flos oculos. zoe

[Deleted]

helios delacroix.

I don't mind it much here; wouldn't miss leaving this place but it isn't all bad at least? There aren't too many smiling faces, lot of mean ones hanging around but I'm used to scheduled living. Used to this whole working business and it keeps us busy- that's good! That's a good thing, idled minds make idle something else, I've been out of it too long I can't remember, but morals are more you work, the less sinning is going on. Wait- that's counter productive isn't it? I'm really trying here, I swear, to live up to this whole rebellion year quota, but that's how I ended up here in the first place you see,

I'm no killer.

Just here to swear out my own life, I have no intentions on living. I've pieced it together already, how quickly I'll die out there and how quickly my family will get money off betting my death early: it's kind of like good karma, right? They'd get more money at least- boy I'm a mess. They don't all hate me, that much is true, I can count for a fact that at least three of them like me! You count Calypso's newborn then that's four, which is almost a full hand, meaning I almost win! 

And a part of me feels bad, yeah, that I won't make it back in time for their birth. I've never not been there, but children and I got a bad streak when it comes to death wishes and all of that. Percy had tiny hands and Skully wants to live barely more than I do, but at least I'm going out on Ripred's words -- a good deed. Somebody has to come fifty second and I don't have time to question if I don't want it to be me, I don't have time for much huh. 

It gets pretty depressing in here -- see, I've been trying not to have too much friends. It's really hard, ignoring so many nice people, but I don't want to persuade them any to like me more or less. Don't want a name on my body bag, or for them to worry about any family; just a scapegoat death, a tally on kill count, I'm fine with that. I've accepted it for what I can and besides, at this point it's the easiest option. I'm not one for combat, for killing or anything, but they've tried to teach me; I'm actually pretty good at self defense I've been told. But I prefer the nicer stations, skills I can take to the grave. 

Plants is the only one I've had time for, memorizing flower names and drawing patterns in napkins -- Lucas would like them, I bet. I've been keeping some, stuffing them in my pockets and sneaking them off to the residential room. See, I've been meaning to show them to him, it's too late for lessons of any sorts but it'd still be nice to show that I'm interested. Maybe I could tell him some scriptures or something of the sort and Zanita could do uhhh, Zanita, things. 

Ripred bless the both of them. 

I hold hellebores in my hands -- they're the bell shaped ones, I think they're my favorite. Mostly because our names are similar, Hellebores and Helios, it's nice to know there's a place in nature for me after. My part of the plants stations aren't worth much, the decorative ones only used for camouflage or something of the sort I don't know, I've been taking care of them. Not much of anybody else does, avoxes ignore this sort past wilted and rotten and at least I have a place in this bunch.

If I pick my own heaven, at least I know I'll be back here in a week.  

I wonder if it'll feel any different. 

[✨ zozo.]

scarlett.

Boy from.... six? Whatever. Done. Crossed him off the list in one swift movement (or a couple hundred for an hour) - one strike down, two to go.

God, for twice as many tributes they really had to scrape the bottom of the barrel, huh? I mean, I'm hot and that kid from yesterday was pretty good, but the rest are girls and twelvies and infants and uglies and my brother. Maybe I could hit on Justice -- where is that boy anyway?!

I'm boreddddddd. And not in the way I was yesterday when I was sick of stabbing dummies in the head and scaring little kids off and smiling as I gouged out stuffing and fake blood from eye sockets. The days are trying, dragging on and on and on and I just want to get this over with. Crown me already, watch the blood pool down my face as thorns pierce my scalp - I'll smile and be Panem's little darling soaked in blood and death and the tragic downfall of my dearest, darling brother Lazarus.

And then I'll kill my Mother.

There's an itch in my fingertips to slaughter everyone and suppressing it with guys seems to be the only way to keep it down. I just have to remember not to kill them in their sleep. Guess old habits die hard - literally. Lazarus tearing up the floor in front of me like a blur of gold and silver - a band of followers watching eagerly with terror in their eyes. I smirk - good. They should be afraid of him - because if they're afraid of him, they'll be terrified of me.

The Gamemakers break for lunch and I pout, their attentions directed away from my skill, a clatter of metal on metal as I free up my fingers and leave the knives to lay still on the floor. My eyes wander, a different kind of hunger lusting in my throat. The sharp tick of boredom gnaws at my brain, feet picking up to a stroll around the different stations - the knives were getting blunt, anyway.

Hungry eyes fall the back of a lone figure and a grin splits between my ears. I see him before I see his face: sad guy, vulnerable, loves art and poetry and probably has a guilt complex. Awww, my mind fawns. Poor baby.

Easy prey.

A paintbrush in his hands and my imagination skips to life - three quick steps later and I demand attention, draping myself along the edge of the plants station with my head propped up by a hand, dark curls falling, feasting in on his face. 

Yum.

"Paint me like one of your church girls, neighbor" I grin, recognising a face and last name in solemn eyes and laughter etched into his face.

The Delacroix girls were beautiful, after all.

But I think they're prettier dead.