Mix and match // Mylee

The snow that has fallen onto the ground has done little to lighten the dark mood in my heart. There is nothing warm about what I feel now, just disappointment with a small side of terror. The games had done much to smother the last, small flickering flames of excitement that danced inside me. However, the girl was left, and even though I didn’t know her, I wished her the best of luck, and hoped that she had a family here that would be welcoming her home or grieving over their loss, either way would be better than not having someone at all. I personally would not mind going into the games, as I know I would not come home. I wouldn’t want to come home, not anymore. People have told me that once you go into the arena, all you want is home, but I don’t believe that is true in my case. The only reason I don’t run away is simply because I would have nowhere to go, and at this time of the year, the cold would be pretty tough to bear.

I had been sent out to get wood, and even though I was not bundled up, I was thankful for the task. If I was lucky, the cold would numb the entire length of my body, leaving me without feeling, good or bad. The cold was almost like a fire within itself, just slightly different. Both leave you without feeling, without an understanding of your surroundings. My toes were numb within the front of my boots, the snow underneath my feet crunching along the path. Everything was dusted with white, some more than others with their thick sheets of snow compared to the specks that fell upon some objects. I liked the look of the snow because it made everything clean. It made everything look purer than it was, and that in itself was nice. I rubbed my hands together, enjoying the heat that was produced.

I could see my breath as I yawned out the last glimpses of morning. The trees that lined the path had branches hanging low from weight of the snow, and if you pulled on one of them just right, you could dump that entire load on a passerby. I wouldn’t do that though, because it was mean. Instead, I continued on the path, not paying attention to the people I passed along the way. There was a man, a mother and her child, and then a girl. She was probably just a tad older than I was, but why would I stop? I wasn’t good with friends and she most likely was. Why would anyone pay attention to the beaten boy with the broken smile?