drink till you feel nothing / tom

They returned her body is a plain casket. Not one fit for the girl who lay within. It didn't have anything that might have distinguished her from any of the other fallen and that sent a jolt of rage through me. To them, the Capitol, she was nothing but another number, another figure to add on to the deceased. They most likely wouldn't use her name as they tallied up the score.

I had demanded they transfer her body into something more extravagant as I left the funeral home, flask in hand, fists wrapped in bandages. I was to bury her first thing tomorrow morning. Right next to the freshly turned plot of our mother. The thought causes tears to bring to my eyes, and I hastily wipe them away taking a large gulp of the strong liquor that was stored in my flask. The ladies had been kind to me, eyes sympathetic as they patiently listened to my grievances. I hadn't meant to snap at them, but when I saw her, the bullet hole in the side of her head, all I could think was that that was my sister and that someone- a fucking blind kid- had executed her like he was the reaper of death.

I don't go home when I leave. For a couple hours I roam aimlessly around the district. Those who recognise me look at me with pity in their eyes, whispering to their partners and pointing 'thats the boy who just lost their sister in the games.' 'I hear that his mother just died, too.' 'oh how sad, my heart just breaks for the kid.' Another swig of liquor and I am pushing past their sad gazes, trying to ignore they way the streets seemed to hush every where I went.

It was almost as if death followed me, and they were scared if they spoke to loud he might hear them, and claim their lives next.

Another sip and the flask is empty, sighing I shove it into my pocket, bloodshot eyes landing on a sign not to far away that read something then BAR. I quickly make my way over, determined to numb the pain that pounded through me with each breath. Tonight I wanted to feel nothing. I wanted to be so fucking drunk that when people looked at me I would see so many of them, my vision blurry, that I would not see the expressions on their faces.

At the bar, my hand pound on the counter, "bartender! A whole bottle of vodka!" My voice is slightly slurred and the bartender gives me a look once over before he shrugs, sliding a bottle across the counter. I dump some cash of the bar before sliding onto a stool and tipping the contents down the back of my throat.