A Broken Stair [Open]

SinInChaos
Merchant

195 POSTS
last seen Dec 29, 2012 23:10:22 GMT -5

Like a sir, bitch!

A Broken Stair [Open] Aug 20, 2012 0:40:06 GMT -5

Post by SinInChaos on Aug 20, 2012 0:40:06 GMT -5

Colin Hummings

It was late afternoon, easy to tell by the shades of orange and yellow that clashed with the burning reds in the sky. Such a passionate approach the world has tried to give the world over and over again, never letting the shades mesh the same. Everyday the sunset is different. The clouds may break into the mixture adding light hues into the already discolored romance of the sky. Other days the sky is not so blessing. The sun can just fall behind the curtains of earth strewn out before me, making sure the colors cannot mingle with such a pathetic place as District Eight. But tonight, the sky is in a battle with itself, debating what color should rule over the night sky. Will it really fall to darkness I ask myself. There is no way these bright, brilliant colors could ever fade from the night sky.

My days of hope and love are soon coming to a close though. Had I thought for a day that the skies could influence me was a mistake. No one can capture it's brilliance on a sketch, and never could they contain the shades on a dress. But a boy can dream my Dad would say. He would tell me about the day he had a dream to marry my mother. She was opposed to the thought of a family due to the Hunger Games. She felt in her gut that she had escaped the Games too easily and that her children would be cursed to play. Dad told her that she should just hope and pray that the kids they'd have wouldn't ever risk their lives for such a meaningless thing. And every night I see her at the bedside, kneeling and praying to something or someone. I don't know to who though, because nothing could forsake us so horribly.

Then I remember something can: The Capitol. Always calling on us, one boy and one girl, to go to the Games and risk our lives. And for what? A lifetime of praise? A knowledge of greater standing in society? I couldn't care for any of it. I like my life as it is. I go to school and do well in my subjects. I come home and make clothes like I want to. This is what I want. Not some stupid life the capitol could give me.

"I have to get this dress just right..." I mutter, trying to draw it out again. "Something for Ellie to wear."

Last Edit: Aug 20, 2012 2:06:36 GMT -5 by SinInChaos

Credit to Charity

✨
Advertiser

8,136 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Apr 17, 2024 19:35:21 GMT -5

bloomtodeath

A Broken Stair [Open] Aug 20, 2012 3:59:58 GMT -5

Post by ✨ on Aug 20, 2012 3:59:58 GMT -5

We're only young and naive still
We require certain skills
The mood it changes like the wind
Hard to control when it begins
The bittersweet between my teeth

[/i][/center]

Outside, I am free. Outside, I am curious. Outside, I am no longer trapped in the maze of walls that is my house and the clawing grasp of my mother who tries oh-so desperately to keep me safe. No doubt that she will be returning home soon, to find my bedroom empty and my sister Sarita screaming "Mother, Mother, Aria ran off again!" I should be heading back now, but when you compare just about anywhere in Eight to my home, the choice of location is rather obvious. For who in their right mind wouldn't want to escape the Coldhouse?

Instead, I take to wandering around the houses of others. Yet they are not houses, but homes. Strangers homes, homes where people want to return to after a long day. Homes with caring families and warmth, homes with people who aren't constantly trying to either get me or keep me out of trouble. Jon's the only person I could call home, yet everyone else wants him out. No wonder he spends just as much time as I do attempting to avoid everyone. My house has changed so much since Father died, no longer a home that he kept intact, the spine and ribcage of a somewhat stable home. Sometimes, I blame my family for what became of him. Of course, there is no possible way in the universe for any of them to be the fault of that tragic accident down at the factories, but they are the cause for most of my anger. The reasons why I sneak out of doors and jump out of windows. Mother. Sarita. All of them, really.

The roadside pathways are not enough to quench my curiosity. Nothing ever is, really, but a frequent wave of mischief decides to settle in my skin, and before I know it, I've darted down the side of a house, tiptoeing through gardens. How Mother would fume if she saw what I was doing. I wouldn't be surprised if she was guessing herself right now, for I was once hauled back to my home at the ear by an angry old neighbour as they caught me sneaking through their garden - the shortcut was too tempting and I'd missed the fact that they'd come home early that day. How Mother was mad, locking me in my room for two days with nothing but a slice of bread for a meal. There wasn't even an unlocked window I could slip through, my own bedroom panes being barred long ago. Now, spotting a silhouette of a figure between two draping curtains, my ears picked up and I shuffled forward. Mischief maker extraordinaire was going to climb a rooftop.

