Caught in the Dark {Griffin Neon}

Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Feb 2, 2017 11:14:27 GMT -5

FLINT ARCH
District 1
CAREER

He loathes his family. He doesn’t require all of the gold-encrusted goblets and platters cooled in dazzling silver; spending eternity within the cage of his sunflower-hued wallpapers was oppressive and tedious. His name is ‘Flint’, a precious metal—rare and raw; he gives the most glamorous luster of all jewels. But, Flint has no needs of other precious substances. His story is the most ironic of all; a bloke who gives the impression of being a spoiled, corrupted and rich career detesting the scintillas of a luxurious life.

The residents of Twelve would jeer at him—an individual with an aphoristic visage. The element of surprise would be crystalline in manner on their faces as they fixate on the golden-haloed head he has and the skin which seems to pulse with ichor. Perhaps that is the major reason of his atrocity towards deluxe standards—because he hopes to be recognized as an ordinary lad for once.

Flint chuckled to himself. Thoughts such as these branch numerous solutions against this crisis each and every time he muses about it. The idea of being a free vessel, not restrained behind the formidable walls of his parents’ mansion, to experience the joys of nature in solitude, to connect with individuals without the mention of their statues and so on. The concept of the entire thing was tempting and sweet—it topped all of his thoughts and being a difficulty to cast aside.

Two coffee-hued orbs fixed themselves on the vast panoramic view of District One, the gentle zephyr gusting across the land brushing against his skin. He wondered if the air would be a difference in the denser, less populated parts of the district—where the sound of the creation of jewelries would not be audible to his ears; a place less or free of humane presence. Digits idly dragged themselves along the flat surface of the window-pane. Then, they flew and snatched a sack dangling from the shelf besides. The sack was light for the contents inside were put to be taken on a brisk trip—a fresh attire for changing, a ready-made meal, a canteen of light and a dagger. Weapons were not very much permitted in all districts but his family was in the wealthy circle of District One—the wealthiest district in Panem. It was a sick and twisted fact: wealth could bend the rules even.

His eyes naturally adjusted to the nature hues—green, yellow, vermillion, brown and soil. The grass crunched underneath his raven boots, making it easier to acknowledge the lingering presence of the winter cold. However, spring was also seeping in—the contents in his textbooks told him about the conditions of floras: leaves in this time of the year signals the beginning of new, baby leaves. He had bestowed permission to his feet to carry him out of his mansion and into any place fitting to his desired destination. And so it had led him to an area populated solely by greeneries and grooves. His thought from before had been proven to be quite accurate, the air here was different. It smelled far more natural, fresh, and spotless and conveyed the smell of grass and the soil underneath.

As time ascended, his little exploring trip had steered him to the direction of a cave. A hollow entrance smeared with shadows as black as tar greeted him. The arch of its entrance was accustomed to his height, it was at least about 6 feet 5 inches roughly or more. Rose bushes flourished lively around the route into it, their petals vividly scarlet. The entire place was under a veil of tranquility. He advanced forward with curious tread. In the interior of it, the surface of the cave was smooth against touch. Underneath him was a sea of rocks which varied in sizes. Some crunched below his stomps but he had to avoid stumbling on some.

He felt so alive.

{x}

Words: 654
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