The Kid With the Carpet {Grim!blitz}
Jan 4, 2015 14:51:50 GMT -5
Post by Death on Jan 4, 2015 14:51:50 GMT -5
Thimble Raysun
The last time you'd needed fabric, you'd made a purple dress for your next reaping day. A purple that the sunset was towards the end on the very rare occasion that purple joined the scarletts and gray smog that coated the District Eight night sky.
Now you wanted that scarlet color for a dress. The kind that gleamed and drew boy's eyes to your figure and your face. The kind your mother would purse her lips at seeing and would shake her head, but say nothing, because you were finally 18 and could do whatever the hell-- pardon your potty mouth-- you wanted to.
So you were buying crimson fabric for a crimson dress-- your last reaping dress. Walking down the side walk in a thick, overly-long sweater that was a dark gray and probably belonged to your father at some point but you'd seen it in the wash and so you'd commandeered it and through it over some ancient and worn denim and your winter boots. The russet brown and scuffed kind that were thick at the toes.
Melting snow sloshes at your feet as you scrape along and then you see him, carrying a carpet over his back, and you can't help but think, Boy, isn't he handsome?