I'd only scaled a house to it's peak once - to steal a ball from some kids down the street who had kicked it on our roof. At that time, I knew every nook and cranny that there was in the construction of my home, and conquered it easily. Foreign constructions, however, were a lot trickier. Carefully, testing every wobbling gatepost and brick, I began to climb - making sure I kept silent so as not to cause a disturbance. Climbing things was strictly forbidden in my household since Bran was struck to a wheelchair after falling from a monstrous height, the idiot. Stealing my fun one accident to another. Regardless, I broke this rule with every opportunity I could muster - following with piercing shrieks from my Mother and more punishments. Gritting my teeth in my ever-permanent scowl, I reached for another crevice blindly. Next time I'll climb right in front of her windo-

And a yelp escaped my mouth when the brick toppled away along with my balance, pulse racing as I landed face-first onto the ground right under the window. Pain rocketed through my body as I hit the grassy surface with a clatter, knocking over Ripred-knows what along my way and surely disturbing the figure's peace. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" I muttered, checking to see if my limbs were still working. Thankfully, they were - if a little sore from impact - but my getaway plan was slipping through my fingers in unfamiliar territory, rattled from my near-death experience. Last thing I need is to end up like Bran, after all.

Trying to find the in-betweens
Can't help myself but count the flaws
Claw my way out through these walls
One temporary escape
Feel it start to permeate

[/i][/center]
[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

desc
think
talk

[/size]

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

SinInChaos
Merchant

195 POSTS
last seen Dec 29, 2012 23:10:22 GMT -5

Like a sir, bitch!

A Broken Stair [Open] Aug 20, 2012 16:56:22 GMT -5

Post by SinInChaos on Aug 20, 2012 16:56:22 GMT -5

The curves of the dress don't match the waving fumes of the sun, nor can I imagine what fabric is best for the masterpiece. It can't just be anything to capture the sunset. This has to be well thought out, methodical, not just anything will do. And she could not just be in anything for the dress. My sister deserves the best of the best if she is to look perfect. Like a diamond or a crystal; perfection of the art. But this is so hard to even imagine what the sunset would even look in cloth. So many colors come up. The hims of the dress must match the fading distant violets and purples that eventually fade into the navy blue night sky. Then the swirling of the brightest colors have to battle one another for superiority. Which is the brightest of them all? Which color stands above them all?

And then there was the sudden crash. I feel the jolt hit me initially and I cover my mouth to keep from bursting out into words that are better left to dying. There was a small glimpse of the figure before it fell to the final point gravity could pull them. A girl. What had she been doing high enough to fall from the top of a house? She shouldn't be climbing from such heights, jumping from such lengths, plummeting to the world at such a grand distance. She would probably break something. Break something. What if she's hurt? If someone caught her, she'd just be in trouble for something so ridiculous. No one should punish the girl for her folly. She is just a kid like me after all. We do stupid things all the time and learn from them.

I drop the notepad and pin, leaving the numerous colors where they lay before making my way quickly outside. No eyes have made it toward the impact of the girl like mine have. Or maybe I just don't notice any eyes on her. She can't be turned in. Maybe I can just make an excuse if someone finds her. The front porch stairs have always been a little broken. People could believe she fell from there if they didn't hear the crash she endured. No, someone is bound to react to just the sounds she made from falling so high up. Not a lot of sounds come from District Eight at this time of day, and I doubt anything will cover up this girls recklessness. But I'm bent on doing something, compelled beyond reason which hardly makes sense for me. When have I acted so desperately for anyone? I'd do it for Ellie...

I'm outside, sprinting almost. I don't remember the last time I ran. I hardly ever participate in the physical exercises that the other kids partake in. I find more amusement in art. Creating something new to inspire people to do something much grander than their own. Beauty in the landscape of ones own mind. We are creators.

And then I'm above her. I've been there for a few seconds awkwardly staring at her with my jaw ajar. The words don't form. What are these letters I hoped to connect, to form a contract with this girl. That I won't tell anyone for what? There is always a bargain when it comes to keeping someone from the lethal eyes of Peacekeepers. She would think I'm just here to turn her in if I don't say anything. I have to say something. Say something dammit!

"Come on,"I mutter, barely even comprehending my own words. "Before someone comes over here!" And then I'm motioning toward my house. Toward the window where I was drawing from.

Credit to Charity

✨
Advertiser

8,136 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Apr 17, 2024 19:35:21 GMT -5

bloomtodeath

A Broken Stair [Open] Aug 22, 2012 3:18:34 GMT -5

Post by ✨ on Aug 22, 2012 3:18:34 GMT -5

Well I heard today
That the bombs are dropped
And I guess if it's true
Then we all lie through
And it's been coming for days

[/i][/center]

Jon would laugh. At me, at my failure, and scoop me up off of the ground, carrying me inside again. I wouldn't try to dust myself off, I wouldn't wriggle or try to escape his grasp. I'd sit quietly, almost still if not for the rising and falling of my abdomen that reminds me I am alive. Keep me safe, keep me warm. Tuck me up and kiss my head and chuckle as I drifted into slumber. Everyone else would scold me, punish me - but not Jon. He's the only person that feels like family to me.

