gonna need more disinfectant to clean that { roadkill d1 }

N A N E T T E   Ψ   C A R T E R

Flynn tells me it was just a rat, and I nod at him while Cassidy complain of our childish antics. She was right, of course. Sucomming to dares and challenges in the arena was not how you looked out for your survival, it was how you found yourself in an early grave.

The mask I had fitted on upon arriving at the capitol felt so tight, like it was hard to breathe. But I didn't loosen it. I needed the people around me to think I was nothing more than a career. A dumb, strong, fearless soldier. So instead of dropping my gaze, allowing any of them to see the guilt I turn my nose up, tightening the strap of my mask as I heart. "Yeah, let's go," my voice is tight as I flick a cold gaze over my shoulder at Revan. "You wanted an apology? Fine. Sorry, but I'm taking the spear." And with that I am off, once again marching ahead of the group.

I try not to think of my mum, and what she might think of the girl on her screen. The one that looked like her daughter, sounded like her, but seemed to have lost the warmth in her heart. It didn't matter what she thought. It didn't matter if she hated what she saw. All that mattered was that I made it home, that she got to see me again, and that I got to make her that god damn roast. It was going to be an amazing roast. The biggest piece of pork money can buy and the crackling- oh man it will be do die for. A crunch that's so satisfying that I almost let out a moan at the thought.

Moving further and further away what hits me the most was the smell. My eyes that were already watering seemed to cry, my free hand tugging off my cap placing it over my nose and mouth as an attempt to try and filter the smell. Any thought if the roast turns to shit in my mind, making my stomach hurt. Not from hunger, but from disgust. "It keeps getting worse," I mumble, holding back a gag.

I could only hope that in a matter of days I would get used to the smell.

Or Ripred help me.

Then I stop. My feet inches from the shore line of- of- I don't even know what to call it. My face is pulled back into a look of pure repulsion as I watch a bubble pop on the surface of what appeared to be a lake of diarrhea, vomit, urine and maybe(?) a dash of water. For a moment I am speechless, tears running from my eyes as they though against the toxins in the air, against the heinous stench that wrapped itself tightly around our bodies, offering no form of escape.

Then I am angry. Grumbling to myself I toss my shit onto the ground, a safe enough distance from the lake that it won't get contaminated, I pluck up a rock from the ground and hurl it into the bubbling expanse of a toilet bowl before me. I was so angry, and I hated to admit it but scared. Scared that this fucking wasteland will most likely be the last thing I see. Scared that I am going to die and my body is going to be so deeply ingrained with the smell that no one if going to want to come to my funeral.

"Train to be a career, they say, bring fucking glory to our home." I pick up another rock, "It'll be fun," I hurl into into the lake, instantly it is swallowed by the goop before me. "Well fuck them. Fucking ass hats."

Turning away I slump down onto the ground, arms folder across my chest. I don't look at my allies, I don't look at anyone as I pull the cap onto my head, pulling it down low so that it hide my face. Only then do I loosen my mask, and allow my fear in, allow my tears to turn from frustration and anger and fear to the thoughts of my home, my mother and my brother.

And all I wanted was to go home.

To forget about the reaping.

About the games.

About the cancer that infested my mother body

All I wanted was to be in the ocean, gaze examine the night sky as my mum sat on the shore, healthy and happy, with Callan beside her.

Though it didn't matter how hard I wished for it, dreams were just that: dreams.