you're not alone in these trenches // arctic
Dec 3, 2016 21:27:33 GMT -5
Post by Gryphon on Dec 3, 2016 21:27:33 GMT -5
Hᴏʟʟɪᴅᴀʏ Qᴜᴇᴇɴᴇᴛʜ
District 8 ♕ 18
District 8 ♕ 18
Think. Speak. Hear.
Another day of following this routine.
It's lost its meaning at this point.
Only two differences prevent it from really becoming the bleak, meaningless procedure of my life that it normally is right now. The first is the new frosty air hitting Panem, the winds carrying chills which bite at exposed skin and the clouds releasing the dusty white flakes of snow; the pavement I lay my feet upon is now coated with layers of ice and slush, one or the other or both happily dancing atop the rough surface in harmony. The second?
Mick no longer walks by my side.
It's so different without him here, not seeing his hands stuffed in his pockets as his steps sync with mine. Not seeing his height still slightly tower over me despite being tall for my age, not seeing his eyes light up when he looks to find me entering his peripheral vision, not seeing him accompany me practically every moment I spend away from that hellhole I call a home.
Knowing I've failed him, I hurt him...it hurts me too. He told me I was one of the only people who understood him, who he would call his friend. I ruined that closeness. He was the wrecking ball to the wall he otherwise kept in place for others in our friendship, but I betrayed him and became the contractor who ordered for it to be built back up.
I reached out to him, only to suddenly let go of his grasp and walk away from him after his house was set ablaze.
It makes more sense now, why it would be my parents. I get it, I see what he meant now, I still understand--
(But it was too late.)
The damage was already done. Chances are he no longer wants anything to do with me.
I don't blame him.
(I wouldn't want to be associated with myself either.)
I can't bring myself to say a goddamn word and serve justice like it was a cup of warm coffee for a day such as this. I can't face my parents, I can't save my siblings, I can't stand my ground against the government and I can't help Mick and his family--
(You're fucking pathetic, aren't you?)
I'm so weak. I'm so afraid.
How can I be a friend someone can count on when I retreat to the background in fear at times they need me most?
Tears hanging precariously on my lower eyelids threaten to spill out as I tightly hug my chest with crossed arms. Dress and wool gloves under a wool coat, messy blonde hair under a wool knit hat, knee-length wool socks underneath wool boots, I am in a cocoon of fleece as my feet move briskly and quietly across the glazed, gravelly, and powdered road. I can't think about this, not right now--I just need to focus on two things: get to the Town Square, and get to the nearest bakery or clothing store as soon as possible.
Ignore winter's fingers caressing my face like I'm trying to ignore these thoughts gnawing at me as a fierce hunger does.
But then a guy catches my attention as I look around, and he seems to be just as miserable as I'm feeling right now.
(You wanna do this all over again?)
I can't leave him like that, cold and alone.
(You still will.)
No.
I won't.
I redirect my path to the boy, and approach him with a kind smile.
I'm not going to mess up again.
"Hey, you okay? Don't feel like hustling to the nearest building like everybody else is?"
thompson harvard - d2b - arc
