//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie

Morgana
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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 12, 2011 15:49:01 GMT -5

Post by Morgana on Mar 12, 2011 15:49:01 GMT -5

Zigger Antonym

I know they did this on purpose. Well ha-ha it's very funny. Thanks a heap to all those guys at work who volunteered me to dig graves. Because Zigger is so very sympathetic to people who's parents have died in the mines. So let's get him to dig the graves of our newly departed! The daughter they left behind can cry on his shoulder! Won't it be magnificent?

No. It will not be magnificent. Just because my parents died in the mines does not mean I want to comfort every other orphan out there. Even if I am kind of good at it. It would be different if I was digging graves for some other people. But Margaret and Steve Rhodes worked beside me in the mines. We didn't talk much, but sometimes, we had nice conversations over lunch. I could pretend, for a fraction of a second, that my parents hadn't died. That they were right here beside me, and we were happy. I knew, of course, that they weren't my parents, or even anything close. But it was a comfort to know that they were there, and they would help me if I needed it.

Their deaths was easier to take than I thought it would be. Perhaps it was because I'd already lost the two people that meant the world to me. The Rhodes's were the closest thing I had to parents, but they still weren't anything near what a parent should be. I was, and still am, a loner. They had their life, I had mine, and they intersected for only the briefest of moments. But I think the reason their deaths was so easy is because I got to say my good-byes.

The cave-in that killed Margaret and Steve also trapped me, for a time. We were working in the same area. There were others there, too, but they were the only ones that died. I still see clearly the rock tumbling down on them, crushing them, trapping them, refusing to kill them. A rock came down and grazed my leg, splitting it open, but not hurting it too much besides. I could have tried to help them out. I wasn't trapped. And the others there, they were stuck, too. I helped the others first, because I knew they had a chance of survival. By the time the rescue team came, The Rhodes were dead.

I know it isn't my fault they died. They wouldn't have lived even if we'd gotten them out the mines. Their injuries were too great. Is that how it was for my own parents? Were they so critically wounded that no one came to help them until it was too late? It doesn't matter, I tell myself. It doesn't matter how my parents died. Knowing won't make them come back.

I shovel dirt into the graves. The soft plunk of dirt as it hits the rough wood of the coffins creeps me out. I know what's in there. I know who is in there. I am the one burying them, though I had nothing to do with their deaths. The way they died is all too common here.

Their daughter stares into the holes in the earth as I slowly fill them up. She's sort of smallish, but I suppose I could just think that because I'm at least half a foot taller than she is. Girls have always seemed tiny and fragile to me. Steve and Margaret didn't talk about Dessa much. I knew they had a daughter, and I knew she was around my age, but I didn't know much about her. I pictured her being some scrawny little thing that didn't speak much and always behaved. And from what I've seen of her so far, I think I was right.

I finish with the dirt, packing it in so the mound of fresh death isn't quite so visible. I cross my hands over the handle of the shovel and rest my chin on my hands. Closing my eyes, I think about Dessa's parents one last time. They were good people. I'll miss them, I think. I open my eyes and stare at Dessa a moment. She doesn't stare back. She doesn't even notice.

"They were good people," I say. I don't know if she wants to talk or just be left alone, so I'm giving her the opportunity to either. She can answer if she wants, or she can just ignore me. I don't care either way. But if I can help, I suppose I will.

Last Edit: Mar 14, 2011 13:23:28 GMT -5 by Morgana

Lydie
Merchant

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I'm sittin' on a gold mine!

//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 12, 2011 18:34:05 GMT -5

Post by Lydie on Mar 12, 2011 18:34:05 GMT -5

Dessa Rhodes

Dessa stands by the hole in the ground, the one being refilled before her, dirt covering two wooden boxes inside. She blinks, looking down at them then staring at the stone marking the new grave. She can't believe they're dead, now she truly is alone. How could this have happened? She wonders as she tries not to think about her parents in the mine, wounded and dead. No longer her parents but lifeless bodies. Not her parents at all. She clutches the flowers tighter in her hands and instantly thinks of her father, bent over the little greenhouse he worked so hard to make for her, even though he was tired when he got home every night.

Her father turns to look at Dessa from where he is making the greenhouse and smiles, "Don't worry my little flower, soon you'll have your own garden."
Dessa smiles back, excitement running through her. She's never had something she could call her own. And just this once she almost believes that everything is fine.

