//l e s s o n s/\l e a r n e d\\ {Arx/Spesh}

[Rosetta]

Lethe chewed slowly as if hoping that each contraction by her jaw, up and down, would give her some idea of what to say to the two children before her. It had been, oh goodness, four years? Four years or five since she'd sat alone, no District Five mentors to her aid and her entire body was a sinking pool, she was the quicksand, sliding down and down until she was a puddle of hopelessness. These condemned children had her now. But, four years or five still hadn’t taught Lethe to mentor the dead and dying. Tips? Ideas? Sayings? She had none. Nothing, but luck that was all dried up now, sweet on her fingertips.

Breakfast was as magnificent and rich as usual in the Capitol and though Lethe’s stomach had grown accustomed to the fare, she merely nibbled on butter bread, green eyes fixed upon the tribute seated across from her. The girl was young, but the boy was the age Lethe had been when she’d gone, just a year short of safety and Lethe recalled the cruel trick it was. Rather than grow closer to safety, age meant more and more danger, more and more names to be pulled. Cruel, so cruel.

Deciding that the time was ripe and Lethe had to say something, she swallowed and daintily dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin before saying softly, “Hi…I’m Lethe.” Her voice was weak, a shiver. Perhaps they remembered her. She’d trembled and cried on the stage, spoke quietly at her interview, received a mere four on her private training sessions, and dribbled through the Games, playing with dice. She’d struck true in the Bloodbath, but the day after, the mutt had just found Anya’s lovely face more delectable than her own. Saskia and Razor had been her saviors. Saskia was a mutt-killer and Razor was an actual killer and their soft words in the morning had freed her from her horrible, quivering, prison when she came to in the morning and found blank faces over her. That District Four boy…he’d faltered and she’d moved in. And Razor? Her knives must’ve hit him by accident. If anything, it was Camalia’s licks to the face that kept her conscious the whole time. And now, they sat before, more bodies, breathing the air that had already been sold away from them the second their names were called out in tumultuous voices. And they were judging her. Who was she, Lethe Turner, to sit before them? Perhaps they could smell the falsity on her.

Leaning across the table towards them, Lethe forced herself to clear her throat and take a deep breath. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” she said, licking her lips, “and I’m here to answer them…so…” Until that moment, she hadn’t lifted her eyes to the tributes, but now when she tried, she felt embarrassed to look…because of the train ride and Lethe swallowed.

She hadn’t meant to hear it. She thought that she might perhaps introduce herself while they were on the train, but when she reached the closed door, she heard them. She knew what it sounded like and suddenly, she felt her skin crawling and she broke out into a cold sweat because that had been her at some point and she’d giggled too and were they just as clouded in the head as she was? Oh, she hoped not. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.

[/i]

Eden was beautiful as ever and Lethe knew that she’d be a gorgeous young lady one day. She loved her daughter and there were no regrets about giving birth to her. But, he was the regret…never called, never wrote…never cared and Lethe could already see the hands breaking apart as they always did in the Games…and what if…what if…

Lethe’s gaze dropped to her hands as she confessed, “I heard you guys on the train.” Heard and then back to her room she ran, pressing her head into her pillow as if to muffle the noise in her head because that self-loathing was creeping back into her, tearing apart her stomach, piece by piece, for making the wrong decision, the wrong man, the wrong time. The wrong time. “Look, whatever relationship you guys are forming, long-term, short-term, whatever, it, uhm, needs to end now,” her voice felt stronger than it had been before, confessing the sins she’d learned. “There’s no time for relationships in the Games. I know that. And if you…” she turned to Elodie now, “end up in a…bad way,” she chose her words delicately, “there’s nothing you can do. So, you guys need to stop that…now…okay?” And as if to reinforce that idea, Camalia, who’d been lounging on Lethe’s shoulder the entire time, skittered down her arm and licked each tribute in turn. As for Lethe?

She felt the locket on her chest, burning into her skin, burning its contents, a lock of Eden’s blonde curls and a picture of her baby, into her forever. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/color]

[brad bradford ★ d5b [arx]]

`Elodie Mirielle Magpie~

Look at me. You may think you see
who I really am , but you'll never know me.
Every day it's as if I play a part.
Now I see if I wear a mask I can fool the world,
But I cannot fool my heart.

It hurts to chew. In fact, I ache all over. My head is pounding, my fingers are cramping, my stomach is twisting, and eyelids feel as if they are trying to lift 500 pound weights with their toothpick arms. Just lifting my plate takes 10 times the amount of effort it really should and I'm thankful when I can finally sit down and just slump down with my head on the table. The food smells good, the scent of my plate is really quite intoxicating, but when I move my hand to grab any one item of food, the muscles in my arm refuse and all I can manage to do is touch all the food on my plate. It's a sad day when Elodie Magpie can't eat her food. I give a heavy sigh and sit up in my chair, licking gravy off my fingertips before pulling my paintbrush out of my hair and twirling the tip of the brush into the gravy instead, idly spinning it around and then painting lines across my napkin, the brownish liquid staining the perfect white, dirtying it's perfection. I hold my head in my hand, my elbow propped up on the top of the table, my eyes blinking slowly as the gravy turns into nothing but constellations. Pegasus, Orion, Draco, Sagittarius - until my entire napkin is filled with nothing but gravy. I hear the stories in my head, the ones that my mother liked to tell me as we stared at the stars. I wish the stories would just go away - that her voice would disappear. But I know better. The voice will haunt me forever. Or at least for the next few days that I am still alive.

