Heaven, Hell, Purgatory...None of the above (Open)

I struggled against the rope. It rubbed into my skin, chaffing my wrist raw. Thrashing with my legs, I hear a sickly thud as my feet hit their target. "Umph!" I smile spreads over my lips, sweat drips down my face, adding to the redness as I gasp to catch my breath. " Your getting better. But they still would have killed you by now. You need to be faster." I rub my wrist, now freed from the binding. I had been 'training' for the past three hours. Today we practiced with escaping. This didn't make sense to me, they would not hold me captive, they would kill me. Stupid. Nonetheless, I had no choice. " I can't be faster." I spit , " I am tied." My mentor snorts, a gross annoying laugh, " That's the point, Doll."

I trudge home. Or whatever you call it. I pass the tall, endless buildings, avoiding the thoughts of the riches passing through them only to land in the hands of the capital. I have never stepped in one of those buildings, I never will. I will spend my life training. I will be strong, wise, fast, deadly. I will be a killer, they made sure of that. Then I will go to the games and either win to come back to this empty life, or die. I haven't decided which is better. People mill around. Doing normal people do at this time. Clocking out, buying dinners, happily waltzing home to there families awaiting around the table. A pit forms in my stomach. I used to be at that table. Sitting joyfully gripping the seat of my little wooden chair and swaying with excitement as daddy flew through the door and scooped me up into his arms. My mother would smile, her huge loving eyes laughing. And we would sit to a modest meal, jabbering about the days happenings. It was during one of these suppers that that sickening knock came to our door. " I bet its the boogieman! " Bellowed my father, as he marched up to the door. I squealed and ducked under the table with my mother smiles over our faces. We were expecting Netelie, our friend who often joined us for a meal. But it wasn't, not at all. It was the boogieman. And instead of taking me, like in my fathers scary stories, he took them. And I was taken into a new home. This one is better, they said. You will bring greatness, they said. Forget your mommy and daddy, they said. They would want you to be a good little girl and cooperate. They lied.

I found myself on the ground, tears streaming down my face. Another past attack. They get me, every time. I sat up, gripping my stomach, and pulled myself off the path. I am 16, I am a career. I need to get a grip. But mostly, I need to forget.