Lucre Dropped In Sweaty Palms For Death -[Aya]-

Overbearing heat, a spectacle most enjoyed during the excruciating summertime, was most indeed present in District 8, one of the more outdoor Districts. While tanning leather was indoor business, the reaping of cotton from the fields was definitely a task demanding strength, endurance, and tolerance to the temperature. In the calidity, a body would fall prey, keeling over in a bout of sweat and baking to a fatal sunburn color. When those occurrences happened, the owner of the field would come out in a fit of rage, his or her produce crushed under, at least, 100 pounds and labor wasted, succumbed to nature. The way of the human pasture was an arduous one, perhaps ill-gotten by sources of money, and certainly a dispiriting occupation.

Elizabeth wiped sweat from her brow, carrying a basket half-full of fluffy white fibers, breathing quietly yet heavy. Sometimes she would take a moment to catch air and huff it out hard, trying to relax the body and prep the soul. Sneaking a swig of home-brought water from a bottle, the seventeen-year old refreshed her system and continued picking once more. Her mind was cleared of any actual thinking, totally in the mindset of working and getting the job done to return home early. With the golden star beating fiercely on everyone, the earth dry and on the verge of cracking like peanut brittle, the air tainted by much acrid perspiration, fingers numb, the older girl was determined to finish with time to spare. She began speeding at a reasonable pace, going a bit faster but not enough to tire out any time soon.

Finishing the collection, Elizabeth Darwin was heading out for a house in the distance, patting some workers while walking, sharing encouraging words to her elders. When faces turned to the young lady, she would give a reassuring smile of confidence in attempt to inject new energy to her coworkers before departing. She had made sure to be careful stepping any precious stalks and bolls, stretching legs to naked ground. Escaping the ensnaring field, the young adult carried the basket cautiously to the wooden building, a wide figure detected sitting on a rocker going back and forth in a peaceful fashion.

Setting it next to twelve others, she waited for the man to finish inspecting her labor, grunting and smacking moist lips. He arose from the chair and fished out a few coins out of his pocket and dumping them in her open palms, counting seven, the equivalent of trying to buy three loaves of bread with a penny. Furrowing brows, the young woman tilted her head upward, twitching a frown. The female spoke with an assertive tone.

"Excuse me, Mr. Bartone. This is even less than yesterday, and I had picked more today."
His voice was bold. "Yea? An'?"
"Surely more cotton baskets filled would be compensated with more money. I don't mean to be argumentative or be rude, but this is hardly enough for one loaf of bread at the market."
"Look. Ya get wha' ya get an' be than'ful. Don' like it? Naut m' probleam. Thar are manee peepole tha' be willin' to take yar spot. Take it or beat it, Eli."
"I am asking gently for at least a coin or two more than yesterday's wages. It is a just amount for the three extra pickings. Can I at least ask for that much, Mr. Bartone?"
He shook his head. "I gotta pay th' otha workers, ya know. Now tha' wee got ourselves Annabelle, hadta drop evereeone's pay. Be glad wha'chu ewe got thar, Eli. I'mma sorry."
Brown orbs withdrew back to the coins in hand, and Elizabeth smiled grim. "Alright, Mr. Bartone. Thank you for the payment today."

An hour spent in the torrid but starting to dim sunlight, Elizabeth finally arrived home, dropping the coins on a table, and plopped on a musty couch, face buried in sofa. Groan. No energy reserves in her to take that desired shower, so the brunette turned her face and snatched a swig from the warm water bottle, quenching the throat. Deep sigh.

"Hopefully Charlie will have better luck."