Dessa swipes at the edge of her eye then realizes sadly that there's no moisture there. She wishes there was, wishes she could give them something. Even when they're dead I have nothing to offer, she thinks bitterly. The chilling wind grabs a tendril of her dark brown hair and it catches on the flowers in her hands. Well maybe I have at least one thing, she thinks as she carefully extracts her hair from the black-eyed susans she had cut with care that morning.

"Look at these flowers Margaret!" Her father exclaims as he looks at Dessa's thriving greenhouse with disbelief and amazement, "Who'd have thought you could grow flowers as beautiful as these in our home?"
Dessa's mother nods with a slight, distant smile on her face and Dessa's cheeks redden at her father's compliment. This is the first thing she's ever been able to take pride in.
Her father comes over to her and hugs her to his side, "My daughter has quite the green thumb."

Dessa realizes then that the boy who had been digging her parent's grave said something to her. She looks down and sees that the grave has been filled, she assumes he said something about that and gives him a nod. Then she kneels down next to the grave marker, her parent's names chiseled crudely into the stone. She swallows past a lump in her throat, thinking of them, her father's smile, and her mother sitting at the table staring at her calloused hands, probably wondering why her life had to be so screwed up. She puts the flowers in the dirt before their names, they stand there, alone and erect. Dessa traces their names in the stone, Margaret and Steve Rhodes. It's a strange feeling, kneeling there and looking at their names, they stare back at her, almost glaring.
I can't believe they're gone, she thinks. A shiver runs through her from the cold stone, she remembers the person who came to her door. The one who made everything Dessa had ever known change forever.

There's a knock on the door, Dessa has been watering her black-eyed susans. How odd, she thinks as she walks to the door, we don't usually have visitors. She opens the door, there's a man standing there. When he sees Dessa his eyes go to the ground, he takes his hat from his head and fiddles with it in his hands. Dessa realizes then that something awful has happened, she can feel it in her gut. Her stomach drops and she holds her breath, waiting for the man to say something.
"Are you Dessa Rhodes?" He asks finally, clearing his throat.
"Yes," Dessa manages to choke out.
"There's been an accident," He says, then for one moment he looks Dessa directly in the eye, "I'm sorry but, you're parents, they're dead."
Dessa can feel the world spinning out of control, she stares at the man. Her mind goes blank, she doesn't know what to say.

She pushes the memory away and flexes her hand and gets up, not even bothering to wipe the dirt from her pants and coat. At least now they're free, they don't have to worry about trying to figure out what to do with me, she thinks. The sound of her mother's quiet crying fills her ears and she's transported to a dark night.

Dessa lies awake in the dark, the sound of her mother's crying fills the house. She can hear her muffled voice saying, "Why does it have to be like this? Why did he have to die?"
She can also hear her father's soothing, "Sh, I know dear, I know. It's going to be okay."

Then she thinks of the next morning as she sat at the table, her father sitting across from her.

"Why is Mom so sad?" She asks.
Her father looks at her with sympathy, he wishes Dessa didn't have to see her mother like this. "It's just hard for her," He says and places his hand over Dessa's on the table, "She'll be okay Dessa, we'll be okay." Dessa says nothing back, she knows that he's just saying that.

Dessa dares to glance over at the grave next to her parent's, James Rhodes, is written on the stone there, he's the little brother she will never know.
She realizes then that the boy is watching her, she wonders if he's been watching for a while. She feels bad that he had to do this for her, she wishes she could have done it herself. She didn't want to be his burden, didn't want him to resent her for having to bury her parents. If she had been strong enough she would have done it herself. But she wasn't and once again she was leaning on someone else to do the heavy work.
She tried to think of what to say, tried to remember what he had said his name was when they had met that afternoon. She had hardly comprehended a thing he had said to her then, too numb by her parent's death to follow anything. She realized that the sky was still overcast and gray, just as it had been all day. But it was getting darker, if there had been a sun on the horizon it would have been setting right now. Her stomach twisted as she realized she had ruined his whole afternoon.
She moved her hands to the small purse she had at her hip, unbuttoning it, "I'm sorry, here let me pay you for your time..." She says hoping he'll fill in the blank with his name, she can already feel her frozen cheeks thawing from the warmth caused by her embarrassment of not remembering his name. She can't even look him in the eye she's so ashamed, ashamed of the hard life she had made for her parents, for making him do this, for forgetting his name and not hearing a word he said to her, she was ashamed of a lot of things, things that were all her fault.

