but its better to be alone - chelsey.

Heather's hands ached as she kneaded row after row of dough. Her lithe hands became dusted white with the fragrant bread and her mouth filled with water at the smell of it baking. She longed to take a hot loaf for herself, to tear it apart with her hungry hands, to taste the golden brown fluff melt on her tongue like butter on a pan. She stared longingly at the blazing oven, her hand stretching out towards the baked good. No one would notice if I just took one.

But they did.

Right as her hand made contact with the closest loaf, it was slapped away from her aunt's prying eyes. Heather recoiled her hand back quickly, like a mischievous five year old getting caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. She giggled childishly as her aunt stared at her disapprovingly, shaking her head as her playful brown ringlets bounced about her face. "Oh, fine take it." She finally resisted. "It's spoiled from your touch anyway."

Heather smiled widely as the hot broad was wrapped in a thin white cloth and then handed to her, then kissing her gracious aunt on the cheek. This brought a smile onto her aunt's face - a kiss from an adolescent to an elder was rare, especially if they were the teenager's family. She waved Heather away, although the smile remained embedded into her working features.

Heather hopped over the counter in one quick movement, then exited the bakery in another. As soon as she opened the door, a gust of cold wind frigidly embraced her. She shivered in it's touch and kept the loaf safe in her jacket, as if even the wind was envious of her food. The singer strolled along the stone paths, searching for a place to eat without the presence of the freezing air. The walking unwinded her heavy mind, and she lost thought all together as the streets turned from stone to dirt and from dirt to grass. As she walked, she hummed a song under her breath, bringing light to the clouded day. And, as she became so entranced with her new tune and warm bread, she became lost altogether when she awoke from her childish fantasies and found herself in the working fields. Few people were scattered about the area, workers and peacekeepers alike. Heather decided that a walk back to town would take too long, and that the weather here would be as warm as it would get. In fact, the Sun was already beginning to peek out from behind the clouds. As long as she kept out of the Peacekeeper's sight, she wouldn't be deemed an intrusion - maybe they'd even assume she was a worker her self. Choosing a somewhat secluded tree, she nestled into mother nature's welcoming roots. She retrieved the loaf from her coat with eager hands, smiling from it's freshly baked scent and the glowing warmth it provided.

The first bite was as blissful as Heather had imagined it to be - and probably even more. This small bite of the chewy dough set her stomach's growls to purrs, demolishing the small hunger that's been aching inside of her for a few days now. Business at the bakery had been slow, and when business was slow, that meant so would the arrival of food on the table. But, at least for now, the singer would not have to worry about this common District Eleven nightmare. For now, Heather could sit back, relax, and watch the scenery change before her.

This calm setting was soon intruded on at the sight of an approaching Peacekeeper. Shit, shit, shit. Oh, they've spotted her and they've come to take her away to a place even more horrible than this. As the panic began to seep into her system, her frantic eyes caught sight of the girl before her, who sat down and seemingly refused to work. What are you doing?! Thought the worried sixteen year old. You could be punished!

"Psssst!" Heather said, gesturing for the brown haired stranger to join her.

The reluctance to join Heather was evident in the stranger's face, but the fear of being caught by a peacekeeper overcame that hesitance. The stranger quickly joined the singer at her spot by the roots, this action washing her over with the relief knowing that no one would be harmed today.

At least, yet.

What if the peacekeeper still found her? Heather questioned herself as the girl quickly closed the distance between them. Then, not only she would get punished, but I would too. This sudden realization washed away the relief that she so briefly held, and instantly replaced it with a cold fear. The thoughts of merciless consequences and cruel punishments punctured her veins with horror, the the terror now streaming through her veins. Surely, what Heather was doing couldn't have been worthy of a crime, could it? Then again, through their eyes, she was harboring a criminal. She tensed at this thought. Heather's eyes has looked upon Medusa's, and she suddenly grew stiff and cold. She remained as a statue like figure even when the girl collapsed on the ground next to her, heavily panting for air. The silence settled between them like a layer of dust, until Heather began to grasp the smallest holds of reality again.

"Why did you stop working?" She asked, her hands trembling uneasily as the searching peacekeeper scanned it's eyes for the missing worker. It's white uniform was like a ghost to Heather, but her face was probably still paler than it. If they even made one step out of line, revealed the slightest of movements out side of the shadow they were guarded in - they would be discovered. And who knows what would happen after that? "I mean, you can get punished for doing things like that, can't you?"

Heather clung to the sides of her arms tightly, not noticing how white her knuckles had become until she felt the blood begin to stop coursing through them. It was only then did she force her fingers to break apart from their nervous state - clenching and unclenching it until it returned to it's normal color. She closed her eyes for the briefest moment, waiting for her breath to steady into a regular pace. If no peacekeepers came by now, then they surely won't come at all, right?

