Cough Syrup -- [cat]

[chelsey]

decembervale

[/color]

Life's too short to even care at all.
I'm losing my mind, losing my mind,
losing control...

They say home is where the heart is.

If I stay still for long enough,

the forest around me comes to life. In here lies no threat of poverty or starvation or death. In here lies peace, innocence, youth. Clashes of dark and bright greens cling to the rough edges of the bark, shimmering off daylight in it’s surface. My footsteps are soft, and hardly make a sound at all when when I move. Slight rustling of grass or dirt or leaves, a low hum muffled beneath my breath. Birds crow at the top of invisible branches, suspecting nothing from the ground below. Bugs crawl lazily across the forest grounds, moving slowly but surely. Even the trees seem at peace of course, this is before they’re met with the sharp edges of an ax at the hands of the men of my district.

As I reach the edge of the forest, the weight of my kill in my leather bag suddenly becomes heavier - the guilt of abruptly destroying an animal’s innocence weighing me and my conscious down. I gently pat the leather sack that hangs off my shoulder, a small sad smile on my lips, as if that smile could resurrect a life.

To survive is to sacrifice, and this is just one of many more to come.

Outside of the sheath of the trees, I can feel my pulse beat heavily against my chest, my wrist, my neck. It’s like my heart is warning me of what is to come, Careful, December, careful. My own blood rushes to my face, flushing a crimson red to spread into my cheeks. Cautiously, I make sure no peacekeepers are by before I make my way back into town. For how many years have I hunted? How many years have I ruthlessly killed, stolen a life for my own survival, sacrificed innocence for my well being? And yet, have not even flinched when I lunged the edge of my knife towards a creature? And now, here I still am, scared of something so obscure as a peacekeeper?

It’s pathetic.

In town, my senses become aware of the sudden hustle and bustle of life. The sound of metal clanging against metal, the smell of fresh bread and baked pastries, the feeling of the gravel tapping against the sole of my leather shoes, the sight of children chasing each other while caught up in their own little world.

Somehow, I end up trading one of my kills for a loaf of bread in the bakery. While I wait for my order to be prepared, I take a seat on the steps outside, wrap my arms around my knees, and bury my head in my arms - giving in to my fatigue. [/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/color]

NORMAL // CCBBAA
EMPHASIS // 887755
SPEECH // BB8866
OTHER SPEECH // 997755

[/size]

[Danny]

Speaking
Doing
Thinking
Hearing
Other

In school, we learned about survival of the fittest. It explains how animals evolved to survive and that's why some animals eventually becomes extinct. It's like how lions hunt gazelles. Only the best of the gazelles will survive - whether because of their strategies or speed - and have kids like them. In other cases, slow or sick gazelles will be killed, ensuring that only the best of the best survive. I think it's fair, I honestly do. That could be because we have the tools we created. Moose aren't able to use knives or arrows. That's why we kill and they get killed. Dying seems peaceful. In your last moments, your life flashes in front of your eyes. I can imagine what I'll see, Carving, writing, my kids, my wife. Seems definite. Seems fair.

As I walk in the bakery to pick up some blueberry muffins for breakfast today, I notice a girl handing in some animal... I figure they're making a trade. Meat for bread. Food for food. Death for life. Isn't it amazing how instinctive we can be? Knowing that if we'd have to kill some poor creature to ensure our own life, we'd do it a heartbeat? I know I would. As I get closer to the front of the line, I think about how we kill other humans... How even though humans are stronger than ants, there will be more dominant humans.

"What could I get for you?" the man at the desk - I guess that's what you could call it - asks. "Um, can I have a dozen blueberry muffins?" The man then asks for a name so he can call me when they're ready. I say Cedric. Then I follow the path of the girl that traded in her kill. I end up sitting next to her on the doorstep, watching people running around. It reminds me of when you throw a rock at a flock of geese on the ground, how the all scurry in all directions... It's easy to compare different things to each other, but they'll never be the same. I look at the girl next to me, "Do you mind me sitting here?"