Last Edit: Apr 12, 2011 17:43:53 GMT -5 by Lydie

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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 12, 2011 21:59:02 GMT -5

Post by Morgana on Mar 12, 2011 21:59:02 GMT -5

Zigger Antonym

I can't imagine what she's thinking about. Her parents, maybe. Is she going through happy memories with them, or is she regretting things? I can't tell from her expressionless face or from her body language. I watch as she puts flowers on their graves. At least she's done that much. When my own parents died, I couldn't even bear to see them buried. I've been to their shared grave exactly once, for a total of fourteen seconds. She must be stronger than me, to be able to come here and watch this. Their burial marks the moment when she is truly alone in the world.

"I'm sorry, here let me pay you for your time..." She pulls some coins from her purse and sticks her hand out, waiting for me to take them. Her lips wait for me to supply her with my name, which she's clearly forgotten. I'm not surprised she didn't remember. Our introduction earlier was brief, and besides, she has other things on her mind. Her parents just died, and she's all alone now, probably afraid. She's probably wondering where her next meal is going to come from, and how she'll get money now. Or maybe these thoughts haven't even crossed her mind. Either way, she'll need that money later.

"My name's Zigger. Please, keep your money. I'm getting paid for this already by my supervisor in the mines." It's not a lie. I really am being paid to dig graves. I don't like it, but my supervisor insisted. He told me that I need the money. That's true, though I'm sure I could have done without half a day's pay.

"I know how hard losing your parents can be. If you ever want someone to talk to, you can talk to me. If you ask around town I'm sure there'll be someone that can give you directions to my house."

I hope she will try to find me if she needs to talk. Normally, I just say that to be nice to people. I'm apparently good at comforting people, but i don't particularly like doing it. I know what it's like to be angry at death. You don't want to believe anyone when they say it'll be better. You don't want to listen to people tell you how lucky you are, and how it could have been much worse. Dessa didn't have to sit in a room for five hours, waiting to hear if her parents were alive. She didn't have to sit there and wonder. Someone told her, and that was it. Given the choice, that's the way I would have wanted to learn my parents were dead.

But I didn't get a choice. No one does. Death happens in this world, and while it's not fair for people as young as us to be alone in the world, that happens too. The way I see it, the best thing we can do is stick together. Even if you're whole family is gone, it doesn't mean you have to be alone.

Last Edit: Mar 12, 2011 22:52:48 GMT -5 by Morgana

Lydie
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I'm sittin' on a gold mine!

//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 12, 2011 22:56:01 GMT -5

Post by Lydie on Mar 12, 2011 22:56:01 GMT -5

Dessa Rhodes

Dessa bites her bottom lip at his words. She supposes it's good to know that he's already being paid but she still feels guilty, she still feels like she owes him something. She puts the coins back into her purse though, because she doesn't know if she should try to talk him into taking them or just letting it go. She's not sure that she has the strength to talk him into keeping them anyway. She replays Zigger's word in her head, I know how hard losing your parents can be. If you ever want someone to talk to, you can talk to me. If you ask around town I'm sure there'll be someone that can give you directions to my house.

He must have lost his parents too. Probably from the same thing that took her own parents. Talk to him? She hardly knows how to talk to someone period, how does he expect her to talk to him about what she's thinking right now? She wonders if he lives alone, she thinks that if he does it must be lonely. Then a realization hits her, she lives alone. Her parents are dead, she has no other family. She's been living in that empty house ever since her parents died a few days ago. She thinks back to the silence that consumes her home, how lonely it is there now that they're gone.

Though it's not like she hasn't been alone there before, in fact that's how it was all day when her parents were working in the mines. But now she can't expect to them come home at night with smiles on their faces because they never will.
It had been a dream of hers ever since she'd stopped going to school to have her parents smile at her when they came home, like they're glad to see her after their long day. But now that dream can never come true, because they were dead.
And suddenly it all just hits her, she realizes that she's on her own, that she has to fend for herself. There's no one here now, she's alone. The sobs choke out from her lips and the tears blur her vision.

