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Whatever You May Need [Meranda]
Oct 5, 2011 20:27:19 GMT -5
Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Oct 5, 2011 20:27:19 GMT -5
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There is love in your body but you can't get it out
It gets stuck in your head, won't come out of your mouth
Ghost might have been an animal stalking her prey, if in fact she was in it for survival, and if she could make herself move like an giant cat, big wide eyes fixed upon anything unsuspecting, anything weak as she prowled the streets of District Three. Old women walked along the dingy sidewalks, clustered around doorways to shops and talking about prices or gossiping about whatever particularly (un)interesting things their kids were up to. These women wore brighter clothes than the woman who walked past them on the left, the ones who couldn't afford to walk into the shops because they had spent all of their money on the bare necessities. Their clothes were more gray, more stained with God only knows what. As she walked, Ghost made a point to keep to the right so as to keep from smelling whatever stench might waft her way through the breeze, and as she did so the heat from the stores drifted over to her when the doors opened, beckoning her to go inside. She was not allowed to go in most all of them, except perhaps the bakery and the produce shop if she kept her head down and stayed out of the corners.
A mixture of reds, oranges, and greens flooded her vision as she passed the produce shop's elaborate window setup, mostly filled with apples of all types and oranges of various sizes. These were the things that drew people in, if they could be afforded; fresh fruit wouldn't grow anywhere near the borders of District Three, for the soil had long since been polluted with chemicals from the air, and the winters were too cold. Or so that's what they were taught; only the higher-ups in the government ever seemed to know the real truth. It was just like how they told you that you would be beaten, maybe killed if you were caught stealing. But that wasn't right, at least not for her. The shopkeepers wouldn't let her in if they knew her, and if a Peacekeeper had ever seen her in action not a one of them did anything about it. Beating helpless children in public, especially the ones with sad eyes (everybody should learn to cry on demand, that was what she learned when they caught her the first time) was frowned upon. If she were in a different District, one with better law enforcement, it might be different. As long as they allowed her any slack on the rope, she would take it.
"What kind of vegetable is that?" A small girl pointed at something as her mother ushered her back out the door, bells jangling up against the wood. Rushing forward, she caught the edge of the door in her hand, but didn't step in. She waited, one second, two seconds, three seconds until she heard the click of a door closing -- the owner stepping into the back of the store, presumably to relax. Probably the only shopkeeper on the block that actually has time to rest.. she thought, taking a hesitant step onto the wood laminate floor. Business was better in afternoons like these, when the wind didn't bite at your face and the sun could be seen through the clouds. There was still mud where there was dirt, but the paved walkways weren't quite so bad, minus the fact that every damn woman in the entire District seemed to flood it at the end of the workday.
Light overwhelmed her, bouncing off of agonizingly yellow walls. Was that a trick of the store's owner, to invite people in with light and color and a semblance of happiness? As if the fruit wasn't tantalizing enough, unreachable to the people that spent all of their time walking past the stores and not into them. Her head twisted to the door where the storekeeper came from. Did he hear her come in? She paused by the door, taking in the heat of the room, standing silently with her eyes glued to the back door. Inside a TV blared, something about the Games -- the bastard was actually watching something Games related; it sounded something like the interviews -- and her light footsteps barely made a tap against the floor.
Pressing on, careful not to rustle her clothing or trip over her own feet (she had done it before and there was plenty of reason to worry), she reached out with a delicate hand and plucked an apple from a display. Shiny and green, it tasted sour when she bit into the skin. Her mother sometimes bought apples, but not often enough. An apple was considered a treat, an occasional luxury. Ghost had eaten an apple every day for a week, had stared through the glass at the storekeeper time and time again, and somehow he had never noticed. The Capitol was too cheap to give out surveillance cameras.
Grinning at their futility, a stray drop of juice from the apple trickled down her hand and onto her plain sweater. She rubbed it off on the leg of her jeans, and as she did so she turned and saw a glimmer of movement through the window pane.
Somebody was staring at her, watching her every move.
Sticks to your tongue and shows on your face
That the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste
[/font][/size][/i][/right]That the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste
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