Waxflowers dont need blossoming (Open. Romance?)
Sept 25, 2010 15:18:55 GMT -5
Post by peanutpie on Sept 25, 2010 15:18:55 GMT -5
It was one of those days. You know, the days when its raining and mud puddles are dwelling in the streets. One of the days when its cold enough for hail to be falling, but it wasnt. It was one of those Days that Kalmia Waxflower had to go to the grochers to buy some cheese and a bag of apples. She stomped across the medium sized shop, quickly grabbing the foods and standing by the checkout counter, waiting for the man infront of her to finish his checkout and for her to dash through the rain. The checker just continued and finally completed his job by putting the items into a paper bag. Kalmia let out a sigh of relief and put her things on the wooden plank that served as a check out stand, and waited. The man carefully wrote down the price of each item and then totaled them up in pencil.
The man handed her the bag, and she put the money on the counter, storming out of the store in a quick, violent fashion. The rain pelted onto her hair, as she stormed out through the streets, in a constant, weaving fashion. The streets of the district were all lined up, four streets by four streets with a center square. The seam was south of that, shacks all lined up on a long street, with two smaller ones going out from the main one. She darted through the district square, where a few people were watching the giant monitors that played the games. Three people had died already, all guys. Kalmia just shrugged and darted around the mayors house, remembering Ocean, the female tribute. She was sure to be targeted this year. She's killed two of the tributes already, and the previous victors are from here, so the gamemakers dont want a threepeat.
She finally stopped at the bakery, then turned around, finally making her way to the seam. The coal dusted, dark and gloomy seam. With the shacks lined up like graves, all tattered. Each of them appeared to have three rooms, and a dirty front porch and junk. A cat peeked out from an old tire, hissed and recoiled back into the blackened rubber. Two kids played in the street, dust smuged on their faces, wearing old clothes and tossing around an old bundle of socks to serve as a ball. She pitied the children who lived in these conditions. Even though she lived in similar ones. Her house was four rooms, though it had no junk in the yard, and the front porch was swept clean and had an old, moth eaten wicker chair.
On that particular day, sheets were laying on the banister, now soaking wet. "God." She picked up the waxflower sheets and observed them. They dripped water. "Mom is going to die." She sighed and placed them on the wicker chair, wondering what to do with them. When it stops raining, she finally decided. She opened the door and took off her coat and sighed. She picked at her hair for a moment, before finally going back to the porch and picking up the second sheet.
Before she had the chance to do anything, she saw a figure in the corner of her eye.[/color]
The man handed her the bag, and she put the money on the counter, storming out of the store in a quick, violent fashion. The rain pelted onto her hair, as she stormed out through the streets, in a constant, weaving fashion. The streets of the district were all lined up, four streets by four streets with a center square. The seam was south of that, shacks all lined up on a long street, with two smaller ones going out from the main one. She darted through the district square, where a few people were watching the giant monitors that played the games. Three people had died already, all guys. Kalmia just shrugged and darted around the mayors house, remembering Ocean, the female tribute. She was sure to be targeted this year. She's killed two of the tributes already, and the previous victors are from here, so the gamemakers dont want a threepeat.
She finally stopped at the bakery, then turned around, finally making her way to the seam. The coal dusted, dark and gloomy seam. With the shacks lined up like graves, all tattered. Each of them appeared to have three rooms, and a dirty front porch and junk. A cat peeked out from an old tire, hissed and recoiled back into the blackened rubber. Two kids played in the street, dust smuged on their faces, wearing old clothes and tossing around an old bundle of socks to serve as a ball. She pitied the children who lived in these conditions. Even though she lived in similar ones. Her house was four rooms, though it had no junk in the yard, and the front porch was swept clean and had an old, moth eaten wicker chair.
On that particular day, sheets were laying on the banister, now soaking wet. "God." She picked up the waxflower sheets and observed them. They dripped water. "Mom is going to die." She sighed and placed them on the wicker chair, wondering what to do with them. When it stops raining, she finally decided. She opened the door and took off her coat and sighed. She picked at her hair for a moment, before finally going back to the porch and picking up the second sheet.
Before she had the chance to do anything, she saw a figure in the corner of her eye.[/color]