How can she take care of herself if she can't get a job? The pain in her hands won't allow her to. She'll just go hungry, lose her home and die on the streets. The thought makes her cry harder and she put her hands over her face, her body wracking from her heavy sobs. She hadn't thought she would cry, she had thought that all she would feel was relief now because she was no one's burden. But she was now her own burden and she didn't know how to take care of herself.

She tries to pull herself together when she remembers she isn't alone, she tries to swallow back the tears and fear that has consumed her. All she can manage to choke out is, "I'm sorry, so s-sorry." She feels awful that this boy she doesn't even know has to deal with this, with her. She hopes that he'll just walk away and save her the trouble of pulling herself together, because she isn't sure she can. She has no idea what she's going to do.

Last Edit: Apr 12, 2011 17:44:19 GMT -5 by Lydie

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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 15, 2011 19:20:20 GMT -5

Post by Morgana on Mar 15, 2011 19:20:20 GMT -5

Zigger Antonym

The last thing I expected Dessa to do was start crying. She's been so unemotional so far, I didn't expect anything of this sort from her. At the most, I thought she would tell me she's fine, then leave. She seems like the sort of person that would pretend she's fine when she really isn't. But i guess her parent's deaths are just hitting her, and she's realizing how much things are going to change.

I just stand there for a second, not sure what to do. She needs comforting, but I'm not sure she wants it. It would be kind of awkward to just wrap my arms around her and start telling her everything's going to be okay. That would be a lie, anyways. Things probably won't be okay, not for a while. It's hard living with no parents, especially when you're used to them providing everything for you.

"I'm sorry, so s-sorry." I stare at her blankly. What does she have to be sorry for? For crying in front of me? That's stupid. Her parents just died. She should be crying. I put a hand under her chin and tilt her face upwards so her eyes meet mine.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for." If there's one thing she needs to know, that's it. She has nothing to be sorry for, because none of this is her fault. Everything that's happened to her parents was out of her control. And now, trying to figure out how to live without them, she's going to go through a lot. She might not be able to get food, but that isn't her fault. You need money to get food, and jobs in the mines are hard to get if you're under eighteen. The only reason I got one is because one of my parents old friends took pity on me.

I move my hand away from her face, let it drop to my side. I turn away, giving Dessa privacy to cry as much as she wants. I won't judge her for crying. It's best to just get it out of your system as much as you can, and all at once. That way, you can focus on more important things. Like what the hell you're supposed to do next.

Lydie
Merchant

[M:-515]

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I'm sittin' on a gold mine!

//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 16, 2011 17:58:02 GMT -5

Post by Lydie on Mar 16, 2011 17:58:02 GMT -5

Dessa Rhodes

You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Dessa can feel heat rising in her cheeks as she looks straight into Zigger’s sad blue eyes for the first time. His earthy scent fills her senses from his proximity. A reminder of what he had done today.

She was sorry though, and she prays he will let go of her. She doesn’t like being so close, or making eye contact. She never looks anyone directly in the eye. But she looks into his, and sees, really for the first time, what an eye really looks like. His were beautiful, and sad.

Well if he had been trying to get her to stop crying this was working. It had shocked her when he had raised her face up to his. He hadn’t run, but she really wished he would have. She didn’t want him to be burdened by her for a moment longer than necessary. And since he had already buried her parents this was longer than necessary. She didn’t want his kind words, or his sad eyes looking at her, pitying her.

At the smell of him she is reminded of why she had been crying. There was nothing for her, no hope, no mercy. How could she survive? It would be impossible. Fresh tears began to rise, he let go of her and turned away. Good, she thinks as she wipes the tears, maybe next he’ll finally leave. She wonders if he’ll leave if she keeps crying, maybe he’ll get sick of her and just go. Though she’s not really sure she has the energy for that. She can already feel what she had before her earlier hysterics ebbing away . So maybe she’ll just tell him, tell him that she should be sorry. Then maybe he’ll understand she’s a lost cause and stop bothering with her.

