Roxanne Farrows }{ D3 }{ FIN

She stands still for a moment, her bright eyes examining the hill that lay ahead of her. The slope starts gentle, before radically increasing downwards in a trajectory that would only mean a rush of wind and a pump of adrenaline. She wears clothes too big for her, hiding her thin frame behind a layer of fabric. But she pays no mind to the mud stains on the back of her jeans, instead she is fixated on the thrill ahead of her. Her slender fingers hold the wooden plank tightly, preparing themselves for what is to come.

With a small gasp, she lays down the board and hops on, the wood straining for a moment at the weight of its owner. Plastic wheels shriek as they start down the pavement, and the girl worries for a millisecond that they might pop out from under her like they have on previous occasions. But they hold steady, and slowly, slowly, then quickly she gains speed. Soon, her auburn hair is flapping behind her in the wind, and the large clothing creates a sail around the girl.

For the briefest moment, she thinks she may fly.

But quickly the girl realizes that the moment of adrenaline is fading, replaced by a panic as the slope stretches on beneath her, with little sign of decreasing intensity. There is no escaping this ride, and she must face it alone. Soon, she is simply focused on not crashing, as not even the large sweaters could prevent serious scrapes at this speed. Her blue eyes are locked upon the slope, swerving slightly to avoid small potholes that litter District 3's streets. Finally, just when the screech of the wheels become unbearable, the slope lightens up. The girl lets out a hoot of laughter, shocked that she survived the experience. As she slows down, she turns back to look at the beast she conquered, pride swelling in her chest.

She then promptly hits a curb and falls on her face.

With a cry of shock and pain, the wind leaves her. She feels the droplets of blood forming upon her cheek, and with a sob, pulls herself up from the sidewalk. Luckily, she had slowed down enough that no serious harm would occur from the spill, but she knew her mother would not let a bloodstain on her sweater slide without a scolding. She gathered herself, and quickly stands up and runs a little before hopping back on the plank of wood. Despite the blood and tears staining her face, the girl knows that she needs to get home quickly if she hopes of beating her mom. 

She rides past the tall buildings that hosted slums, towards a more respectable part of the district. Here, there are less potholes, but more judgmental stares. The wealthy did not understand the desires of a thrill seeker.  But the girl continues on despite the hard looks of peacekeepers and men in fancy clothes. She stops in front of a rather respectable house, and, to the chagrin of the local gossips, entered with ease. 

"Roxanne."

Roxy stops in her place, mid-step towards the staircase to safety. With a huff of guilt, she turned and faced her mother. Like Roxanne, Ellen Farrows has auburn hair and blue eyes, but her face is hard and small wrinkles chip away at the stony complexion. Bits of grey are starting to appear as worry takes it's tole upon the mother. "What happened to you? Is that blood? What did you do?"

Immediately, Roxy's bright eyes dim upon the flood of questions and accusations. She has grown accustom to this discussion. Ever since she was a little girl, her mother could not understand her desire to feel. To feel something that was not mundane. To feel something different. Even as a child she could be found rolling down hills, ruining a new dress or climbing trees and scuffing up the leggings her mother had forced on her. This scolding was nothing she had not heard before. She learned to hang her head, and pretend to listen. 

"Do you understand me, Roxy?"

She nods and holds out the plank of wood. Her mother grabs it quickly, and promises that it would be returned it in two weeks after the punishment was over. Roxy, however, knows that it would be back by the end of the weekend, because, while her mother was flustered, she does not have the heart to argue with her only daughter. Being raised sandwiched between two brothers came with perks, such as an distant father and a plethora of knowledge on how to misbehave, but it also had the drawback of a mother who wanted too much love. Roxy would never be forced into the role her mother envisioned for her, but her mother is still too thickheaded to admit what is coming.

After the scolding, Roxy heads up to her room. She quickly closes the door behind her and sits on the bed. For a moment,  she enjoys the peace and quiet. She gazes around the room, with a dresser carefully filled with clothing, a desk neatly organized, and a bed made with precision. It was everything a room should be. But to Roxy, it was empty. She looked out the window, at the road that stretched like tenticles throughout the district. She wished to ride out and see everything that lay attached. She thought for a moment, of the only people who did not judge her.

The druggies laughed when she would come by on her pathetic piece of wood. Their glazed eyes twinkled and she tried hopelessly to flip the board beneath her. Roxy would occasionally smile back, her inquisitive eyes assessing if they would be threatening. But for the most part, they were lost in their haze of addiction while she enjoyed her own addiction to thrill. Roxy liked to think of them as friends, and pretended it made her more sophisticated than her peers who only hung out in exclusive cliques. Her friends were mature, older and wiser.

It didn't matter she was alone. Not when she had her board.