rooftop manners {solo}

Back in Eleven, the sky is so full of stars every night that it's hardly ever dark outside. Ma says it's always like that in the country, but I know it's because we have no lights, or at least, very few of them. We only get it from the few candles we have and the blinking red dots atop the fence that cages us in. Here, it's different. The Capitol is so full of twinkling lights, you could almost convince yourself the sky came down and settled itself on the earth. But I know that's not true. Stars don't blink on and off with the push of a button.

Training has been good. I haven't made many friends, but that wasn't my intention in the first place. I don't want to become friends with twenty-something other children who are going to be dead in the next couple of weeks. But that doesn't mean I'm not friendly. Henri always told me that if I could get people to talk to me, they'd eventually learn to trust me, and I could use that. I'm not entirely sure how, but I think I'll find out once we're all in the arena together.

My footsteps are light, moccasins treading softly across the roof of the Training Center. I requested them from my stylist as soon as we got off the train. She went into a rage over the idea, all red-cheeked and flustered, but I warned her that I would go barefoot if I didn't have them. She was reluctant, but I talked her into it.

I look up, brown eyes landing on the figure of a boy I hadn't yet noticed. I've been making my way around the outside of the roof, fingers running along the rail, focused on the sky within the city below me. I only caught him after he entered my peripheral vision. My footsteps don't falter.

I close the distance between us, silent, but aware that he'll catch sight of me sooner or later. Quite suddenly I realize I've been rather lonely up on the roof.

I automatically move to mimic his position, leaning against the rail, arms crossed, because some distant memory tells me that doing so makes people more comfortable. 

I glance sideways, a ghost of a smile hidden somewhere behind my lips.

"I'll jump if you jump." I nod towards the open space in front of us, a very, very small hint of sarcasm in my voice. I reach out with one finger, towards the city, and suddenly pull back when I hit the barrier and something zaps my finger. I rub it against my thumb. "Probably not a nice way to go."

He's surprised, I think, by my words, not answering right away. Instead he watches and laughs as the force field electrocutes my finger.

Good. Laughing is good. Henri always said that if you could get them to laugh , you could get them to do almost anything else.

"It was a good thought." he speaks for the first time, laughter under his breath and amusement hidden somewhere in his eyes. "It's still probably better than whatever the Gamemakers throw our way once the games begin."

Gamemakers. A half-hearted laugh escapes me, but it's more like forced air rushing out my nose than anything else. It's strange, the name the Capitol has given to their executioners. I think we should just call them by what they really are, not by the mask they hide behind. Everything would be so much easier then. I never liked dancing around the truth. This is no different.

"Must be nice standing down on the streets partying without fear." his voices has gone down an octave, speaking under his breath rather than openly and clearly. Whether that's to hide it from whoever's watching, or because he's no longer speaking to me, I'm not quite sure.

I lean over the edge, peering down at the party going on below us. Pretty little birds, dressed to the nines in whatever flamboyant creation has recently surfaced and taken the Capitol by storm. Ridiculous headdresses, pastel colored clothes and faces painted until they're no longer recognizable as human. The picture sickens me. Everything in the Capitol is a play, perfectly scripted, real people dressed up in costume and a plot to make one thing look like another. It's all some twisted act, and one day it will fall out from under them.

"I hate them." I stiffen, gaze flickering back and forth, praying that no one is listening. "Do you hate them?"

My muscles relax. I nod, once. "More than you'll ever know."

I pull a coin from my pocket, smaller than my palm, the one Gabriel gave me before I left Eleven. It rolls around between my fingers, cold metal kissing warm skin.

Heads or tails.

"I had a cousin back home. Sampson. Used to stand up on this little soapbox of his and yell 'bout the injustices of the world." A laugh escapes me. "Got in trouble with the Keepers a few times. I did warn him, you know." The coin comes to rest between my thumb and forefinger. "Stupid moron. Wish I was more like him."

"I've never had someone taken from me in the form of the games, but I know what they are capable of."

Something boils up inside of me, I press my lips together, forcing myself to keep my cool. He's from Seven. He can't possibly have it harder than us, he has no idea what it's like to lose a family member or a close friend. He didn't watch his cousins die one after the other. But when I think about it, I guess that doesn't give me the right to disregard his suffering. Just because someone doesn't know real pain doesn't mean they don't deserve sympathy. So I breath deeply, and I stay silent.

"But what can they do to us now?" he glances sideways at me, a smirk playing across his lips, and I can't help but be amused right along with him. "At the most, all they can do is kill us in the hell that's been prepared, and maybe I can at least speak my mind."

I nod in agreement. He's right, I'll admit to that. "That's the irony of it all I guess." a short laugh escapes me as I lean dangerously far over the edge of the railing. "They're trying to show us the control they have over us, but in doing that they get no control over the ones who are here. They can't touch us, at least not till we're in the arena."

In a series of smooth motions, I swing my leg over the railing, the other one quickly following. Hands grip the edge and I reach out to test where the barrier is. It zaps me for a second time not too far away. My body leans back, gravity pulling me out and down, fingers wrapped tightly around the railing.

"You're not scared of heights, are you?" a mischievous tickles the corners of my mouth. The breeze picks up ever so slightly, and my grin broadens, savoring the feeling of almost flying.

If you only it were that easy to get out of here.