Flickering • [Solo]

josephine emerson.

I'm not entirely sure how I got here.

Here, being the knots station, but I suppose it's also this place in general. I don't think I'm meant to be here. It's a mistake, of course, but I have a few more days to sort that out. Only problem is I still have to find the right authority figure to speak to, and the men in the white suits don't seem all that keen on letting me talk to anyone. I keep thinking that perhaps they're just having a hard time understanding me through those thick helmets.

I've grown tired of the blades and the fists and the various combat exercises, and I've wandered over to the one place no one wants to go. Well, almost no one. I do recall seeing a kid or two from the lower districts around here in past years, when I would watch the Games at home with my family. And now look at me. Reduced to be their equals when I was born into something that deserved more.

I'd really like to find that authority figure.

With a long breath out, I drop into a sitting position amongst the various ropes, waving away a trainer when he offers to show me how to tie them together. I don't want to learn how to pull a knot together. I want to learn how to get out of this dreadful place, but no one seems to want to help me with that.

It's the boy sitting next to me that draws my attention away from my predicament for the first time today. He's struggling with a cord between his hands, fingers fumbling around the thing until he's practically tying himself up.

"D'you think that's going to help you?" I ask suddenly, nodding at his piece of work. "Knots, I mean. They're not exactly the most useful thing against a sword." a shiver runs down my spine at the thought.

josephine emerson.

He jumps, moving away so carefully it's almost completely unnoticeable. In fact, it almost slips right past my attention. I suppose I'm used to this sort of thing. People taking a step back from me, inching away, not wanting to associate with someone so fortunate. Why on earth that's the case, I haven't exactly figured out yet.

"I, uh..." he searches for his words for a minute, then seems to find them. "I'm pretty useless at knots." A fake laugh and a glance down at his would-be handiwork. I'd recognize the sound of a pseudo-laugh anywhere--my family does it all the time.

"But that's why I want to perfect this skill before the Games. I'm already good with a sword. No use practicing." Again, I recognize his tone, but this time I can't quite pinpoint where I've heard it before.

"Why are you, uh, over here?"

"Good question." I laugh, my response coming before I think about what he's really asking me. To be frank, I have no idea what I'm doing here. I should be anywhere but here. I should be at home, baking cookies or buying a new piece of jewelry or wasting my time on some other pointless activity. Not here. Not in this graveyard of the damned.

But then his words really click in and I want to swallow my own. "Oh, you mean..." I glance around at the various ropes and cords. "Right."

I shrug, "I'm not really supposed to be here in the first place, so there's not much of a point in, um, practicing everything. Just seemed like a good place to get away from all those starving coyotes." I laugh a bit, nodding towards the tributes who are shakily picking up a sword, cautiously handling a spear and learning to throw a knife. All thin, hollowed out souls. Poor things.

"I'm Jo." I say suddenly, sticking out a hand to shake his. We were always taught that shaking hands was the correct way to introduce ourselves. "What's your name?"