nineteen seventy three {train!blitz}

DR. PRAXIS

In the darkness before the dawn
In the swirling of the storm
When I'm rolling with the punches
And hope is gone

Fucking kids. What were the chances of two of my patients being Reaped on the same day? They say that the chances of one being Reaped is something like one in a couple thousand, but for the two of them? I think back to elementary school - What a piss take that was. Something about multiplying odds together to get the combined probability of shit going down. One to a fucking million knowing my luck. Piss poor, but that's life, so I've learned. I accept it, and move on. These kids are my burden - My patients. As their Doctor it's my responsibility to supervise them. Tell you what, though - I don't think the mentor's too pleased. They've more or less isolated themselves at the front of the train in protest. Heck, I can't tell if they're a man or a woman - Just a weird looking freak. All the better they stay away.

I stray through the train cabin, cigarette puffing away in my mouth like an extension of my face. A black, charred tongue. I reach for an empty glass and make my way to the refreshments. I wasn't invited to come along on this joy ride, rather I insisted that the boy was too mentally unstable to go in the Games without more treatment. Tch. What a bunch of suckers to think I give a fuck. I would rather have a couple weeks of luxury than have to deal with the parents of a dosen comatose children. I deserve a vacation, right? I work hard. I may be a bit rough around the edges, but I do my job properly, within the laws and regulations. Everyone needs a break.

I pour myself a generous amount of whiskey and glug it back. It is aged and dry, with a fruity kick. I'm not actually sure if it is whiskey at all, rather something that looks like it. The Capitol produce some pretty weird shit, that's for sure. Good, but fucking weird. It's been so long since I last stepped foot there, and my accent has faded and become more urban, suiting to District Six's twang. Going back now is strange. I am unsure what reception I will get if I ever see any of my old colleagues. Will they resent me for up-sticks and leaving? Part of me knows that they will judge me for what I have become - Overweight, sluggish and grubby. Hardly the Capitolite I once was. Then of course there's the fact that I look normal now, and not like some fucking gay ponce.

I raise a hand to the grotesque lump on the side of my forehead - scarred and red from the blunt of a hammer. It still aches from time to time, and is always tender to the touch. I take another sharp sip of my beverage to help numb whatever pain I am feeling. I sustained this wound a long, long time ago, and yet it never healed properly. Maybe it's a constant reminder of the past, of what I went through. There are fixed points in our lives that dictate what we become. I am thankful that I was assaulted. He was such a scrawny lad, was little Frazier. Never was gonna amount to much. Needed fattening up. Needed to toughen up and become a man. I drink deeper.

I'm getting travel sick from the motion of the train, and the alcohol doesn't help with that. I move down the carriage and encounter Galaxy. The girl is solemn, as you would expect. She always was, even after waking from her coma. Her recovery was monitored by me, so I know the ins and outs of her head. I'm her guardian angel. I brought her back into the world. In a way, I'm some kind of dirty miracle. She is odd looking - Ginger with no eyebrows (Did she leave those back in her coma?)
"Oh cheer up, you're making me miserable just looking at you." I look away from her, and out the window at the rapidly passing scenery. These trains move so damn fast.
"Where's the boy? Is he still crying?" I ask her quickly, "That fruit needs to accept things for what they are. Learn from it, don't cry about it. Life's about adapting."

Eh, you can have that bit of advice for free.

Millions of miles from home
In the swirling swimming on
When I'm rolling with the thunder
But bleed from thorns

words: 724, graphics: rook
theme: midnight by coldplay