the hard way {fast + bi leisure day 3}
Mar 11, 2021 18:46:40 GMT -5
Post by rook on Mar 11, 2021 18:46:40 GMT -5
and every book you take
and you dust off from the shelf
has lines between lines between lines
that you read about yourself
and you dust off from the shelf
has lines between lines between lines
that you read about yourself
You could have taken her.
Maybe. She was taller than me, maybe faster, but punched like someone who had never been in a real fight before. In a straight up fist fight, sure, but all it takes is someone to slip a knife between your ribs and it's goodnight that's all she wrote folks.
What would have been the point anyway? Fight her, kill her, then what? There were three other Tributes and they weren't fighting with their fists. No fight is fair in here, no one is going to referee to keep balance when it's life and death.
You could have taken all of them.
You're wrong. I'm done gambling other people's lives overestimating my own abilities.
I sit in the dirt, bandaging up all the parts of me that bleeds - a hyena licking her wounds. Even though we have water now I feel guilty for drinking it, it feels like a milestone, like I've made it another step closer to home - to the fourth day. A sunrise that Turner won't see, and I'm partially to blame.
I take a greedy gulp from my canister and wipe my wet lips with the back of my sleeve. I could have done more. I could have saved him.
But you didn't, you coward. Little Drummond girl always hiding, always running from her problems.
Just shut up for once.
I have to fight another tribute at some point. There's simply too many out there and they all want to kill us. I can't shirk away to fight muttations again, not if it costs Saylor or Silk their lives. I don't wanna go out, bleeding into the dirt knowing that they all died because of me. Three more bodies stained on my conscience next to Ken's, and my own. I feel hollow thinking about it.
Could I really do it? Could I kill another human being? Staring down at my broken, distorted hands, I don't know if I can see them wrapping around another's throat and squeezing until their eyes bleed red and their neck hangs loose. I feel sick at the image.
Get used to it, or get used to being dead.
I'm a fighter, I'm a survivor - am I a murderer?
Or am I just a coward?
I guess, one way or the other, we are gonna find out.
Maybe. She was taller than me, maybe faster, but punched like someone who had never been in a real fight before. In a straight up fist fight, sure, but all it takes is someone to slip a knife between your ribs and it's goodnight that's all she wrote folks.
What would have been the point anyway? Fight her, kill her, then what? There were three other Tributes and they weren't fighting with their fists. No fight is fair in here, no one is going to referee to keep balance when it's life and death.
You could have taken all of them.
You're wrong. I'm done gambling other people's lives overestimating my own abilities.
I sit in the dirt, bandaging up all the parts of me that bleeds - a hyena licking her wounds. Even though we have water now I feel guilty for drinking it, it feels like a milestone, like I've made it another step closer to home - to the fourth day. A sunrise that Turner won't see, and I'm partially to blame.
I take a greedy gulp from my canister and wipe my wet lips with the back of my sleeve. I could have done more. I could have saved him.
But you didn't, you coward. Little Drummond girl always hiding, always running from her problems.
Just shut up for once.
I have to fight another tribute at some point. There's simply too many out there and they all want to kill us. I can't shirk away to fight muttations again, not if it costs Saylor or Silk their lives. I don't wanna go out, bleeding into the dirt knowing that they all died because of me. Three more bodies stained on my conscience next to Ken's, and my own. I feel hollow thinking about it.
Could I really do it? Could I kill another human being? Staring down at my broken, distorted hands, I don't know if I can see them wrapping around another's throat and squeezing until their eyes bleed red and their neck hangs loose. I feel sick at the image.
Get used to it, or get used to being dead.
I'm a fighter, I'm a survivor - am I a murderer?
Or am I just a coward?
I guess, one way or the other, we are gonna find out.
and when your friends are talking
you hardly hear a word
you were the first person herе
and the last man on the earth
you hardly hear a word
you were the first person herе
and the last man on the earth
