When Luck Runs Out

Suddenly We're All Suicidal

    That night I didn't get any sleep, my eyes were closed but my brain was still churning, imagining these games, imagining the type of hell Snow just signed us up for. I would be against the meanest of all of the Districts, the people who had already been in the games, learned to survive, learned to kill, and I'm sure not all of them are as mentally degraded as we were over in twelve. They probably enjoyed killing, probably saw these games as no more than exactly what they were, a game. Kill the weak and the strong survive. I was the weak, my entire District was the weak, and I couldn't let them kill us. I tried to think of other victors I knew, but none really came to mind. It's not like I was making friends as John and I went through his games. Quite the contrary really, I barely even talked to him in the first few weeks. The only Victor I know is Molly, but she's bound to know some. The thing that worried me is the gender thing; any gender can go in, so honestly it sounded like it'll be an arena full of huge, strong guys ready to bash each other's skulls in. There is only one positive in this situation, and it was taken away since I was no longer single. Life was hard, wasn't it? It was so much better when I thought nothing could get worse, it was so much better in a little shack in the back streets, wearing the few rags my mom could sew together, eating the bare minimum even though in our eyes it was a feast, sleeping through the night without nightmares were the only thing to worry about were the bullies. There were no nightmares, no Snow, no games, it was only me, the sad, lonely genius kid who sat under the apple tree getting spit balls blown into his (beautiful) hair. John twitched violently next to me, and I knew that he was jerking out of a nightmare, so when his eyes opened I smiled softly.
"You okay?" I asked quietly, as if there were someone we couldn't wake up.
"I'm fine." He muttered, but I could tell it was a lie.
"No one's fine John, there's no point in pretending now." I insisted.
"Alright then, no, I'm not. I had a dream that we went in, and you...you were killed." John muttered, obviously not wanting to go into too much detail about my death. I actually didn't really want him to elaborate; it was probably gory, cannibalism or something I certainly wouldn't want to picture myself the victim of.
"It's all right John, I'm here, I'm not dead, not yet." I assured.
"You're not going to die Sherlock." John insisted.
"None of us are going to die." I lied. It was horrible to even think about that, but I knew at least one of us had to. The question was who gets to skip the pain of loss, who gets physical pain instead of emotional pain? Which path was better?
"You know that's not true." John insisted.
"We don't have to think like that now, please." I muttered. "Let's just get through the night." John nodded, snuggling his head into my shoulder and trying to fall back asleep. Soon his breathing slowed down, and he remained motionless, so I lay there, comforting him the best I could and trying my best not to wake him. When six thirty came rolling around I ever so slightly repositioned John so I could slip away and pull my robe on. The morning was chilly, of course, and I kind of missed the warm bundle of covers I was able to take refuge under, but I simply couldn't sleep. I imagine I looked like death as I trudged down the stairs, bags under my eyes, messed up hair, paler than my usual pale skin. I was a mess. I almost tried to make breakfast, or at least the thought crossed my mind, but then I remembered I couldn't make breakfast, I couldn't cook in general. So I just sat on the couch, where the strewn blankets and cold cups of now chunky hot chocolate sat from last night. I wonder how Molly slept, like John, or not at all, like me? I turned on the TV to see if anything was on, but, to my relief, the news was going on about some murder in District Five. Maybe it was because of the games, or maybe it was conveniently avoiding the topic of the games, but I turned off the TV before I could find out. Honestly I didn't care who killed who or what happened out there, a great fire right now would be extremely handy, or a deadly earthquake, or a tornado that so conveniently rips up the arena they were planning on using. Anything now would be welcome. I hated the idea of going back in the arena, the birthplace of all my nightmares, the tributes that plagued my dreams, the fear that stays with me wherever I go. I used to be normal, believe it or not, well, a little bit normal. I was what you might say extraordinary and seriously antisocial, but at least I slept the night through. Out here no one cared about your GPA, or how many friends you had, they stuck a camera in your face and bathed you in makeup, it was the same for everyone. The school yard had been my battlefield, not every waking hour, and now I had to go back. If I did come out at all I would be so severely messed up that they'd have to put me in a strait jacket. Or, for me at least, a gay jacket. Hehehe. Thankfully no one was around in my head when I make those stupid little jokes, because I'm sure John would hit me with a pillow or something. Finally I heard small footsteps down the stairs and John, wrapped in his fuzzy robe, came down with his arms wrapped tightly around himself.
"I'm freezing." He decided. I didn't notice a chill, but then again, I had spent the entire night frozen in the snow.
"You sleep alright?" he asked.
"No, of course not." I muttered.
"Didn't really think so." John agreed. I tried not to take that as an insult.
"Well, history repeats itself I suppose." I sighed. We both kind of looked at each other, we both knew what was coming of course, every time someone brought up this bloody quarter quell we all declared how much we were willing to die for one another.
"I won't say it if you won't." I decided.
"Fair enough." John agreed, obviously knowing exactly what I was talking about.
"Breakfast?" I asked.
"Not hungry." John muttered.
"Ya, me neither." I agreed. Wow, I was really being a great host right now. We sat there for a little while, not quite sure what to say or what to do. I was very much willing to tell him that he would absolutely not go in those games, and he was certainly ready to tie me to a wall and make sure I didn't do anything stupid, like riot. That really was the ideal option now, but who would ever follow such a loser like me?
