Am I There? (thnksfrthjllybns)(i hope i got your name right)

OOC: Pretty vivid I see (P.S. I love your speelling)


   My fingers are tired, my limbs are sore, another day at the factory has taken its toll. I crouch, sitting cross-legged on the corrugated iron roof of the main building. I cover my eyes from the blinding rays of the sun as it starts to descend in the blood-stained sky. I watch children filing out of the school and a stab of envy went through my heart? Why couldn't I be there? Why did I not have the right to learn? I knew the answer: I was responsible now, I had to win the bread, through whatever way necessary.
   They have different expressions, the children, as they leave. The younger ones are jovial, chatting away to each other, playing games in the street without a care in the world. They are lucky, as I once was lucky, as everyone was lucky once, but we were not grateful enough for our misfortune and shed it at the earliest opportunity. The older ones, the teenagers, look grim, downcast after a strenuous day. The world looms ahead of them: slavery to the Capitol, death at a premature age and maybe at the hands of another youth in the Hunger Games if the odds aren't in their favour. I had ceased to care about the Capitol and their oppression: there was nothing he could do about it and getting food and shelter was more important than ranting about the overlords.

  I scurry along the roof of the building, careful not to make any noise; if the Peacekeepers caught me up there I'd be in for no end of trouble. Here comes the tricky part, I thought, as I made the leap, bear, hugging the chimney which carried steam out of the tanning rooms. Slowly I shimmy down until I land on the building's concrete roof. I was still relatively highigh, maybe ten, or twenty feet above the ground, but from here it was easy enough. During the day I could climb out of the window, adjacent to me, and climb up, but that got shut in the evenings and the wooden shutters were not worth breaking through. I grab the ledge of the roof with my fingers and swing my body over. I drop, landing expertly on the second ledge, before leaping to the ground. 

   As I join the crowd of workers leaving the factory I hear the distant crack of a Peacekeeper's whip. We all flinch, knowing full well the consequences of the sound. Not only was there an angry (or drunk) Peacekeeper on the road, but my path home was straight in his direction. I carry on walking, deciding to brave it; I would just have to be civil to them as I always was, and, more importantly, stay out of the way. As I turned onto one of the side streets I saw a pitiful figure lying on the road. Small, female, by the looks of things, with blonde hair streaked with dirty from her fall. I curse as I go over to the figure, I'm not usually the one for charity but she looked like she needed it. I wondered whether she was the victim of the Peacekeeper's rage, and the thought raised a small amount of rage in me. She was just a child, how could she have done anything wrong?

   I crouch down by the figure, putting my hand on their shoulder. If is soft, bony, slightly emaciated like many of the bodies of this District. I shake it slightly, in case they are unconcious.

'Hello? Are you alright?' I ask her, considering to myself quite how stupid a question it is given that the poor thing's lying face-down in the ground.  

OOC: Oh, sorry, didn't see it there, I'll make a note of it.

I saw the girl twist around. My suspicions had been right, she was young, her face still held the slightest traces of innocence. Lucky for her, I suppose.
"Yeah," she replied, "I just tripped and I think I twisted my ankle." I looked down at the ankle, there did not look like there was anything wrong with it, but then I was no doctor. "Could you help me up?"

"Sure," I replied, unable to say anything else. I bent down and hooked my arms over her thin body, lifting her up. Even for my tired body she seemed light and, once up, I wrapped her arm around my neck. "Let's see if you can put any weight on it." I slowly lowered her down so that the girl's feet were touching the ground, inching her downwards, waiting for complaint.

I heard her breathe in as the girl slowly put weight onto her foot. I felt guilty as she readjusted her body mass onto her stronger leg. She did not want to appear weak: I could understand that, in the poorer Districts the fight for survival meant trying to appear stronger than you were.
"Thank you," she said as she started to limp away. I took the couple of paces necessary to catch up with her.
"Hey, do you need a hand?" I asked, defying my better nature. "I doubt that the Peacekeepers would take too kindly to seeing a defenceless girl out in the streets with a twisted ankle."