She didn’t even know why he was still here. Taking a calming breath and swiping at the sides of her face she looks at his back. She’s glad she doesn’t have to say this all to his face, because she’s not sure she could have. Her voice shakes, whether it’s from the crying or nerves she’s not sure, but in her quiet voice she hears herself say, “Don’t say I don’t have anything to be sorry for, because I have everything to be sorry for. First my parents have to deal with a cripple like me, then I waste your time because I can’t bury them myself. I’m sorry for even breathing, that’s how sorry I am.” She says, her voice cracking, but she can’t stop now. “I should have been the one in that hole, not them! It would have been so much easier if I had just died.” She says, her voice growing hysterical, she’s never said any of this out loud before, hadn’t even realized some of it until she had said it now. Things would have been better if she had died instead. Her legs give out and she lands on her knees. She puts her head in her hands once again, wishing she could just die right now. "Just go, you don’t have any obligation to me. I’m as good as dead now anyways.” She won’t let herself be a burden ever again.

She thinks of the day she told her parents she didn't want to go to school anymore, and the disappointment on there face.

"Mom, Dad, I can't go to school anymore." She says at the table. They look up from their breakfast at this, "It hurts to write, and hold my books, and everyone makes fun of me." She can feel her eyes water.
"Are you sure honey?" Her father says, she knows he wishes she was normal.
All she can do is nod, she looks over at her mother, wondering what she thinks. Her face is serious, almost emotionless, "If that's what you have to do."
She looks back at her father, who's been watching Margaret too with sadness in his eyes. He takes Dessa's hand and squeezing it gently says, "What are you going to do if you don't go to school?"

Dessa knew that since then all she had become was a waste of air. She didn't contribute anything, and she never would all because she was a cripple. Because she couldn't hold books without her hands and wrists aching, feeling like they were tearing themselves up from the inside. She had always felt guilty because of it. Because of her hands she couldn't be a daughter her parents could be proud of.[/size]

Last Edit: Apr 12, 2011 17:39:44 GMT -5 by Lydie

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Morgana
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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 16, 2011 21:03:53 GMT -5

Post by Morgana on Mar 16, 2011 21:03:53 GMT -5

Zigger Antonym

I can hear her shaky breaths as she tries to steady herself. Pull herself together, I guess, and act strong or something. I get it. I'm just a stranger, and she's probably doesn't want to cry in front of anymore. And then she starts talking. Blaming herself for everything. Wishing she was dead instead. And wishing I would leave. Her words ignite a fire in me, and I whirl around to face her. No. She's not giving up this easily. If I learned to survive without anyone supporting me, she can too. Even if she is a cripple.

I want to slap her. Slap some sense into her, because dying isn't the solution. If she was dead instead, her parents would be devastated. Maybe they didn't talk about her much, but I know Steve and Margaret loved her. I've never had to do it myself, but I've heard burying a child is the one of worst things that can happen to you. If Dessa had been in her parent's place, she would see there's nothing great about death. It doesn't fix anything. It just makes an enormous mess for whoever you've left behind. Especially the people that couldn't save you. The people that have nightmares about two ashen faces, trapped under rocks and rubble. Two people he could have saved, because their lives were worth so much more than his own. They had something to leave behind, someone to cry for them. And me? I have nothing. So if Dessa thinks she's the one that should have died, she's wrong. It would have been better if it was me. It would have saved everyone a lot of heartbreak.

"You have to either be very morbid or else seriously suicidal to even think you should have buried your parents. No one, no one should ever have to shovel the dirt into their own parent's graves. That's just wrong." I catch her eyes with mine, and hope she sees the fire in them. It isn't right for her to think she's the one that supposed to be dead. So she says she's a cripple and not worth a thing. I don't believe that, not for a second. Everyone is worth something. There's something out there for Dessa, something only she can do, and better than everyone else. She has too much left of her life, and too much potential for it to end now.

"You think it would be easier if you were dead? Think about your parents, and how they would feel. You think you feel like crap, try multiplying that by about ten. That'll give you an inkling of how it would have felt for them to lose you. They loved you, Dessa, do you hear me? I may not have known much about them, but I know that one thing with certainty. They loved you. And contrary to what you may believe, your life is worth something."

I don't want to be here. I may have pitied her a moment ago, but I don't anymore. I despise the fact that she thinks her life is so disposable. I don't hate her, just the ideas she's gotten into her head. She has no right to give up hope of living when she hasn't even tried. I had to live scavenging off the streets for food for a whole year before I got my job in the mines. She can't give up now, not without trying to live. "Why don't you try living before you decide to give up on life? That's far more noble than giving up before you've tried." the tone of my words are far from comforting. They are harsh and cruel, completely out of character for me. But sometimes, you have to be the bad guy to help someone. So let her hate me for this. I don't care. As long as she actually does what I've asked of her, I have no complaints.