"Of course you wouldn't know." The baker heard, the whisper coming out from the stranger almost inaudible. The mutter was so low that, for a second, Heather questioned if it was actually spoken aloud. "Living it up over here without a care at all. How hard life must be for you."

At the sudden cold implication of the stranger's words, Heather's eyes jolted open. The fear she once beheld of the peacekeepers discovering their location instantly washed away, and was replaced with a whole new fear. It was the fear of judgement. The girl stared at the singer with direct, and unflinching eyes, causing Heather to have the sudden urge to shrivel up into the shadows that encased the both of them. She desperately wanted to melt into the tree, to shrink away from the prejudices that clouded both of their naive minds, to relocate that gaze of envy towards someone else deserving of it. They were just three simple sentences, though. Three sentences that sprouted from the worker's mouth like a growing vine, reaching out for Heather and choking her until she was gasping for air - until she was gasping for mercy.

Living it up over here without a care at all.

The words echoed into Heather's ears, causing her to squirm in her position. Without a care? She asked herself. At the thought, she felt the freshly baked bread in the pocket of her jacket burn with a shameful glow. She placed her hands under her laps, so no one could witness the dough creased within it's stretched lines. Suddenly, the fact that her family were bakers felt like a crime. Chain and lock me up, peacekeepers. The real criminal here isn't the girl, it's me. It was a fact that was branded into her fair skin, her glowing eyes, her healthy smile. It was a fact that gave way for the poor and starved of District Eleven to judge her and how she "lives her life without a care." She felt her cheeks begin to blaze with humiliation, and she didn't dare raise her eyes to face the girl.

No, she might not be a field worker, and her frame may be a bit more filled out than others - but in the end, weren't they all the same? In the end, baker and worker alike, were stuck in District Eleven. They were all stuck in Panem, refuge something that even the wildest dreams could not achieve. They were all still oppressed by President Snow.

"Sorry," She suddenly began, again. The singer quietly peeked up from behind her blonde mass of hair, the sincerity in the girl's apology hitting her like a ton of bricks. She removed her hands from under her lap, twiddling her fingers about and staring at them as the girl continued. "That was uncalled for. It's just... I just get emotional." Before Heather could stumble around with her own response, the girl continued hastily speaking. "I - I'm Belle. Thanks for that." Wait, she's thanking me?

The shock slammed the sixteen year old with a powerful yet relieving force. Wasn't it only seconds ago that the girl - Belle - was accusing her of a careless life? Heather rose her head, their eyes now on the same level. "I just - I got caught up in it all out there, I don't know what I was thinking. They would have punished me for that. Sor - sorry, I... thanks." The effort of saying these words seemed to take a toll on Belle. After having to exert them, she immediately fell back onto the trunk of the tree, sighing with released anxiety and exhaustion.

At first, Heather wasn't sure if she should just remain silent, or speak at all. Belle didn't seem in the right state to keep up a conversation, anyway. Why pull out even more breath out of her, which would only become a waste? Instead, Heather followed suit, hesitantly leaning back on the tree about a foot or two away from the girl. She reached her hand inside her pocket, retrieving the still warm loaf of bread that was delicately wrapped in a white cloth.

As she began to unravel the delicacy, the aroma of the bread wafted up into the air instantly. She heaved a deep breath of it in, her taste buds watering just at the scent. The smell reminded her of home, and it was more than clear that she was a long way from it, now.

She broke off a large piece of it and handed it to Belle, keeping the smaller piece for herself. Not sure if this simple action could do justice for Belle's previous statements, she offered the tiniest of smiles, before placing it into Belle's calloused working hands. "I'm Heather, by the way."

Watching Belle take a bite out of the freshly baked bread was like watching a desert nomad come across an oasis in the middle of a sandy abyss. Belle's eyes slowly lapped up the mere sight of the delicacy, as if even daring to think about eating it would make it disappear. Slowly and carefully, her hands broke off a piece of the bread, small crumbs falling to the ground as she did so. She placed the broken piece into her mouth, and all of time seemed frozen about her. It was like she had to remind herself to chew, chew, chew, and Heather watched as the wheels in her head began to turn again with the energy that the food provided her.

At the sight, Heather settled back into the nook of the tree, satisfaction and pleasure running through her face. It sent a smile to her features when she knew that, even though she couldn't completely stomp out poverty in District Eleven, she could at least somewhat relieve it's victims. She nibbled on the edges of her own piece, relishing in it's warmth and taste.

She didn't speak though, her lips seemed unable to form any coherent words. Instead, she raised her eyes to meet Heather's, thousands of emotions flitting across her brown irises. Regret, gratitude, admiration, joy. Before she even had time to think about it, the singer reached out for the hand that was empty and gave it a gentle squeeze. She hoped the smile she offered reflected the feelings she felt inside. Forgiveness, elation, felicity. The singer let her hand linger over her friend's for the briefest of moments, before letting it return to her side.

