Fish are Friends, Not Food (Walker JB Standalone)

There is absolutely no hope for me. None. Not one ounce. Not any in the slightest. Zero. Zilch. Nada. No matter what I try to do, what I try to think of, there is never any sign of light at the end of my tunnel. All I see is one color, red. Not other people's blood, not animal's blood, but my blood. I see my blood when I look down at the couch, when I look at the wall, and when I look at my hands. It's subconscious, yet it means one thing and one thing only. My eminent death.

As the seconds go by, accepting death only gets more and more difficult. Just thirty minutes ago when they called me on the stage, I was sure that death would be easy and quick, I accepted that. Now it isn't so easy. I want to live. I want to survive. I really do. Yet no matter how I play out the games in my mind, death always finds me.

Since my family was forced out just minutes ago, leaving me with no other visitors, all I have done is think. Thinking only makes whatever light there almost was dimmer. The less time to think, the better. If I can only keep my mind full of tasks between know and my death in around a week, then I will be content. But that wont happen... Even with all of the tasks that the Capitol gives us, there is still too much time to think. There is just too much time to think about my soon to be death.

And the more I think about it, the less I am willing to accept it.

But deep down I know that I have to.