Feast of Fools // [Arrows]

In the dark of night, I slip out of my window and settle quietly into the dirt, eyeing the porch light.

One, two, three..

If Dad’s up, he usually flicks the light on when he hears a noise. Plagued by anxiety, that man is, but he wouldn’t even know what to do if there was a thief terrorizing our home. Sometimes he gets a big branch and sticks it by the door as a blunt object, but who is he kidding? Just like me, Dad’s a stump, and we’re the wimpiest-looking sons-of-bitches that ever did walk through the streets of District Three.

Seconds tick by, and then I make my move, stalking through the dirt and onto the paved street, slinging a backpack around my shoulder. The howling of the wind covers the sound of my footsteps and the rustling of my clothing, and it’s not long before I reach my destination – a house that belongs to one of the super-fucking-rich families of the District. These are the kind of people who’ve got everything I want, and I bet they’re so comfortable they don’t even lock their windows on a hot night like this.

Surely enough, when I reach to pull one of the windows up, it gives way, and I inch it up slowly to cover any of the noise, sticking my head in to make sure nobody’s wandering around the house to get a late-night snack or whatever else these rich bitches can afford to eat.

And that reminds me: I should check the kitchen.

Sliding through the window, my feet land silently against the floor, and I tiptoe through the house until I find what I’m looking for. In seconds I’m shuffling through cabinets and stuffing fancy-ass food into my backpack.

Tonight, I feast.