I hardly expect any sympathy when I do what I do, from no-one except Jon. Most people just tell me off or yell, or even worse. Father was never like that, he was quite like Jon is, actually ~~and they say every little girl falls in love with a boy just like her Daddy~~. Hearing a door open and feet scuffle towards me, I attempt to exit the area as quickly as possible - but the feet get towards me before I have time to do more than sit up from my heap on the ground. Perhaps the boy who stands gawping over me will yell at me, exclaim as to why I was lurking around the backs of houses or climbing onto rooves, and Ripred-forbid turn me over to Peacekeepers - or perhaps even worse, my mother. Explanations and jumbled words slip through my fingers, but his voice gets to open air before mine.

"Come on," he mumbles to my utmost surprise. "Before someone comes over here!" The urgency in his voice seems to control my limbs, and I am drawn towards his ushering gesture with hurried feet that ache a little, but I'd rather not get caught in the act today. Jon said that I'd get away with so much more mischief if I thought things through, but I tend to act on impulses. And before I know it, I'm standing inside a stranger's house, crashing to an awkward pause before blurting out a "Thank you" for letting me take shelter in their home - and it is so much warmer than my own.

And when the sun goes cold
And the rain begins to burn
Then the wolves will come out
All these lies will stop
Cause there's nowhere else to go

[/i][/center]
[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

desc think "talk"

[/size]

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

SinInChaos
Merchant

195 POSTS
last seen Dec 29, 2012 23:10:22 GMT -5

Like a sir, bitch!

A Broken Stair [Open] Aug 22, 2012 3:58:48 GMT -5

Post by SinInChaos on Aug 22, 2012 3:58:48 GMT -5

I want to scream. Let insanity pluck at my very being bit by bit until it consumes the very essence that is me. I've never done something so reckless or so stupid in my life for a complete stranger, let alone been in trouble with the Peacekeepers. Mom always tries to hide our misdoings so we don't have the full effect of punishment like the others who have suffered. I can't hide from this though. She has followed my guiding ways to my house and I have not only welcomed her into the house, I've basically harbored a fugitive. Who is this girl anyways? Her appearance alludes me. I don't ever remember meeting her out on the streets of District Eight, let alone remember hearing of a girl pulling stunts of this proportion. Maybe that's because you keep to yourself Colin. Foolish, childish Colin, always stuck on the thread of life rather than looking at the entire ensamble.

“Thank you”

I'd never heard the words from a stranger, let alone anyone who wasn't my family or a paying customer. No one has ever felt compelled to really thank me for anything. Clothes come and go and saying thank you for a new pair is just customary. Nothing new or special about the praise there. But this, this was such a difference that I could feel my nerves tighten to an extraordinary length. I'm terrible in these situations that involve social contact with someone else. I can't stand the thought of bonding with someone and having to keep that bond up.

The compulsions don't stop though, and I work quick so as to not let Mom, Dad, or Ellie see this newly injured girl in their home. Thank Panem those three were out doing something, of what I'm not entirely sure. But I didn't have to worry about making loud noises indoors. I grab one our cushioned chairs, rather the only cushioned chair, and quickly bring it to the fallen girl. She's probably very sore from that extremity. Then I rush to the curtains, closing them and waving to the neighbors outside as though nothing were wrong. As though nothing new was happening in my life. As though I weren't hiding a girl in my home. And most seem to buy it, especially the woman from across the street. Her charming smile doesn't even seem to indicate that she knows of the trouble I'd dug up.

I look back at her, fear and paranoia filling my veins. I try to think of what to say next since she is obviously not going to be fond of me. She'll probably expect a bargain of sorts to keep this little secret from the Peacekeepers. Or maybe I've somehow gained enough trust through the one action of leading her into my home. But like I keep telling myself, I could not leave her to face such punishment for doing what any other bored teenager would do. Most of the kids at school are so experimental anyways, daring to go to new heights like her.

A quick chuckle escapes my laugh before leaning on a wall, wiping my brow from any perspiration that had built up from the panic induced thoughts. “Seems you've got some luck falling from my roof and not someone else's. I'm not sure how generous the rest of those people would be.” I gradually fall to the floor and let out another chuckle. Delirium sets in too quick for me. I can't talk normally. “My name,” I choke on the words for some reason, but an introduction is in order I assume, “My name is Colin Hummings.”

Last Edit: Aug 22, 2012 4:00:27 GMT -5 by SinInChaos

Credit to Charity