I let the brush fall from my grasp where it rolls across the table and onto the floor, clacking the whole way. I run my hands through my hair, trying to get rid of the feeling that s consuming me. I can't even place what the feeling is. All I know is that it is painful. And I'm not much of a player in the game of pain. And still I'm here. Waiting for a game that revolves around pain and misery to begin. I continue to stare at my food, the crumbling biscuit reminding me of the crumbling foundation of my house, the shimmering syrup reminding me of the murky pound that I liked to ice skate on as a kid, the orange slices as bright as something Justice might wear, the silver of the plate so sparkly that Celeste wouldn't be able to resist it. I can picture the table dusty and tattered as the one back home, the one that Urbane cleans after every meal. The clothing on the people that chatter on the television would no doubt spark Kirk's interest and the Peacekeepers at the outskirts of the room would keep Savoy talking for hours on end. The incessant giggling and skipping around of the children here are like Meryem reborn and the silent servants with no tongues are as silent and helpful as Halle. It doesn't matter where I look, they are all here. Watching. Listening. Even when I close my eyes they don't disappear. Instead they only become more vivid and I'm forced to open my eyes again so that they don't trample my thoughts and blunder my mind to nothing but a useless pulp. I feel tears pricking at my eyes but force them away as I become aware of everyone around me.

William sits next to me, his own plate of food in front of him. I think about bending over to pick up my brush and maybe biting him on the way back up, but I'd say I've had enough of him. At least for now. Last night had been fun - or at least just as much fun as all the other men I've slept with. My only hope was that the boy next to me hadn't hoped for anything more out of me than a flirtatious comment and sex for the rest of our time together. The problem has come up before. Some men just don't understand that sex is just sex and nothing more than that, no matter how many times I scream their name or they say that they love me. Attachment is one of the scariest things anyone could ever encounter. And love - true love - is another. That's why I try to steer clear of both as best as I can. I bite my lip as the thought of my mother slips into my head the memory of her last words to me send shooting pain through my mind. It reminds me that hope is another hurtful thing to possess. I start to twirl the orange slices in my fingers, the juices running down my fingers and my palms, dripping back onto the plate and mixing with the syrup that has managed to mix with every food item on my plate. The orange juice among the syrup reminds me of me. No matter how hard the droplets of orange juice try, they will never become syrup. I will never blend in with the rest of them. No matter how many times I look in the mirror I will always look completely different. No matter how many times I wish upon a star to change my eyes, my skin, my nose, my bod, I will never look the way I'm supposed to. Act like I'm supposed to. Be a real daughter of Braxton and Urbane Magpie and a true sister to the six others that I live with.

“Hi…I’m Lethe.” The sound of her voice makes me drop the orange slice back onto the plate and nearly choke on my own spit. I look up for the first time since I sat down to see the one an only Lethe Turner, District 5's very own victor, eating breakfast across from me. I think maybe perhaps I should be starstruck or scared or disappointed, but the only thing that I feel is hope. And the feeling is certainly not welcome. She's done it, why can't I? But I quickly squash the idea, realizing how absurd I am for believing that, even for a moment. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, and I’m here to answer them…so…” The only questions that have ever popped in my head throughout this whole ordeal have been irrational ones that no one can answer and I know would be unfair to ask. Why am I here? Why my name? Why the hell is everyone trying to prep me for death as if they know what it feels like? Why is life so unfair? How can this be happening to me? Why, why, why? So all the questions I have remain inside me, bottled up and thrown to the back of my mind, never to be spoken. It's better to never ask a question than to have them float around in the air where they find no answer to complete them. “I heard you guys on the train.”

And my first instinct is to run. My muscles tense up and I flinch away as I wait for the blow of a hand to fall across my cheek. That's always what happens when you get caught, you get hit and cursed at and thrown, naked, into the street. And I guess, out of habit, my mind readies me for the violent beating and stinging remarks. But they never come and I open my eyes to a soft green gaze and the only words that reach my ears are kind ones. I take a deep breath, trying to slow my heart back down to a normal rate and rid my mind of the memories of every woman that has ever hit me. I have to swallow as I remember one spitting in my face. But Lethe isn't spitting on me. Or yelling. Or hitting. or kicking for that matter. And for a moment, I think I might actually listen to her. I even nod at her, knowing that she knows exactly what she is talking about. But that would be changing who I am to fit what she wants. But I continue to nod and even let myself say, "Okay. It's over. No more of it, I promise." and give a smile - one between embarrassed and grateful - as her trusted lizard friend licks me. But I cross my legs and run my foot up Will's leg at the same time, trying hard to keep my smile from turning into laughter.

The next person who tries to change me has another thing coming. No matter how kind-hearted or full of wisdom they are.

[/size][/justify]

I am now in a world where I have
to hide my heart and what I believe in,
But somehow I will show the world
what's inside my heart
And be loved for who I am.