"So, do you want to go check that Molly's okay?" John suggested.
"Ya, okay." I agreed, not really seeing another option. And I was genuinely concerned about her, even though she was calm and collective; she was a lot like me. She boxed up her negative emotions, hid them where even she couldn't deal with them, but instead of a scowl she hid behind a smile. I followed John out the door, through the piled snow, past the multiple sets of footprints leading to many of the houses. Remnants of my nighttime adventure probably. We knocked on her door, where there were no lights on. I hoped we weren't waking her up too early, considering she was usually one to sleep in a little bit when she had the chance. But, to my surprise, the door opened, and she looked like the normal Molly we all knew. She was wearing a striped sweater, with her hair in a messy bun, smiling and looking like she had a decent night of sleep and a good, healthy breakfast.
"Sherlock, John, what are you doing here?" she asked.
"We, well we were going to check how you were doing, but I can see you're doing fine." John decided.
"I've decided there is nothing I can do about it now, so I'm not going to waste my last couple of days moping around like it was already my funeral." Molly decided.
"You're not dying Molly." I insisted. She just looked at me sternly, but I ignored her. She was not dying, absolutely not; she was just as important to me as John was.
"Well, come on in I guess, I've made some eggs and bacon, if you'd like some." She decided, letting us in. She had already lit some winter scented candles; it smelled like cranberries and Christmas wreaths.
"We..." John started, but I glared at him. He was absolutely not going to tell Molly that we weren't eating; it would just encourage her to force food down our throats.
"...Uh, we already ate." John finished. Molly nodded, walking to the kitchen where she had a large pan of eggs and a plate of bacon.
"Well, I was kind of counting on you two coming over, so I made extra. Sure you can't eat a bit more?" she asked, dishing out some eggs for herself.
"Oh, go on then." John decided, waving his hand in defeat. Molly smiled, getting an extra pink plate from the cabinet and scooping some more for John.
"Sherlock?" she asked.
"I'll just have some bacon I guess." I muttered. We all sat at the table, which was already set for three, and Molly poured three glasses of orange juice for all of us.
"So, how'd you sleep?" she asked.
"Fine, I guess." John shrugged.
"I didn't." I muttered.
"Don't start up on this habit again Sherlock." Molly warned.
"It's not a habit, it's not like I can turn sleep on and off like a switch." I grumbled.
"Well, try better, I don't want you all tired again, you're much more pleasant when you've had a proper night of sleep." Molly decided.
"Oh, well let me get right on that." I snapped.
"Example A." John pointed out. I glared at him, but he just sipped his juice innocently. I took a piece of bacon but only ate half, feeling an odd rumbling in my stomach that felt like the forewarning signs of throwing up. I knew these signs all too well, the night before the games last time Molly and Mrs. Hudson had insisted on me eating as much as my small stomach could handle. I never told them, but I was so nervous, and mixed with all the food I ate, I had thrown up three times that night. So I set the bacon down on my plate and watched them eat, the very smell of the eggs making me want to put on a gas mask.
"So, I don't know if Mrs. Hudson is coming in early, but I'm sure she'll be very happy to see you two." Molly decided.
"Why would she come early?" I asked.
"To make sure we're okay over here. No offence Sherlock, but we're all aware you don't take drastic situations like these very well, and I can imagine she's worried sick." Molly guessed.
"I feel bad for her, because there's nothing she can do. We can all sacrifice ourselves, or at least volunteer to, but Mrs. Hudson just has to watch it happen, no matter what happens." John decided.
"That's the curse of having friends." I pointed out.
"Oh stop Sherlock; you can't say it's not worth it." Molly insisted.
"Still, it's times like this that makes you wonder why you ever let your emotions run wild." I decided.
"It's not running wild, you just opened the cage you had them locked in. This is what normal people do, they have friends, they have boyfriends, and yes it hurts when something happens, but at least you still have good memories to look back on." Molly pointed out.
"Always the mediator." I muttered, and Molly just glared.
"Always the antagonist." John agreed, glaring at me. I just smiled guiltily and went back to staring at a wall.
"So, I was thinking we should go on a walk or something, jump the fence and venture through the woods, I've got some snow shoes." Molly offered.
"What is this, team bonding?" I asked.
"It's the last week we have together, we should enjoy it." Molly insisted.
"Don't say it like that, please don't say it like that." I muttered.
"It's the sad truth." Molly pointed out.
"Alright, alright, no tears. A walk sounds great Molly, and I'm sure Sherlock agrees." John decided, and I stiffly nodded. Our last week together, as the mighty trio we were, our small family would be ripped apart as quickly as it had been made. This was the end of us.
"Alright, let's get cleaned up and then we'll head out." Molly decided. Unfortunately I wasn't quick enough to avoid doing the dishes with them, and even though there wasn't many I was stuck drying, to John would pass the clean dish to me, I'd wipe it with the towel, and Molly, who was the only one who knew where everything went, would put them away. It was a good system, but I hated chores and responsibilities and all of that stuff, so I scowled through the whole thing. Molly was humming something that sounded suspiciously like Whistle While You Work, the seven dwarves' song. Finally, when we were done we headed to our separate houses to get dressed and all bundled up. John had snowshoes from god knows where, but, to my dismay, I had none, so I was stuck with Molly's extra pair of purple flowery snowshoes.