Sticky Washington, District 6 <finished>

Once upon a time-

There was a boy who walked happily across a field of roses, all in different color. There were some as red as blood, others were as pink as the sky at sunset and there were others as white as the boy's pale skin. He had hair as dark as the night sky - without the stars of course, because those are in his eyes - but the dark color of his hair remained with the earth, like the paved street. He had no idea as to why he was there in the field naming each parts of the plant with maximum precision , all he remembered was his parents telling him to wait in the swing, on the tree. But of course he could not contain the adventure in him; he had to look for other places. Somewhere more interesting something that gets me all pumped and something that has a BANG! But of course he remembers the way back. That's another reason why he left, to test out that incredible memory of his. He found out about it a long time ago when he read a book about cars, he never forgot the name of every part, I even say it out loud to make me fall asleep. Like what he was doing, even if it meant scratching his white knees. The rose on his bony hand has started losing some of its petals, his shimmering blue eyes inspecting every inch of the soft skin of the petal. He plucked another petal and brought it to his sharp nose - sweet. His pale lips curved upwards and his eyes twinkled - see they are stars that have fallen - with delight. He quickly shoves it into his mouth and chews on it.

"George! What are you doing here? Your father and I have bee-"

The words meant nothing to him, he quickly spits it in a small vial he brought and turned around to face his mom. At least I have a sample now, he thought with glee.

"I'm very sorry mom," he looks down and follows his mother back.

No! This is all wrong! Why can't I do anything right! My hand flips to the next page of the ripped notebook. It's already 12 in the morning, my head faces the window. It was dark out, everything is on a standstill. This is what I loved, a night where everyone is calm. My legs rise and my fingers grab the mess on the table. It's time for me to find inspiration because there's nothing here in this dusty old abandoned house, with its crying walls and weeping angel portrait. The floor is covered with carcasses of insects and a thick layer of dust. But at least it has a bed - and it's just a few buildings away from the bakeshop, but it isn't full of inspiration. So my feet move towards the windows, tiny droplets filling the glass and sliding down. My fingers find their way to the handle, cold and hard and I shove it open.

The wind lashes my face, leaving droplets on my cheeks. It's a cold night, the perfect night to write! I look down and saw little people walking fast. Trying to get home maybe, some were bumping each other, that's what people always do touch and go. The height of this house is the reason why I came here, I get to observe people below while they don't see me up above. I stick my foot out, small and wearing nothing more but sneakers. My hands grip the gutters and my foot wrapping around the pipeline. I hoist myself up lugs close to its breaking point, but I manage to hoist myself up. My chest is rising and falling fast, blood rushing all throughout my body. This is why I love coming up here, it makes me feel all excited and energetic and alive.

Once upon a time-

There was a boy standing on top a five story building, arms outstretched and smile as wide as the plains of district six. The cold gust blew of his hat, but he couldn't careless, he was on top of a house in the middle of a strong wind. He was starring death in the face with a smile. Nothing could ruin this momen-

"Winrard! Get down here you damn kid. If you don't I would personally push you off their! Hurr-"

Her words flew away like the breeze, he covered his ears and shut his eyes. And he was swinging.

It was full of the color green, to his right and to his left. His hands were clutching on to something.

A vine.

He was swinging across a jungle. His face flushed red and let out a scream, not of fear - no, he was far to brave for that - but a scream of freedom. He was finally free from his parents grasps, away from their screaming, their fighting. Away from everything bad in his world.

But then the vine couldn't hold on. And then he was falling - fallingfallingfalling.

Then his eyes widened and he was back on the roof. his face was slick with sweat, so was his clothes. His hands were trembling badly. He couldn't feel the rough wood under his palms. The world around him started dancing in circles, the trees were in the sky, animals were flying and and a terrible shadow fell upon him.

"Your heart is mine," it said bringing out a crimson like crystal. It radiated a red light - the ray of life, maybe - and in his chest he felt a sudden pang of pain. His face twisted and red, his eyes full of tears.

"Stop it!"

"Never," it said and crushed the crystal to dust.

He awoke with a fright, his head was spinn-

Dammit! Writing about my sickness wouldn't help make it better - it just dictates the truth that I'm slowly fading away, but I don't dwell much about it - but I do find comfort telling someone about it, the only person that has been there ever since I was a little toddler learning to write.

