If I go walking, will you come, too? (Wolfy)
Oct 18, 2011 20:12:14 GMT -5
Post by Delphin on Oct 18, 2011 20:12:14 GMT -5
It was sunny, like the sun ate gold, chewed it up, and spat it back out over the sky. And like the generous heaps of coal smoke, the sun decided to lift the smog for the time being, shining its light down on the earth below. It almost made the ground as golden as the sky. Autumn was frolicking in the air. The chill burned the back of throats, making words condense in the air in front of little faces. Birds sang from the trees that suddenly didn't seem so scraggily.
School had just let out, and with it, the uncomfortable sensation of freedom. Children were still milling around together, talking about detentions and teachers and homework. The boys chased leaves, seeing who could catch the most before they touched the ground. They shoved each other, blocking their access to the falling leaves. The girls stood around, commenting about ribbons and pumpkins and puppies. Mothers gathered at the edges of the square, waiting for their young children to run into their arms, and walk home. They wore smiles, and spoke of the price of bread, and taxes, and rain.
All in all, it was a fairly normal day is District 12. Aside from the Games playing again that night, there wasn't anything going on: no parades, no drunken speeches, and absolutely no burning books. . . As far as the kids knew, anyway. Celadon leaned against the pillar beside the school entrance, coolly watching the other students flood out of the doors. He was looking for one student in particular. The one with hair on fire.
He had spied her through the day, but had no chance to talk to her. It didn't bother him much. Another day, another hour, another sky. He had learned to wait for things, plus, classes were just beginning to pick up the pace. Even if he pretended he didn't pay attention, he had good grades despite his refusal to do homework.
What good was it anyway? He went to school to learn, not to drag school back home with him.
His guitar case was by his feet. Scuffed, and faded, he was probably most grateful that the case was hard, and not made of soft fabric. It help his most prized possession, you know. He would sooner lose both hands than break it. But that's kind of irrelevant, because without hands he couldn't play the guitar anyhow.
Finally, he spotted her. He kicked off the wall, merging into the crowd of people who were quickly clearing from the square. "Hey, Snaps," he greeted. His words were like a dark room, with the window shades suddenly pulled up.
School had just let out, and with it, the uncomfortable sensation of freedom. Children were still milling around together, talking about detentions and teachers and homework. The boys chased leaves, seeing who could catch the most before they touched the ground. They shoved each other, blocking their access to the falling leaves. The girls stood around, commenting about ribbons and pumpkins and puppies. Mothers gathered at the edges of the square, waiting for their young children to run into their arms, and walk home. They wore smiles, and spoke of the price of bread, and taxes, and rain.
All in all, it was a fairly normal day is District 12. Aside from the Games playing again that night, there wasn't anything going on: no parades, no drunken speeches, and absolutely no burning books. . . As far as the kids knew, anyway. Celadon leaned against the pillar beside the school entrance, coolly watching the other students flood out of the doors. He was looking for one student in particular. The one with hair on fire.
He had spied her through the day, but had no chance to talk to her. It didn't bother him much. Another day, another hour, another sky. He had learned to wait for things, plus, classes were just beginning to pick up the pace. Even if he pretended he didn't pay attention, he had good grades despite his refusal to do homework.
What good was it anyway? He went to school to learn, not to drag school back home with him.
His guitar case was by his feet. Scuffed, and faded, he was probably most grateful that the case was hard, and not made of soft fabric. It help his most prized possession, you know. He would sooner lose both hands than break it. But that's kind of irrelevant, because without hands he couldn't play the guitar anyhow.
Finally, he spotted her. He kicked off the wall, merging into the crowd of people who were quickly clearing from the square. "Hey, Snaps," he greeted. His words were like a dark room, with the window shades suddenly pulled up.
