in the belly of the lion – julian + nobody

My life is a fucking cliché.

A dark and stormy night, lightning streaks painting the sky and rain pelting against my skin to chill me to my bones. It’s another fucking sad story about a lost boy of the night trying to find his way back home.

Spoiler alert: he doesn’t have one.

I’d prefer the night time if it weren’t for the loyal friend Insomnia tapping at the edges of my consciousness. I can’t escape him, but I try – screaming, running, begging. All failed attempts, in the end, because I can’t win in my dreams, either. The sleep that eventually comes is disturbed by nightmares of being buried alive, and I find my feet dragging me to a temporary reprieve every fucking time.

Tonight, they bring me straight to the top.

The Le Roux Career Training Academy had become something of a tourist attraction ever since the 83rd Games. Once a whispered name destined to die, it now rings true at every single Reaping. Oh, the expectation and prestige a family seal holds.

It makes me fucking sick.

Entitled and righteous namesakes with the world at their feet, yet they can’t even install security cameras at the back entrance. I guess the massive courtyard was meant to be some statement or warning: don’t even think about it.

It’s almost too easy, which is exactly why the pounding at the back of my head is so loud. Not this one, it’s knocking. Not tonight. I have half a mind to consider listening to the cautious voice; I’m not the greatest at break-ins, especially on my own. I’m no leader; I’ve always been a Beta in the midst of a pack of misfits. But there’s something about a failing solo success rate that makes me that much more determined to outrun my demons.

It’s funny, in a fucked up way. It almost seems like every new makeshift family of mine comes from failure. Maybe there’s some explanation for the fact I can’t seem to stay away from dark homes and lonely corridors.

Maybe I’m just looking for the right place to fit in, ‘cause I sure as hell haven’t found it yet.

Maybe, deep down, I want to be caught.

Crawling through a window with a loose screw, I don’t know what I’m looking for, in all honesty. The last two nights of thievery were small endeavours – a few slices of bread, some matches to keep warm with a fire. I’m not a thief, not really. It’s not my scene. I just need the distraction – something to keep my hands busy and my mind clear.

CRASH!

Oh. Fuck.

I told you, I’m no fucking good at this shit.

A fucking knight in shining armour clatters to the floor in front of me, and really, I should have known that anything with the name “Le Roux” stamped across it would be more hazardous than an abandoned shack begging to be ransacked.

Well. Two out of three ain’t bad.

I need to leave, I know this. All of me knows this, but there’s hesitance in my heart that roots me to the ground. I need to leave.

Should I?

The footsteps down the staircase make that decision for me.

Fuck. Shit.

I hold my hands up in surrender as I slowly turn around. “Sorry mate. Got lost.” I shrug my shoulders and shake the nerves out of my voice, letting the water drip off my body and pool around my feet like the aftermath of tragedy; the tears of spoiled youth.