Mischief {Thundy/Open}
Jan 28, 2011 20:35:19 GMT -5
Post by Micra on Jan 28, 2011 20:35:19 GMT -5
[/size]Shale Manson
They'd really cracked down on security lately, those Peacekeepers had. Shale figured would have a much harder time getting out of the District than usual.
Well, not too much harder. His parents were Peacekeepers after all. Shale didn't have to do a lot of eavesdropping to know most of the tricks in the hypothetical book of criminal tricks. He knew where the switch to District Three's power grid was, but he never dared to use it. He almost had done it today, but decided sneaking out was plenty enough mischief for one day. Probably.
As usual, it started with a dare. Some kid at school had dared him to sneak out and bring back proof. Since the dare didn't involve any actions that were likely to end in death, Shale figured he would go for it. He walked to the edge of the District, behind the biggest factory, where the noise and smog were thickest. In District Three, they always had electricity, and even some watchtowers. The one by the factory had long been abandoned, because the peacekeepers couldn't stand the noise.
That was their loss and Shale's gain today.
The ladder up to the watchtower was enclosed by a locked cage. Shale pulled a borrowed hairpin from his pocket. The machines of the factory whirred loudly in the background, providing plenty enough distraction. He bit his tongue in concentration and jabbed the pin around inside the lock for a bit. His attempt at lockpicking failed, so he dug in his pocket for another tool. The key. Nobody ever said Shale Manson was a fool. He figured his parents wouldn't miss the abandoned key at all. It was never used anyway. The boy brushed a bit dark hair out of his eyes and began to climb the rusted ladder.
At the top of the tower, he unknotted a long, thick, rough rope from around his waist and bound it to the railing of the watchtower. He tied it a second time and pulled tight. The teen looked from the watchtower to the frayed end of the line, fluttering in the breeze twenty or so feet below. He touched his left hand to his earring for luck.
"Boy do I hope this holds," he muttered.
Shale swung one leg over the railing and took a long look at the smoke cloud that was District Three. He took the coarse rope in his hand and began to climb down, inch by inch. He wouldn't look down. Twenty feet wasn't much, but it was dangerous enough to be dizzying. After a few minutes of sliding down the rope, his feet touched the dirt of the forest floor. It wasn't much of a forest. The trees closest to the factory were nothing more than hollow, dead trunks. Further in, the trees were alive. Of course, since it was winter, even the live trees looked dead. Their bare branches blotted out the sunshine and collected dangerous amounts of snow until they finally snapped under the stress. It was all pretty cheery.
Shale wandered further into the mystery that was the forest. He had been here only once or twice before, and then never in winter. It was all very different. Were Micra here, she would no doubt find it beautiful. But he couldn't have his best friend out here with him. After the new crackdown, even leaving the District was an act that risked arrest. And Shale, reckless as he was, would never put another person in danger.
He stopped after thirty minutes or so of wandering at stared at the complete nothingness that was the forest. He had made it out here, yes. He had to find proof for the bet. But now that he had managed to get out of the District, he didn't want to go back just yet. The teen toyed with the idea of staying out here forever, and never going back. It was kind of appealing, actually. But he couldn't do it to his family.
Shale sighed and turned his face to the sky. The snow fell gently, landing flake by flake on his face. That's when he got the idea. It wasn't exactly a shenanigan, per se, more of a stupid, immature, fun thing to do.
Shale Mason was going to make a snowman in the middle of the woods. And while he did that, he was going to think of something fun, and find proof for the dare. His pride depended on it.
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