☞︎ℍ𝕦𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 ~ 𝔸𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕪𝕤𝕥'𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 ☜︎

~July~

I think it's June; but I'm not sure. Myles says it has to be, that there was a monitor in his room, and that he smashed it early on but before it said the date was June 1st. And that was a bit less than a month ago, so... 

It's almost July fourth. I learned a lesson about this in school, that centuries ago it was some sort of Independence Day for a place called 'America'. But America is no more. Now it's just Panem. The 'perfect' country. Where children are murdered every year, forced to fight each other to the death; and the winner gets traumatized for life. 

(annnddd here is where the writing style should change, at least a little bit, because this was written about ten to eleven months apart.)

July fourth shouldn't have any meaning to me. It should be a part of my past, the type of story told to my grandnieces and nephews once they grow old enough to hear it. But here it is again, upcoming, maybe already passed. 

A fence on the horizon brings me out of my morbid thoughts--District Twelve. Unlike Seven's, it's not crackling with electricity, instead standing almost as dead as the rest of the town. 

Almost. 

Barely a person or two wanders the streets, clothes in shambles, rambling forgotten gibberish to no one and to everyone. Someone is collapsed on the side of the street, head lolled against their chest. I don't know if they're breathing. 

But does that matter right now? No, it doesn't. It should, but really, that is a matter for another time. For later. Now, all that matters is safety. 

Myles follows closely behind me as we traverse the landscape, looking for anywhere that looks in any way occupied. The only place we can find is a huge metal warehouse that reaches for the stars, smoke billowing out of large chimneys in waves. People huddle outside the multiple entryways, glancing around. 

We slip in through the door, unnoticed. And yet inside is not the home of safety and freedom I had thought it was. 

"We should leave," Myles whispers in my ear, although is voice is more at speaking level, barely rising above the din. I follow his pointed gaze to a man in the corner handing a young girl--my age, if that--a small, dirty brown bag. He grabs her arm, tightly, and leads her away. 

And then they are gone, gone before I can speak, gone before I can breathe. She is gone, I am sure of it. 

And will she ever be back? No, probably not. 

It seems the answer is always no, lately. 

I hope it won't always be. 

I shake my head fiercely. This warehouse is a horrible place to stay, but it might as well be the only one. 

"No," I say, hoping Myles agrees, if only barely. "We're staying. For the night, at least. We can keep moving in the day."

"They'll find us if we travel in the daylight," he breathes, as if anyone could hear. 

"They'll find us either way," I mutter, and start forward. "Let's just get some food."

Myles seems to agree--thankfully--and reluctantly follows me in my aimless perusal of this crowded room. 

But there are many stands to be found that sell food, and although none of it looks even close to as good as the Capitol food I once enjoyed, it will do. Honestly, anything would. 

We stop in front of a small bar-like stall, three stools open. I glance at Myles, questions filling my unspoken words. Do we have money?

A shake of his head is all I need. So, we have three choices here: bargain or beg with someone for free food or items, steal it, or continue on, starving.

From what I can tell of the people here, they wouldn't be the type to give out free food to strangers, even starving ones. Stealing would be possible in this crowded place, but it would also draw attention to us, and strangers grabbing for me, expecting a reward for my capture, is the last thing I need right now. 

And we're certainly not going to starve. 

"Fine." I grab Myles' hand, and lead him out. We exit a different way this time, and are deposited into a new square, with nicer shops. A good sign, yes, but also bad. For if the poor, who may understand, would not help us, why would the rich?

Outside, the warm air feels nice on my skin. I am cold, too cold. I have been ever since we escaped. There's no logical reason, but the only one I can think of is the remnant of my scars. Even if they're just in my memory now, they still exist--they can be wiped from my skin, everything can, but never my mind. 

I rub my shoulder, the place where I was impaled once in the games and once out. Both by lying, cheating traitors. People I was never able to get revenge on. 

I see Myles staring at me in my periphery, but when I look to him, he looks away, glancing around the square, smiling just slightly, squeezing my hand tightly.

"Sorry," he says, although I haven't said anything against him. "It's just... the moonlight."

Something else hides between those words, something unspoken, something beautiful. And although I think I may know what it is, I'm too afraid to ask. And he is too afraid to answer. 

I never thought I would be afraid of anything--not after the games, at least. It was over. Done. I had been through the worst, had killed to protect my life and my sanity, but escaped with only one of those two. 

And yet, here was Myles, pushing me to my limits, making me realize that death was not the only thing I had to fear. That the Games were not the last level, that my final breath was never supposed to be by a tribute's hand. 

Myles is everything, and Myles is nothing. Myles is my life, and I have a feeling that Myles will be my death, too. 

I let go of his hand, let the cold wind whisk across my bare palm, and continue on into the uncertain future. 

This might be the last chapter for a while--or maybe it won't be. I don't know, really. All I know-- (is that you drove us off the road--STAY! ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS STAY! HAD ME IN THE PALM OF YOUR HAND, THEN WHY'D YOU HAVE TO GO AND LOCK ME OUT WHEN I LET YOU IN?!?!!?) (Taylor Swift is too deeply embedded into my brain I can't escape her) --is that I do like this story, and I do think I like where it's heading, but I really don't like the writing style. I first wrote this book, or started it at least, a year ago, and since then I've become a much better writer (I hope haha), and also have learned that you can't really just skip over the parts you don't want to write. bc I totally did that all the time. you can see it in the early chapters of this book, where I skip over the whole Capitol drama before her games bc I didn't really want to write it. 

anyways, I'll stop rambling now and tell you it might be a bit before the next chapter comes out, and there's a small chance I'll be ending this book forever, anyways. 

but first let me dedicate this chapter to oxceen, for being absolutely amazing and actually reading this book :)

you're totally what made this chapter exist, and also you're totally amazing <3<3<3

1274 words