Money made from stealing. Money made by me. Move over, McKinley. It's my turn now.

I've been waiting far too long. Waiting for you to be weak and vulnerable. For you to let your guard down. But now the time has finally come. I've been shut up for far too long, but no more. It's time for me to have my fun. Your parties are dull and pointless. My parties are fun. No one ever gets bored. My parties also don't take place inside stuffy mansions. They take place in the alleys and the streets, where the poor and the avoxed merge to become something greater than those haughty Capitolites. We are the Kings and Queens, free to touch and taste and feel the world on our skin. We don't pretend. We simply live.

You'd best put those fancy clothes in the closet, McKinley. Wouldn't want them to get ruined, now would we?

Bullet

The soft voice does nothing to break me. It barely makes me pause. Certainly, it won't bring you back. McKinley might be afraid of letting others getting involved, but I am not. I could care less about the hearts I toss to the street corners, the people I betray. It's all part of the thrill. Really, why should I care? You've made sure all the worst parts of yourself are hidden beneath my skin. Of course, you never knew how much power it would give me. If you had, you would have kept it for yourself. Selfish boy. Didn't your mother teach you to share?

Slowly, I turn back to the girl, letting a smile seep across my face. It's cute that she thinks she needs to protect you, McKinley. Protect me. The very thought make me roll my shoulders back and laugh out into the dark of the night. I can take care of both of us. I've been doing for a very long time. Taking a step forward, I grab the girl's hand, lean down, and brush my lips across her fingertips. That's how the gentlemen do it, isn't it, McKinley? A chuckle escapes my lips as I let her hand slip away. "There's nothing I need from you." I consider playing with the girl a bit longer, finding a way to have some fun. But tonight, I have my own agenda. I can't be weighed down by little girls playing dress-up. I start off down the street, but before I get too far, I shout back at her, "My name's not McKinley. It's Bullet!" I must admit, it's good to be free. I laugh a little as I think forward to the mess you'll have when it comes time to explain this to your guests tomorrow. All play for me, work for you. Just as it should be.

Bullet

There are so many things I could do. Stealing is the first thought that comes to mind. Or I could visit old friends that you pretend no longer exist. That hurts them, you know. You shouldn't push people to the back of the closet just because you've changed. It's bad manners, or hasn't anyone ever told you? No, of course not. No ever told you what was good manners. You figured it out yourself, because you're a smart little boy. It's sickening. You're so good at pretending to be perfect, at giving people what they expect. Doesn't it disgust you? Don't you ever just want to...Die?

Look at the way you recoil in horror at the thought. Convince the face in the mirror that it's not what you want, it was just a thought you couldn't control. You're unraveling, and you know it just as well as I. The idea's there. The seed has been planted. And once that seed begins to grow and take root, you'll have a hard time pulling it up. I, on the other hand, have no need to worry about such things. You see, death has never been something I've craved, at least not yet. I've always liked who I am. Unlike you, I've never felt insecure. I've never felt the need t hide who I am. I don't steal little white pills and kitchen knives, swallow it down and presspresspress in the middle of the night, trying to regain control. I'm far more patient than you. If I want control, all I have to do is wait.

You can't be someone you're not. You aren't anyone at all. You're a figment, a made up story. This thing you call your life is just a game. I am what's real, not you. I was here first, and I will remain long after you have gone. When you die, all it will do is set me free. The sooner you decide to take a leap of faith, the better. Everything would be so much better for the both of us if you let me take the wheel.

So consumed by my thoughts am I that I don't notice at first the soft sounds of footsteps behind me. Loud noises pretending to be quiet, and clearly following me. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me it's that girl again, that one from the party. What's her name, McKinley? Celeste. Ah, yes. Thank you McKinley. I suppose you are useful for something after all. I've never cared about names quite as much as you have. Ducking into an alley as I go around a corner, I hope to startle Celeste. If she thinks she's lost me, I can ask why she was trying to follow me. It's to safe for pretty girls on the streets at night, especially in the area of the Capitol I'm heading for. Also, I'd rather not having someone reporting my illegal activities of the night. Before she turns the corner, though, the memory hits me full force. I immediately hate myself for it. I live in the present, not the past or the future. That's you, McKinley, not me. Your the one that dwells on things, you're the one that feels. This isn't the way it's supposed to be.

