Bit By Bit

There was not much point to resisting. After the first club hit me over the back, I felt like passing out. Never mind the following five or six times. They must really, really hate me. That, or they are animal lovers. They seem to have a real hatred for someone who only nabbed a wild turkey.

Now they carry me down these dark, dingy halls with nary a hope for a future. It was a foolish mistake on my part that I got caught. I should have been paying attention. I should have watched my back. But no, I let one person spy on me during a hunt. One person, who told a peacekeeper, who hunted me down. Next thing I know, I'm here. The infamous detention center.

A place of which none can escape.

I saw the check points, the patrols, the detection systems. Unless I could evaporate into thin air, I was completely and utterly boned. My feet simply drag along the ground as they haul me by the arms to an open cell. My cell. The place I'm going to be staying for a very long time. I can hear someone, a guard most likely, telling someone else about "a new room-mate". So I won't be suffering alone, that's a bonus.

But I don't think I'd be much company for the moment. My nerves are acting up, I can feel them. Already more body is bathed in pain. Every nerve, every scar, every ounce of being that I am just burns a bloody hot flame across my body. I couldn't even whimper if I tried.
At least your still breathing I tell myself, as if that's any comfort. If I could drop dead right now, that'd be a release. Because I have no idea if I'm even getting out. If I'll ever see the sun shine again. Hell, I don't know if I'll be around long enough to have an episode again.

Because now, I'm at my new home. The guards throw me unceremoniously into the cell. I hit the floor hard. My feet are kicked out of the way, and the door is slammed shut. Then the lock closes. I can here the intricate mechanism shut a seal the door all the way around. There's no picking that thing open. All I can do is just lay here, burning in pain. About to pass out.

How the hell do I survive these episodes? I don't even know how I even manage to stay awake. If I could die I would, it'd be an easier alternative. But what would that leave for my new cell mate? How would he look to the guards? Probably get him killed. So for his sake I guess I'll just have to pull through this. Pain is already fading out. Sort of.

And my cell mate is trying to talk to me. Or trying to see if I'm okay. How noble.

I give a groan and try working my arms. I've only moved them the tiniest bit but it feels like they've just been just been shredded by a wood shaver. And it only grows worse as i try pushing myself up. I'm only an inch off the ground when my arms give out and I come back down on the concrete floor.

I think I've just been set on fire. Sure feels like it. Like a blow torch going under my skin and frying me from the inside out.

"Is there any water?" I ask. I hope there is. Cold, I've found, is the only thing that helps. Ice, rain, mud, wind, anything works so long as it's cooler than my fever. I only hope this guy understands that. I guess the only reason I haven't passed out yet is because of how damn cold the floor is. I'd have fainted by now if this floor weren't cooling me off and dulling it down. At this point I WANT to pass out. But I guess I have to wait out this episode. And hope I get something to cool me off.

I hear some squeaks from the sink. I guess this guy is willing to help. But to just what extent? Groans of unused equipment cry out from underground. There's some degree of resistance from the water pump, I can hear it. Several moments pass before that tap finally does its job.

The rhythmic hum of water pouring onto metal is soon replaced by splashing as some sort of container is filled. Moments later, my cell mate is back at my side. His hand brushes the cool liquid over my feverish forehead. It feels nice, but that's about it. I need some on my extremities, down my throat. What I don't need is a nurse. Though if he chooses to be one, so be it. I'm very grateful.

Then a sharp series of needle jabs pierces my skin. Or at least that's how it feels as he moves me to a sitting position against the wall. Dammit this hurts! But, I'm up. Better than face down on the floor. Still, he could've warned me.

“So, what did they throw you in here for?”

I glance up at him, staring right into his eyes. He brings the bowl to my mouth, tipping it forward. Does he want an answer or a patient? Doesn't matter. The wash of cool water floods over my tongue and down my throat. There's a terrible taste, almost enough to make me gag. This water has been stagnant, for a very long time. Doesn't matter, it's water, it's cold. I can feel it leeching the pain from my chest as it runs down my throat.

When the bowl is empty, he sets it aside. I clear my throat a little. I still sound like a weakly whelp when I talk.
"You wanna know what I'm in for? Poaching. Damn poaching. What about you? How'd you deserve this fate?"

Yes, strength is returning. Cold somehow helps, could never figure out how, or why. But my legs are only sore now. Good to move.

Struggling against my self, I pull my legs in and try to get up. I brace against a wall as I push with my legs. A terrible shake still dominates my legs, and my arms don't want to move around, but I force all my limbs into cooperation. The bed, that's my goal. I stumble over to it, using the wall for support. It's alot of effort for only taking two steps. But I make it to the metal plate and brace myself against it, slowly laying down. Were I to simply jump on it, I could break something. And cold doesn't fix a break.

The food is decent, ha! The only thing decent about the detention center is the roof above our heads, what I believe to be a reliable source of water, and the guaranteed bed to sleep on. Other than that, this whole place is just a pit. A pit that those capitol pigs throw us in to lay down and die like rats in a trap.

That's all we are to them.

We're not humans, we're not people, I grew up with the selfish pigs, I should know how they view the districts. They just ride along all high on their horses, dining on the fruits of our labour. Well, actually, I can't really say our labour. I haven't held a real district job long enough to say that. But watching the tired faces with not a hope in the world other than the families they raise. Suffering because the capitolites are too lazy and self centered to do any sort of hard work. They can all go to hell. Or at least join me in it.

“So where are you from? Must be pretty low down in the districts to have to poach.” He asks me.

To this, I smile and roll over onto my back. This bed isn't terribly comfortable, but it's solid. Only thing I'm debating right now is, Should I tell him?
In all likeliness, I'm going to die in here. So there'd be no harm in letting someone know my sob story. But then again... if they do plan to let me out, then they could just be playing us... making us crack and reveal information to each other. They could have microphones, recording everything we say...

That or I'm just being paranoid. Still, can never underestimate the extent the capitol goons will go to ensure their perfect world goes unharmed by any external influence. My dad could tell you that.

I just hope they don't discover who I really am. What would they do if they discovered that I was an escaped capitolite? Torture me? Interrogate me? Smack me on the wrist and shove me back into the capitol? I doubt they'd be that nice. A bullet would likely be their solution. So I must be careful. Something as simple as my first name could tip them off. I've never heard another like it, so it is mostly likely a one of a kind. Which leaves me between a rock and a hard place.

"I got busted in district seven. You can call me 'H'."
Safe enough.
"So tell me, Forge, you got family? What's twelve like?"