west ➳ district nine ➳ fin

west ,

Heaven knows I could use a friend. 

I always thought I lived in a treehouse, dreams and realities they don't always match up but once upon a time I was a flower prince -- daisies pushing through the floors and grass around me, plant life kissing my soul and giant eyes and empty soul. I've always loved the outsides, rubbing hands through forest grass and listening to the quartets of crickets. My house was as much a treehouse as I wanted it to be, an orphanage of stolen souls, heaven knows, I always liked stayin in my room more so than staying with the rest of the house. 

Never have I ever been a taker, a leader, charge and West, they aren't synonyms. "West, you're talkin too-" I never really learnt to breathe (breath? Breathe, breath, one of the two,) right until I was twelve-ish, that's when the mushrooms grow in your skin and blinking is easier too -- I would al(breath)ways breath betw(breath)een words as I ta(breath)lked, but I never found it a p(breath)roblem, since plants never said much anyways; they kinda just sit there and hold your hand. 

Just how I like em.

The treehouse. 

UH-huh. 

Growing up there was a sweet old lady I would always steal plants from -- she was really good at them, at like helping them y'know? For as much as I loved them I never really quite completely entirely whollyabsolutelyutterlyand thoroughly learned how to love them like they like, needed to be loved. But I always loved a lot of things as a kid; my favorite hobby - besides stealing from old people - was converting oxygen to carbon dioxide and watching the sun, what can I say: I was always a simple orphan plant child. Her name was uhhhhhhhh, oh boy this is awkward sorry ma'am I forgot your name, haha. Let's just call her lavender for now because they were always my favorite plants of her's, she smelled like cat nip and old leather and I would always hug her extra tight in case ghosts were trying to possess her -- I always thought older people were more sussesccseptible.

She had really wet eyes, to the point of me always thinking she was crying before we talked - I always felt guilty too. Because I stole her plants. One time she ranted to me about whichever bitch it was stealing her lavenders and I shook the dirt off my overall legs and frowned and said "I'msosorry mama," I always called her mama, because I liked the way it rolled off my bronze tongue, quick and easy to say. And she told me not to call her that because it was weird but it was only weird if you acknowledged it, but either way I stole from her and pet her cat while doing it. 

I've always wanted a cat. 

They're like, friends. But cuter. 

Oh the tree house, yeah. I never had a mama, or a cat, or a treehouse, but I always wanted those things. In the back of district nine there's a tiny forest not fenced off, and I always ran through it like a day sprite, kissing sunrays and breathing in all the air I could, I liked to climb trees. Technically every tree's a treehouse if you sleep in it. It's really hard to sleep in a tree without rolling off, and I always had a fear of falling, but Lace was always there to pick me up so I couldn't be as scared as I wanted to. She always reminded me of winter, mostly cause she killed every plant she touched.

I loved her. 

Kinda. 

Not as much as a cat, but I don't think that'd ever happen -- she was more of a swan. I was more of a cactus, but she loved to pick me up no matter how many times I stabbed her that didn't come out as I meant. We were two branches of the same tree, two lavenders both stolen from Mama's garden and planted elsewhere; heaven knew I needed a friend so they fucked up Lace even more than me. I've always needed her, since I never learned how to bloom myself; I have bug eyes, and the thing with human bodies is they don't grow the same. They're also really sweaty. Lace held my hand, no matter which flowerbed we slept in, she always was there to hold me to the ground I loved so much. 

Lace was always more talented than me. Bruised knuckles, black and red eyes, I've never really had much of a fighting spirit, nobody bets on the plant kid -- and I don't blame them either. I breath in the middle of my words, sweat and cry and bleed and take punches well, I'm used to it. I never loved my parents much. 

I don't think they ever loved me. 

The streets are a bad place, noted. 

Lace reminds me, that if I don't fight I won't stay, and I've never really been as talented as her. I kiss my knuckles, plant daisies in the back of the Eon house -- I've never had a friend as warm as winter herself. And I guess that's why I fight, to hold hands with Lace and keep my flowers. 

I think she'd like a treehouse.