My notebook.

Now the wind becomes a terror, but I wouldn't cower - not yet anyways - in fear. Not anymore. I look up from my notebook and I see the moon, high and mighty up in the sky. He seemed like our mighty protector up there, all big and mighty. I do wish he could stay there for a long time but I guess they have to switch places with the sun - or else the other side of the earth would die - but it's very hard to sneak around in the night. My eyes felt heavy and my vision started to blur - wow, I never knew the stars could look that beautiful - funny little things starts are, for a second they could be there and the next they could vanish. Some of them fall to fast even we could not see where they land, just like me. Whenever I get caught stealing bread from the back of the shop, they would try to keep an eye on me while they try to call a peacekeeper but I always manage to slip away. Always. And their faces would turn red and yell out "SNEAKY RAT!" at the top of their voices while I climb up the roofs and laugh. But their is this tiny part of me that says to stop, that one day I would not be able to come back here, that I would get thrown in to the DC, but what's life with out risk? Right?

But there will be a die in which I can't run anywhere and I'll be trapped and it will be the end.

The closing of my eyelids revealed my need to sleep, the moment I try to open them they seem stuck. The only way I could see is through the tiny little cracks, so I make my way to the whole in the roof. My hands felt through the rough roof, feeling every inch of it until my finger traces a huge piece of chipped wood. I maneuver my hand into the gap, feeling for a soft spot. Finally after a minute I feel a big soft cloth. Dragging it upwards, I make my way back to where I was a moment ago.

I place the pillow under my head and wrap myself in the wool blanket. Then darkness creeps into my eyes.

Once upon a time-

In a big blue house there lived a boy so afraid of the world that he only looked down at the kids that played on the street in front of his home. His fingers would trace the fog that builds up in his window during the rain. He would draw a sun with a smile on its face. Next would be a family with the mother and father at the side while a little boy in the middle. He names them above the girl is "Mom" the boy is "Dad" and the small one is labeled "Me". He takes his finger away and admires his work, the look in his eyes is the look of longing. Longing for a better life for a way out oh this hell. A tear slides down his face and kisses the floor.

"You know if I was richer I wouldn't have you as a husband!"
"Well why'd you marry me then?"
"Because everyone else was taken."
"You know what your just like--"

He covered his ears, his face red and contorted in different ways. His hands were shaking from pushing it against his ears. Sometimes he just wants to run away and live far away from all the screaming. Somewhere very quiet and peaceful. Where he could be the king and have a happy family and live happily ever after. But sadly life had other plans. Some people tell him that he is the luckiest person because his parents were rich. They said that whatever he wanted could be his with a snap of a finger. But it didn't seem that way to him.

He constantly asks himself why was his house full of hatred and arguments. Why poor people could live happy lives even if they would soon die together. Maybe ,money isn't the answer to everything.

He runs to the door and shuts it - they wouldn't notice it anyway - he rushes to his bed and takes out a tattered notebook from under his pillow and starts writing. He jots down everything he felt, how his life was and what he would want it to become. He also writes down how he wants his life to be, his plans for the futures. Some of this he places in short stories because he doesn't want people to know how he really feels in case he looses it.

After a few months he still sits in his room listening to his parents yelling at each other but now. He made up his mind. He was running away. He had a pack full of clothes and a few books. He looks back at his doorway and there his parents were. Standing in the hall way of the second floor just in front of his room. He walks to the door and closes it slowly.

This time he is cautious.

He runs to his window and opens it. The wind lashed his face but he makes his way to the rope he made out of his blanket and slides down. He makes it to the ground with a little poof on the ground.

And he starts running.

He keeps to the shadow as he does run. He sees a bunch of peacekeepers and he hides behind a wall. After five minutes he sees that they weren't going anywhere. He started to climb roofs putting his life on the edge just to get to the abandoned house near the edges of district 6. After a few hours he finally arrives there. He climbs through the window at the back and make his way up to his new room. There he saw his books he prepared there and a blanket and pillow.

"I guess I'm home" he says to no one in particular but just to reassure himself that everything will get better.

And they will.

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