spin it our way // the overseers

I don't know,


do.

Everybody else does it seems, but I am the lucky one who does not.

Questions fill my head and I answer them with even more questions, flooding it even more with doubt and uncertainty that I will not die without backing down, without putting in an effort to the fight--without showing Mom and Dad and brother and sister that I tried when I didn't really want to in reality, only for their sake.

I will further expose to them my truth, that I'm finding it harder and harder to care and keep going with my hopes high anymore. Not when all I see is red and that's all I'll keep seeing for the rest of the life that I have left to live.

But I do not want to confirm any suspicions of theirs, that I want to say goodbye now when there's much later a time where I can use my last breath on the word. I want them to see it as just a mistake of kindness that I could not change my mind on and say no to--I want them to at least remember me positively in the midst of the situation they still find themselves in, but I do not.

I took the easy way out without even realizing it at first.

And I wish I could say sorry to them that I did but frankly, I'm not.

Not when there's no one to make the red string tied around my finger finite.

Not when there's no one to believe we've been wronged by people with the wrong intentions.

Not when there's simply just no one for us.

Life's given up on us so she might as well make my string the first to be split in two the second that gong sounds for us to run for her sake. Death seems a lot more caring and comforting, even when he does not sometimes.

As time goes on I'm slowly being wrapped in crimson thread and it's burying into my skin, it can cut off my circulation, it can make it harder to breathe and it's only a matter of more time before I'm swallowed whole like the house we no longer own.

Just get it over with.

You might as well considering what you let happen to us. Just be direct with what you want out of us.

Out of me.

I take a look at the stations again, blades and axes and bows with arrows and I am unsure if I want to practice using a weapon. I can't decide whether having to be in the space of bloodthirsty Careers is worth it.

But maybe it might be better if I got one of them to put their hands tightly around my throat until I turned blue.

They wouldn't allow that though, would they?

I glance at the three women watching us as we have at the tables and the survival equipment.

I wish they did.

We are required to gain or perfect the knowledge of sneaking around the Arena and performing first aid at some point during our training, so I don't think I'm going to bother checking out those out either yet.

I keep moving my gaze around the room, unable to pick out an unoccupied area, until I find one of random materials compared to the rest.

Improvising, right?

Might as well, since I can't bring myself to settle on anything else.

I step over to the table and place my hands down on it, checking out what I have to work with--wood planks and logs, fabric, clay, even skulls and bones. Of course they'd give us those after that one terrifying bitch from the 71st made herself armor out of them, another terrifying bitch following her actions the year after.

My fingers tap in unison on the shiny metal surface as I blank and come up with even more questions to make myself hesitant over.

What do I want to make?

How am I going to make it?

Will I even be able to make it?

God, I've had enough of this.

Maybe it's high time I start reaching out to other people--it couldn't hurt to make some potential friends around here, or at least allies for me to help out. Being left alone to think to myself seems to hurt me a lot more than I realize.

I sigh and take a deep breath, staring down at the varying piles before me as I speak loud enough for somebody nearby to hear, anybody.

"Any ideas?"

I hope there are ears to listen and hearts to respond to me.