Lydie
Merchant

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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 21, 2011 16:57:06 GMT -5

Post by Lydie on Mar 21, 2011 16:57:06 GMT -5

Dessa Rhodes

Dessa felt as though she had been slapped. The moment Zigger had whirled around to face her she could feel her heart beating faster than it ever had before. And the look in his eyes made it worse, it made her want to run, but she couldn't because she was too scared to move. She had made him mad, she had gone too far. She could see the anger burning in his sad eyes, the ones she had looked into not long before and had seen something completely different in them.

She didn't know what to say, what to do. She tried to focus on the words he had spoken. No one had ever spoken to her like that, not even her parents had just laid everything on the table like Zigger had done. They had been the type to keep everything inside, and pretend that everything was fine, like Dessa. But Zigger obviously did not. She wasn't sure what to think after this outburst, she certainly didn't believe him when he said that her parents loved her and that it would have been worse if she had been the one to die.

Grudgingly though, she did have to admit that he might be right about the dying without even trying thing. She knew it would be hard though, and she wasn't sure if she could keep fighting, especially since she had nothing to fight for.

Before her parents had died the guilt of being their burden had been enough to distract her from those thoughts. But now that they were gone and they were free, she had nothing to feel, nothing to hope for.

She looked at Zigger, probably with wide eyes, her body still in shock from his words, his eyes. She had nothing to hope for, but for once in her life she wanted something. She wanted to prove Zigger wrong, or maybe right, she wasn't sure. But the words Zigger had spoken, Why don't you try living before you decide to give up on life? That's far more noble than giving up before you've tried, made her want to see if he was right. If she could survive, or at least try.

She could forget everything, her parent's disappointment, the kids in school and their laughter, her guilt, and just become someone new. She could do whatever she wanted because she didn't have a thing tying her down to Earth. She had nothing to lose.

"Fine," [/color]Dessa replies, her voice steady and sure, which surprises her. She's always been worried, guilty, sad. No more, she thinks, that's not who I want to be, I'm done with her. She isn't going to change over night, she knows that, but she's trying, and that's something she's never done before. The unhappy memories that have plagued her for life start to get smaller in her mind,

"Why did he have to die?!" Her mother cries, not for the first time...

"I can't go to school anymore." Dessa says into the sadness...

"It'll be okay." Her father soothes...

Her mother sitting at the table with a distant look in her eyes...

"Mom! Mom! Look at this!" Her last good grade in school, Dessa is waving the test in the air. Her mother's face is tear stained, her eyes red, she doesn't even turn her head or acknowledge that Dessa even exists...

Going to the field only to realize that all of the flowers have died, what's left are just brown, shriveling stubs...

The quietness that filled the house every night as they ate dinner...

Her parents tired, defeated faces as they came home from work...

"Honey, I know you're still upset but I can't support us on my own," Dessa's father says quietly, his hand on her mother's shoulder, "You know I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice." he clears his throat. "Will you please come back to work?"...

She tries to smile, it's hard because she's never had much practice at it, but she can feel the muscles around her lips tighten into something. I hope it's a smile. "I'll bet that you're hungry, why don't I make you something for dinner?" The cheeriness in her voice surprises her too, she didn't know anything like that had existed in her before. She felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, one that she had never really knew existed, until now, when she felt lighter than she ever had been before. I'm free. And it was thanks to Zigger. If he hadn't yelled at her just moments before she might have been the same girl she had always been. She felt indebted to him, but not in the same way as she had felt with her parents. She wasn't feeling guilt, she was feeling gratefulness, and she hadn't even proven a thing yet. The muscles around her lips pulled tighter and she wondered if she was smiling, really smiling. "I want to thank you somehow, please come over and have something to eat." Dessa hoped that Zigger could see the difference he had caused in her. Because she could feel it from head to toe.[/color][/size]

Last Edit: Apr 12, 2011 17:40:19 GMT -5 by Lydie

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Morgana
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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 22, 2011 18:06:43 GMT -5

Post by Morgana on Mar 22, 2011 18:06:43 GMT -5

Zigger Antonym

There were no more tears. Only shock, written across her face for a moment, then one more. And my own anger, flaming out and dying, finding nothing to catch on to. My fists are at my sides, trying to keep the anger in, because I don't want to get rid of it, not just yet. My anger always comes so quickly, and fizzles out before I want it to. Her voice comes, a single word, a single syllable. It's like she's just dumped a bucket of water over my head. There's shock from her own words, and just like that, the fire is gone.

