à §oul ìn †he Ðark [€losed †o ∩ewcomers]
May 16, 2009 23:02:50 GMT -5
Post by aya on May 16, 2009 23:02:50 GMT -5
You would think that, being blind, Arbor Halt would scarcely leave the house alone. This was not the case. Especially for lacking eyesight, he was a very independent young man. During the day, he'd wander the District, sometimes searching for a job--though he'd yet to be hired--but more often just wandering. He was not lost, of course, and he needed no help navigating, he just had nothing better to do.
On this particular afternoon, Arbor was loitering outside of the Hob, stomach rumbling as he was teased by the smells--particularly the smell of stew--coming from its general direction. He sighed and leaned up against a building, willing there to be a coin or two inside his pocket. He didn't even need to check to know that there wouldn't be when he fished around for one, yet he did so anyhow. Just lint.
He wished for an instant that he was one of those rich District 1 kids, those who never missed a meal in their lives, who did not know what hunger truly was. Just for an instant, he wondered why he couldn't have been the son of an ex-Career tribute, living in the community for the rich in the wealthiest district, where he would almost be guaranteed to be safe from the Hunger Games--what with all the Careers volunteering for their shot at glory--where he would not have to listen to the sound of the impoverished dying in agony from never having enough to eat, where small children did not keel over in the street, shrieking from the pain of going a whole week without a crumb--
But only for an instant. While considered the "worst" district in Panem for several valid reasons, District 12 did still have its charms. People mostly minded their own business, and the peacekeepers were most lax. The mayor had no taste for public beatings, and the Capitol generally let the district mind its own business.
"A plague on both your houses!" he shouted out of no where, imagining the looks he must be getting from the people on the street. He snickered at the thought. Most people, he assumed, took him at face value: a scraggly blind kid with a habit of being everywhere and not doing anything. Who sometimes blurted things out with no provocation. Good times.