A small boy walks down a street dimly lit by the streetlights. Tears streak his face, glimmering under the dying lights. He's so sick of this. Of getting let down, getting hurt. He doesn't want to give people the power to hurt him anymore. He doesn't want to be a lie. So he'll do all he can. Now that the only person who's ever really cared about him is gone, he has nothing. He'll build himself a new kingdom out of the rubble. He'll become better and new, erecting concrete walls around his heart, locking up his feelings somewhere deep inside. He'll show them all. He could be someone someday, if only he had the chance. The chance will never come if he waits for it. He has to make his chance.

My hands bite into the brick wall as I squeeze my eyes shut. I will not lose control. I am control. You are the weakling, not me. I am the backbone, the foundation. I don't let myself be swayed by emotions and memories. I am this day and this moment only. Nothing else matters. I've allowed the insanity to creep inside your mind, but i refuse to let it inside my own. The game starts now, McKinley, and I will win. I always win.

Bullet

I waited for so long
outside myself.

She thinks she's quiet, but I can hear her as she walks down the street, even now that she's removed those annoying heels. I've never understood why women would waste their money on such things. It's useless to spend your money to make yourself appear a few inches taller, when everyone knows the only reason you look taller is because of your shoes. It's stupid, the masks these people put on, trying to hide their deformities and imperfections, nonexistent to every eye except their own. Capitolites are too vain. At least, the ones you associate with are.

Now, I''m not saying all Capitolites are like this. Just the vast majority. The minority, the few of us that live in poverty and cater to the every whim of those that are rich, but not rich enough to own an avox, are anything but vain. We know the true value of a dollar, and we know how to get our money's worth. Honestly, McKinley, these shoes of yours are horrid. I expected better of you. They'd fall apart at the first sign of a puddle. But they'll do, I suppose. There's a good pair of shoes hiding in a closet in the house somewhere, shoved behind polished leather and unopened boxes. I'll retrieve them later, when I have time.

Celeste approaches the street when I hide. Patiently, I wait for her to walk to the precise location where I can grab her the easiest, with a smaller risk of her escaping. When the moment comes, I take one large step forward and wrap one arm firmly around her middle, placing my other hand over her mouth to muffle any noises of surprise. Leaning down close, so my lips are near her ear, I whisper, "Why are you following me?" I drop my hand from her mouth, but keep it hovering near her face so I can replace it quickly if she starts to scream. No need to be alerting anyone else of our prescence.

Bullet

You see I was pretending
To be someone else.

A laugh bubbles up from my throat as she answers my question with one of her own. It's amusing, but at the same time, it's a bit insulting. She thinks I'm middle aged? Well, if that's the case, it must be entirely your fault, McKinley. You lead the life of an old man. I'd much rather be out here on the streets, but of course you can't have that. I bring my lips close to her ear again. "I'm not as old as you think. Only twenty-four." I move my head away from hers and shift her body around so she is pressed more firmly to my chest. I don't want her squirming away and running off.

Other men in this position might consider taking advantage of such a pretty young girl, or slitting her slim throat for a thrill. I have no knife, and no desire to kill. Only foolish people murder others, and only cowards take advantage of young women. I'm a thief, that is all. I do not aspire to be anything else. Celeste is pretty, of that there is no doubt, but looking at her does not stir any feelings inside my chest. I don't believe in love. I've always left that up to you, McKinley. I can hear you now, whispering inside my brain to let her go. She's just a girl, you tell me. I know it's true, but that doesn't change anything. I'd be holding her here even if she was a man. Who she is doesn't matter to me. She was following me, and that is the only thing that is important. "I'll ask you again; why were you following me?"