One word, but the only reason it's had such an effect on my is because of how sure she seemed when she said it. Not weak in the least. her voice had been strong and steady, not betraying the fact that she'd been crying only moments before. And then she smiles. I take a staggering step backwards, barely catching her next words. What just happened here? That was such a fast change, I'm still trying to process it. She went from sad to almost happy in a split second it seems. No, it was probably longer than that. It just seems shorter now that the moment has passed.

Dessa wants to make me dinner. She said the words a few minutes ago, I'm sure, but I'm in such a daze it took me this long to figure out what she was saying. My shovel is lying on the ground, and I realize I must have dropped it. I grab the handle and squeeze it hard. This girl...I shake my head. I just don't understand her. Is she really better now, or is she just pretending? If it's the latter, she's an awfully good actress. I guess I'm going to have to find out. I can look for signs that she's acting when we eat dinner. I'm not exactly looking forward to the event. It's sure to be awkward. But I'm hungry, and if a girl's offering to cook for me, I have to accept.

"Dinner sounds good." I can't even smile. I'm still too shocked. I rub the back of my head, ruffling the already messy hair. What the hell am I getting myself into here?

Lydie
Merchant

[M:-515]

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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 22, 2011 21:14:43 GMT -5

Post by Lydie on Mar 22, 2011 21:14:43 GMT -5

Dessa Rhodes

"Great," Dessa says, oblivious to the lost look on Zigger's face. "My house isn't too far from here." She says and starts walking down the dirt road leading away from the cemetery and in the direction of her home. The sun has disappeared on the horizon, leaving dark pinks in the sky that fade as the moon becomes clearer.

They walk in silence until they reach a small home, Dessa's home. Dessa opens the door and goes inside. She takes off her coat and gloves, putting them on the hook next to the door. "You can put your coat up right here." Dessa says absently, gesturing to her father's hook, which is bare, like her mother's. "I'll start making dinner." She says and goes over to where the canned food is kept.

Her home is simple, there's the main room with it's two windows, one with the greenhouse in front of it, flowers flourishing in the sunlight it offers during the day. The kitchen area is off the right of the front door. The wooden table with three chairs pushed in sitting in the middle of the room. There's an old couch on the left, adjacent from the greenhouse. Then there are three doors past the couch leading to Dessa's room, her parent's room and the bathroom. There isn't much in the house, just what they need, maybe a few books that were never really read and an old TV that had stopped working years ago.

She decides to make some rice and stew, she picks out a can of beef stew then grabs a pan and pot. Filling the pot with water she puts it over the stove to boil. Then she finds the can opener and opens the can of stew. It's hard, because even though Dessa cooks often she's always had trouble with cans, her father would usually open them for her but now that he's gone she knows she has to get used to doing it herself. So she does, she feels a small pain in her wrists but ignores it, I'm not going to let this get to me. Then she scrapes it out into the pan and puts that over the stove as well.

Then she realizes that Zigger is probably just standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do. She's never had someone over before, so she isn't sure what she's supposed to do in this situation. "Um, you can just make yourself comfortable. Dinner shouldn't be long."

When the water starts to boil she pours in the rice and put's the lid on, knowing it'll cook faster. It's quiet in the house, but it isn't the quiet that Dessa is used to, the one with underlying sadness. It isn't the quiet she's been listening to for the past couple of days either, the stillness that had enclosed around her, reminding her that she was alone forever. This wasn't really a bad quiet, but it was slightly unsettling. Because Dessa didn't know what she was supposed to do or say when you had someone over. Her parents had never had anyone over so she'd had nothing to learn from, and she didn't have any friends either.

So as awkward as it felt for her she stayed silent, choosing to do what she had always done when her parent's were home. If she had been alone she would have spoken to her flowers, but she wasn't. Though this thought did give Dessa comfort, I'm not alone. Not right now. Sure it wasn't exactly comfortable for her at the moment, but she didn't have to be in the house all alone. That counted for something. It was nice just knowing that there was someone else in the room.

