the hard truth | ronan&parson

A slow recovery, winter’s bite still lingers in my lungs. A persistent cough that I cannot shake, cocktails of medicines have done their work, but they can’t clear up the scars. One whole year of living a new life, many days have wasted away, and others have brought new experiences. The District has forgotten about mine and Quest’s resurrection, it is all about the new reaping now.

It is like we are throw away toys, there are new tributes on the market to play with.

Well whatever, fuck their constant intrusion anyway. My new home is a victor’s house and I aren’t even the winner. If only I could watch the new fashion show from the comfort of Teddy’s couch. The games have had me dead, but I still must stand through this damn reaping.

I contrast from the boy who stood here twelve months ago, the illness has me displaying bones but the detox from poison has my cheeks glowing red, even my clothes are a little less worn than the rags that once draped me. Four months without a drop of alcohol, oh I cannot wait until my treatment ends.

Ronan Keeni-Einfallen

The boy is already damned by two unlucky names. Oh shit – the drop of the cigarette from the reaped has my jaw dropped, he is my fucking hero.

Once the college clears, I take the same journey to the small room where no soul bothered to say their goodbyes to me, not even a father who no begs for my return home. Rules of my resurrection have been recited, you don’t have the same privileges as a victor but there is no rule against spilling some words of wisdom to the next likely corpse that will return to District Six.

I slip trough the crowds in the hallway, my presence a clear surprise from the prominent glances that are thrown my way. All I can do is deliver a smirk back to them as I take a puff of my newly prescribed inhaler look at the mess you have created.

The familiar room presents itself, but my successor sits in my throne. I push a box of cigarettes from my trouser pocket across the table to him. ”I am not allowed to smoke them anyway, I am sure you are already carrying some but the more the better I suppose.” My voice still croaks with each word but my breath is now easily controlled after the months of healing.

”Nice power move on the stage, people will remember that.” The need to be memorable, it is why I am the piss boy now. Acts of complete craziness or heroism, something to please the wicked. ”I’ll cut to the chase because I am not someone who is here to give words of wisdom, that is Teddy’s job.”

I rest both of my hands on the edge of the table, not bothering to occupy the empty chair, I am not going to be here for long. ”They won’t resurrect tributes two years in a row. If you want to win then fight. If you want to die then get it over with quickly.“ My finger extends to the pack of tobacco on the table. I am living a prolonged death right now, it really cannot be called a new life not with all the scars I am carrying.