i'm still ( h e r e ) // cato

[Stare]

you and i
well we're just pressing flowers
they're dying
but they're ours

Sometimes, if I close my eyes tightly and strain my imagination almost to the point of shattering, I can imagine that I'm back in the clock tower. The thrum of footsteps against the training mats becomes the second hand's constant movement, a sound I counted my life by. The shriek of metal upon metal becomes the gears grinding against each other, a harmony only I ever seemed to notice. If I try hard enough the death becomes life again - I'm escaping, breaking free, hands reaching toward an endless sky that they've caged be away from for days now -

A trainer taps my shoulder, and I open my eyes. Reality is worse than a knife to the chest. It's something that festers beneath the skin, growing and spreading like poison, a pain that laces itself into my bloodstream. Only the alcohol seems to have the ability to burn it away. Unfortunately, Sparky confiscated my flask this morning. Not appropriate, she'd muttered. My hand still goes to my waist, feeling for the ghost of it, and disappointment washes over me when I remember. I feel my face heat up slightly and brush the young woman away with a gruff "I'm fine" even though I'm not fine, not even a little.

My chest squeezes tight as my eyes sweep around the room, watching tributes wielding swords and tasting plants. Soon, this won't be just training or practice. It'll be our reality. I begin to move toward a nearby station, falter, and then turn away, instead heading toward the dining hall. My fingers reach into my pocket and pull out the small clock there. It's not enough to fill the gap in my chest that aches for home, but it's something. Lunch ended more than an hour ago, but the hall should still be open. Judging by the number of tributes in training, it'll be empty, too.

I'm wrong. When I enter I immediately notice another figure, hunched over like they're trying to make themselves small. Frowning, I lean over slightly, hair falling like a curtain from my head as I try to catch a glimpse of the person's face. It takes me a moment, but eventually I recognize them. Orion Hammerfell. I blink, then approach him, upper body still tilted at an abrupt angle as I try to keep his face within my line of vision. "Are you hiding from the whole world or someone in particular?" My lips twitch upward. "I wouldn't blame you for either."

ooh
whatever you do
ooh
keep it with you

[Cato]

	ORION HAMMERFELL
	The voice startles me. For one moment there I thought Katelyn found me already. The one thing that could describe me and how I feel right now would be nausea. Not because of anything I've eaten or drank, but the feeling of volunteering. The expectations placed upon my shoulders. The many eyes of Panem sure to watch my every move. My ties to one of the most dangerous tributes to ever step foot into the games. Everything. Every damn thing about the games has me sick to my stomach. My upcoming conversation with Katelyn whether it comes in a minute or several days, I know it'll tear me apart both on the outside and the inside. The things I've said back in Two will not seem like the truth anymore. She'll roast me alive. I'm grateful for the chance to collect myself before said conversation takes place. Meanwhile another one has been started. "I guess you could say both. Hiding from someone in particular while also hiding from just about everyone else as well. I don't know whether to stay in hiding or not. So much attention I've brought upon myself as a volunteer." Its easy talking to the tribute next to me. I haven't placed a name yet, but its nice to have a normal conversation. Nothing about the games or training. Nothing about mentoring or any of that bullshit. Just a somewhat easy conversation. What I don't know is if the tribute is also hiding from someone. "What about you? Hiding from anyone in particular or just looking for some peace and quiet while there is some to be had?" I'm grateful to have someone who doesn't know me to talk to even if its merely a coincidence that we're here in the dining hall alone. Its too much to hope for that I'll remain here without being discovered. I'll be caught eventually. I'll enjoy the peace and quiet while I can. For soon enough the games will pick up. It'll be blood, sweat, and precious tears being shed. Both here in the training center and in the arena. The best I can hope for is to not be apart of that.
	district 2 male of the 70th Hunger Games