This is /the road/ to ruin {LyricxClaude}

[[nyte]]

(My heart is like a stallion)

My back hits the wall, the thin pads that adorn it doing little to lessen the blow. The air that once sat dormant in my lungs suddenly expelled in a single gasp. The bow, now slack in my hand, bounces softly against the floor. My knees, adorned in the silken ebony cloth reserved for training, finds my chest once more. The golden wire poked into my scalp sticks to my sweat strewn face. The fact that this bow, that sword, whatever happens to rest in my snowy palm that morning was far more natural than expected, worries me. The way it cuts cleanly through the air, sticking into the padding is almost satisfying. 

(They love it more when it's broken) 

But it was far from flesh. The melted plastic that stretches across our bodies, reflecting how much the sun had kissed us. I had tried it once, with a butter knife that lay on a cheese platter. Taking the serrated edge across a single digit. I felt my skin rip, watched entranced as ruby droplets gathered around the gash. Could I rip another's flesh? Perhaps not that of of a finger, but their throat. Severing the complicated systems that breathed life into the very person whom I had just attacked. Crimson gushing from their wound as their brain refused to work without it's proper pay. Their eyes would dull, like that of a glass smudged by careless fingers. 

(I don't know where you're goin' but do you have room for one more?) 

Do I blame the capitol? Of course I do. For everything? No. It's our own cowardice, our own greedy awareness of mortality that keeps us within their grasp. The fools that wait for these games with baited breath, getting off on children sent at each other's throat. It's simply politics, a twisted form of supply and demand. The capitol, the districts, demand the gore. And we supply, buying our own fix with a part of ourselves. Like chopping off a hand to pay for booze. 

(I don't know where I'm goin' but I don't think I'm goin' home, anymore)

And so I sit. My back making an indentation in the stiff padding. The heat radiating off of my tired body leaving a ring of condensation. And my eyes close, falling back into District Six, the only place I'd ever called home. I remember countless nights of sneaking boys into my room. Stifled giggles as we talked of things to do and things we want. The pure adrenaline that would rush to my mind, making it feel light and fill of air, at the thought of defying the iron fist that had ruled over me for seventeen long years. 
But now those years didn't seem long enough.

(And I said, I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead)

Or perhaps nights of sneaking into stores that held the addictive poison. Desperate to please those whom I associated with, we would wander countless isles. Shoving the thin candies into tight jeans, covering them with over sized shirts. Or perhaps my hands would drift towards the dried oats, to stock the pantry my mother had once again forgotten to fill. A smile traced my lips as I recall these memories. The dried skin cracking from the sudden stress. 

(This is the road to ruin)

And  perhaps my life was not mine to throw away.
Perhaps it was not worth throwing away.
And passion begins to sear through my body.
A revelation branding itself deep within my mind. 
I don't want to die.

(And we started at the end)

[Kire]

◘ C l a u d e ◘ A e g e r ◘

Does, Says, Thinks

I was flipping through the cards down at the drugstore and
I found one I thought you would adore so I bough it

Training was rough today. After so many failed attempts I thought I might be getting the hang of a couple things. Unfortunately, archery wasn't one of them. I watched, dismayed but not surprised, as my arrow bounced off the wall almost three feet to the right of my target. I really was no good at any of this, and archery might just be my worst. There was no real point in training for the bow and arrow, I would be able to grab only the closest of items and run. My only hope was I would get a weapon and leave before the bloodbath became too overwhelming and I was run down. Of course, I wouldn't know until I got in there just what was going to happen. The thousands of "what ifs" and "maybes" ran through my mind and my only hope was that, when the time came, my feet would be that fast.

Claine laughed himself sick as I tried another arrow. This one sprang high into the air and clipped the top of the target before trying to climb the wall. I groaned, the embarrassment almost enough to make me quit and try something else. "C'mon man, you need to do better than that. That would have just felt like a passing breeze over their head, if they even felt it at all." Scowling, I turned on him. "Show me how to do it then." Claine laughed and shook his head. "Showing you doesn't get you anywhere, you have to -" I cut him off, knowing what he was going to say, "figure it out for myself. Yeah, I know." Claine gave me a wink and gestured at the target again. Instead, due to feeling rebellious after his mock, I put the bow back onto its rack.

About to turn my back on the archery station altogether, I stopped as the sound of something clattering to the ground catches my attention. Looking at where it came from I saw first the shape of a bow on the ground, then the figure of the person who had dropped it. She was blonde - there were a handful of blondes this Games it seems - and had obviously been training hard. Where I was only slightly out of breath, having taken minutes of break time between even small strains, she was breathing heavy and her hair was stuck to her forehead from sweat. Obviously tired, she had slid to floor and put her knees to her chest. Somewhat concerned - though I really shouldn't bother to be - I went over to her. Claine snickered in my ear, mumbling something about having a taste for blondes. I ignored him, knowing that I would not get anywhere with him were I to try and take him to task.

My attention was only on the girl before me, and I picked the spot to her left to lean against the wall and slide until I sat on the floor. I looked at her, my hands in my lap and my legs spread out in front of me. Shoulders slightly hunched, as much to block out Claine - who was still going on about blondes - as it was an attempt to relax. "Training hard?" What a stupid question, as if everyone in here wasn't training hard in an attempt to hopefully save their own life later, everyone except me. "Are you alright, you look a little strained." It was obvious how little I interacted with people, I had no skill at all in conversations. "I'm Claude by the way."

It occurred to me that I might want to stay quiet for long enough that she could reply. Locking my jaw shut in an attempt to keep from speaking anymore, I tried to invite a reply with my eyes, but maybe all I managed was to look creepy. Either way, I hoped she would give me more of a chance than that. I really was not good at meeting people.

OTHER
Words: 664
Lyrics: Valentine's Day by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

[[nyte]]

(I am not small)

And he stands above me. His hair like chestnut, and dark eyes. He speaks, the thin line on his mouth splits to two as he speaks. "Training hard?" He asks. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, simply giving the boy a small nod as he continued. "Are you alright, you look a little strained" I seemed strained? A little smile traces across my lips as the irony of this statement was obviously lost on this boy. "I'm perfectly fine." I assure him in a breathless tone. My chest heaves up and down rapidly as my heart struggle within it's cage. "I wouldn't call it... training hard. Perhaps failing." My eyes find the target on which I had been practicing. Arrows were scattered about the white edge, only a few barely piercing the red or blue area. 

"I'm Claude by the way." After this he stops talking, his eyes boring into mine with such naive uncertainty. I can feel a fondness growing within my heart for the poor awkward boy. 

(And I am not forgotten)

"I'm Lyric." I hold out my hand, offering it to him. I paste a smile upon my face, trying to ignore the weight within my heart as my eyes meet this boy's. Would he be so nice when met in the arena? Would such sweet, endearing awkwardness be replaced with a blade? And would that blade strike me down? Slice through my skin like the knife had my finger. Would this boy kill me? And yet I can't see it. Not in any one of these children's eyes. I cannot see the killer within. Not the little girl from district five, or even the career from district two. No matter how much I try to imagine the desperation that will overtake them within the arena. Their carefully combed appearances destroyed by the wilderness. The beast within released. 

I will not think about that, I refuse. I cannot see the evil within them, or I will go crazy. I will never make it to the arena alive. And so, I keep the smile plastered across my face. I stare back into his eyes, awaiting a response. After all, I am an actress. 
And  no one will see my weakness.