When Boredom is at its worst, (Open.)
Oct 11, 2009 14:04:32 GMT -5
Post by ripped on Oct 11, 2009 14:04:32 GMT -5
Classy Song.
In all of her dreadlocked golden glory, she was pitifully lonely and constantly bored. She chose to spend most of her time confined in her large room, practicing her oboe-playing technique, religiously, everyday.
Today- a slightly chilly Sunday, the kind of day to curl up in front of the fire place with gourmet hot chocolate and listen to beautiful classical music while contemplating life's marvels- Classy couldn't take another moment of solitary confinement.
She escaped out the front door, unnoticed, donning a wool parka with a fur-lined hood. Completely unsure of where would be the best place to go for fresh air, she walked briskly to one of the busiest, most glamorous streets in her city. Style Street, the Street of Freaks she'd heard people call it. Here it wasn't uncommon to watch someone go into a business with pink skin and come out with navy colored skin, and maybe a few moving tattoos along the arms.
A seven year old with six tattoos strolled by, completely unaccompanied by any adults. Maybe she wasn't seven. Maybe she was genetically modified to look seven. Maybe she was actually a forty-seven year old he.
A loud, giggly group of typical Capitol teenagers made their way down the street. Their skin tones ranged from porcelain white to deep, royal purple, their hairs spiked and shaved and curled. One girl with pure white skin wore red eyeliner that made her eyes look as though they were bleeding.
Classy sighed and leaned against a lamp post. She loved her city, but was there a single sane soul?
In all of her dreadlocked golden glory, she was pitifully lonely and constantly bored. She chose to spend most of her time confined in her large room, practicing her oboe-playing technique, religiously, everyday.
Today- a slightly chilly Sunday, the kind of day to curl up in front of the fire place with gourmet hot chocolate and listen to beautiful classical music while contemplating life's marvels- Classy couldn't take another moment of solitary confinement.
She escaped out the front door, unnoticed, donning a wool parka with a fur-lined hood. Completely unsure of where would be the best place to go for fresh air, she walked briskly to one of the busiest, most glamorous streets in her city. Style Street, the Street of Freaks she'd heard people call it. Here it wasn't uncommon to watch someone go into a business with pink skin and come out with navy colored skin, and maybe a few moving tattoos along the arms.
A seven year old with six tattoos strolled by, completely unaccompanied by any adults. Maybe she wasn't seven. Maybe she was genetically modified to look seven. Maybe she was actually a forty-seven year old he.
A loud, giggly group of typical Capitol teenagers made their way down the street. Their skin tones ranged from porcelain white to deep, royal purple, their hairs spiked and shaved and curled. One girl with pure white skin wore red eyeliner that made her eyes look as though they were bleeding.
Classy sighed and leaned against a lamp post. She loved her city, but was there a single sane soul?
