Blind Luck [Rook/Sarella/Nightbird/Wildflower]
Jan 26, 2012 13:43:02 GMT -5
Post by rook on Jan 26, 2012 13:43:02 GMT -5
Lilith Kerbroski
Alpaca. The bane of my life. One gives me a demonic groan as I glare at it, midst trying to finish handwriting a letter. I sit on a wooden stump that apparently used to be a tree. I watch my brother, Vinnie, as he shaves one Alpaca, collecting the valuable wool that keeps food in our bellies. The 21 year old is lost in his own world, a strange root in his mouth, rolled into a tube and set alight.
"How can you even afford that thing?" I say without so much as glancing in his direction. He grunts, puffing on the exotic drug. He's still lost in his world of work, it's all he does these days. He blames himself for my half-blindness, for not watching over and protecting me, but we both know that it was simply my disobedience and curiosity that led to the fated accident that saw my eye gauged by razorwire.
"HEY!" I throw an empty book of parchment at him. It hits him in the side of the head, he drops the razor and swears, the drug still in his mouth.
"I said, why do you have that thing?" I repeat, now looking at him. A few Alpaca bleat at the occurance.
He stares at me, like I'm a child, which I am to him, before grinning, giving a puff on his drug.
"Because it was free..." Vinnie explains, returning to shaving the beast, breaking eye contact with me.
"I found it..."
This causes me to frown. He shouldn't be smoking things he just finds on the floor. It could be toxic. Yet somehow, I know my brother well enough to understand - He may be obnoxious and meat-headed, but he knows what's dangerous and what's not. He's obviously smoked something similar before. Somehow this makes me more concerned.
"Whatever, just don't puff out a lung..." I fold up the parchment and shove it in my pocket, standing up and traversing the muddy pen back to the house. Vinnie doesn't so much as grunt as I say goodbye, heading into town to deliver the letter.
It's for our relatives in District 12. My mother wants to send them some relief money, but somehow it's likely to be intercepted. She still wants to let them know that we're doing what we can to help them out. Obviously getting your one-eyed child to write and deliver messages is a good way to show pity, but really my mother's just trying to make me useful.
I head into town, putting on my sunglasses despite the grey weather. This gives me more confidence that people won't stare at my bad eye. I bump into a few people, who know me and smile when I say sorry. I do get the occasional shove back, but this can't be helped. I do what I can to get into town safely, but it's always a struggle.
I manage to locate the postbox when I walk into yet another person, who shoves me back. The letter slips from my grasp and blows away in the wind. Within seconds, I've lost it. My poor vision means I'll probably never find it again.
"Way-to-go, Jackass!" I yell, frustrated at how I've wasted an entire day unless I find that letter.