After that, the pair was left to finish the rest of their scanty yet filling meal. Recognizing the exhaustion that filled Belle's face, Heather didn't press for conversation until her bread was completely finished. Between those moments, the blonde paused to wonder if their roles were reversed.

What if I was a field worker? What if my skin clung to my rib cages, and my cheeks were hollowed out from years of starving?

She wrapped her arms around herself, hopefully preventing the shudder than trickled down her spine.

The sixteen year old didn't even want to think of how life must've been on that particular side of Eleven. Forced into labor, worked to death - or at least until she became useless to The Capitol -, coming home to an empty table and an empty family.

She shuddered again.

How do they live? Family was everything to Heather. Family was the only thing that she was sure even The Capitol couldn't break apart. But, then again, tragedy ties people together and knits them even closer than before. How close they all must be, then.

The words "How must it be like to be you?" threatened to spill over her careless lips, but she bit them before they had a chance to make an appearance. She just began to hit a soft spot with Belle, why solidify her hatred for her once more? Instead, once seeing that all the bread was indeed gone, she decided to touch upon a safer territory and asked her, "How long do they make you work for?"

A minimum of ten hours.

Just thinking about it, Heather could feel the sun beat down on her back - like the lash of a slave owner's whip - as sweat collects on her back and dribbles down her forehead. Maybe her knees would ache from constantly bending down, and her fingers would grow numb from wrapping themselves around the crops in the field. Her breathing would certainly become heavily labored, and her tongue dry without water. Everything around her would become nothing but a blur of bright reds, yellows, and oranges - falling, falling, falling - falling back until she only saw the thin veins running through her closed eyelids.

"We have a few small breaks in between, so it's not that bad."

Heather searched into Belle's eyes, looking for any sign that might really reveal how she felt about working here. But all she saw was indifference, and she shrugged. Heather turned her face back to her hands, staring at them as they twiddled around in her lap. Of course Belle wouldn't say that the work is bad. Any disagreement with the way The Capitol works around here could result in horrible consequences.

She bit her lip as she thought about her own life. Kneading dough into bread, shaping them into loafs or elaborate designs, frosting cakes and sometimes playfully taking a taste for herself, sharing mindless chatter with the same friendly customers. Yes, maybe there were nights when she'd go to sleep without dinner - but she always knew there'd be at least a morsel of food for the next day. Her life wasn't a burden at all, and at times, it may have even seemed... pleasant. I don't even spend ten hours a day working in the bakery. Maybe her life wasn't all that bad as she always thought it to be.

What a joke.

Suddenly, she felt an unpleasant feeling wash over her, a feeling that could only be described as ungratefulness. It ran through her body, coursed through her veins, and raced along side her blood. One look at Heather told a life of millions of smiles and laughter. One look at Belle told a life of hardship and disappointment. One look at Belle and Heather didn't even possess a good reason to complain about anything anymore.

"I guess you work in a bakery then?"

The sudden proclamation rose Heather out of the sea of thoughts she submerged herself in. A string of voices but no words rung in her mind, and she realized that Belle must've continued talking without her paying any attention. Oops.

"Yeah, my uncle owns the one over in town..." She felt her voice trail off at the mention of it's location. She had no desire to be classified as any other stereotypical "townsie". Heather had to be different than the rest of them, right? Her morals and ethics stood differently apart from everyone else's - her way of thinking distinguished from those she knew. She had to be different...

Or maybe she just wasn't as special as she always had thought herself to be.

"Stella," Belle said. Momentarily confused, Heather turned her head to face the girl, only to find her lost in her own thoughts - as if trapped in daydreams that she couldn't break through. "I love you, alright?"

Heather stifled a laugh at the odd statement, wondering exactly where, when, and how such a proclamation came about. And who is Stella? Instead, Heather smiled lightly, watching as Belle scrambled about realizing what she had said out loud wasn't directed to the person who she thought it was. It was a good hearted, friendly kind of smile, a smile that hoped to settle the fluttering state her friend found herself in. She could watch the embarrassment spread out through her features, as she tried to collect the remnants of their previous conversation.

"That's great! Sounds interesting," Belle spoke in a hasty rush, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could even realize it. Heather let her talk, however, allowing her to redirect the conversation in an opposite direction if she didn't want to elaborate on the former mishap. Sure, Heather may have been slightly confused, but it was more than obvious that Belle did not want to talk about it, and so she wouldn't push her. "Do you help him bake the food that you sell?"

"Most of the time, yes. It gets dull after a while, tray after tray of baking bread and shaping dough." She paused slightly to let a brief laugh echo between them, looking over at Belle. Her eyebrows were knit together, as if trying to concentrate - imagining a life beyond the fields. Heather imagined Belle cutting out shapes in the cookie dough, playfully reaching for a loaf of bread like how Heather had this morning. The blonde offered a small smile, "You should come there, some time, make my dull days a little less dull."