She checked the rice and realized happily that it was almost done, she already had the stew simmering. While she waited for the rice a little while longer she set the table, two plates, two forks, and two glasses on opposite sides of the table; her usual seat and her father's. Then she drained the water from the rice and added the rice into the pan with the stew, stirring it all together. It had always been something her father enjoyed eating. At that moment she realized that she probably should have asked if Zigger even liked rice or stew before she had made them. But it was too late now, she hoped that he wasn't a picky eater.

She set the pan in the middle of the table then filled both of their glasses with water. "Well it's not much but I made some stew and rice. Oh! I think I have some bread too, would you like some?" She asks, not even waiting for his reply she gets the loaf of bread, cuts a few slices then puts them on a plate at the table.

The pain in her wrists has spread to her hands, they're sore from cooking like they usually are. She hopes that Zigger won't notice them shaking at the table. She sits down, her hands in her lap, then and says, "I'm sorry, I should have asked you what you wanted. I just made the first thing I could think of." She isn't sure what to say so she just lets herself babble, "This was my father's favorite thing to eat after he had a long day at work. I guess I just thought you might too..."

Last Edit: Apr 12, 2011 17:41:01 GMT -5 by Lydie

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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 23, 2011 9:53:42 GMT -5

Post by Morgana on Mar 23, 2011 9:53:42 GMT -5

Zigger Antonym

Dessa starts to lead me off to her house. The sun is setting, leaving the sky stained with hues of brilliant pinks. The moon sits behind wispy clouds, illuminating the sky around it. Young children are being called in from ball games on the street. It's time for dinner, then homework and bed. I remember being that young, oblivious to the horrors of the world. Back then, all that mattered was now. What was happening at that moment. What came next didn't matter. If I looked ahead at all, it wasn't very far. And now, I'm looking ahead all the time. I'm always trying to figure out if I'll have enough money this week, if maybe I'll have a little extra to add to my savings. I don't even really know what the savings are for. In case I die, I suppose. It's for whoever I leave behind, so they'll have a little bit to use while they get back on their feet.

When we reach Dessa's home, I'm not surprised to see it's about the same size as mine. There's a main room with a kitchen built in, and three doors just beyond the slightly sagging couch, which I assume lead to bedrooms and a bathroom. The house is set up just the same as mine. All the houses in this area are like this. Old furniture, broken t.v.'s, a few books...But here's something different. Sitting beneath one of the two windows in this room is a small box. A greenhouse. Little flowers poke up through the black soil, just starting to grow. Others have already blossomed, their colors displayed for anyone passing by the window to see. I reach out a finger to delicately stroke the petals of a dainty red flower. I don't know the name of it. I've never been interested in them. They're pretty, but I've never been bothered to learn the names. it just never mattered to me.

I wonder if these are Dessa's flowers, or if they were her mother's. It would make more sense if they were Dessa's. Margaret probably would have been too tired when she returned home to tend the flowers this well. My own mom had her hobbies, and my dad, too. they didn't always have time for them, but they did their best. They were always saying they'd teach me if I wanted to learn. Dad ended up teaching me woodcarving, though I was never very good at it. Mom offered to teach me how to knit, but I passed on that. And there was singing, too. They used to sing all the time. I would sing, too, just so I wouldn't be left out. It occurs to me that I haven't sang since they died, or done woodcarving. I still have Dad's whittling knives, though they're packed away in my parent's room somewhere.

Dessa tells me to make myself comfortable. I hardly noticed she'd left my side to start on dinner. It smells good, and familiar. I can't place the smell. It's something I haven't eaten in a long time, I think. Across the room, on a small table by the couch, there are a few books stacked up. I pick the first one off the pile. There's some dust on the cover, so I wipe it away with my hand. The History of Panem. No wonder there was so much dust on it. I wouldn't read a book like this unless I was forced to in school. It's pretty thick, too. I open the front cover and leaf through the pages. It mostly just words, punctuated by a blurry photo every five pages or so. I set the book back down on the table, stifling a yawn.

There's a soft clink coming the kitchen area. I spin around fast. The quiet sounds the dishes make as Dessa sets them on the table shouldn't bother me. They sound nothing like the sounds that delivered the news of my parents deaths to me two years ago. The sharp staccato of heels clicking on the floor still chills me. Even sounds that are only distantly related to that irk me still. I shake my head. There's nothing wrong here. My parents are already dead, so that can't be taken from me again. It's just the dishes on the table.

I pull a chair out from the table and take a seat across from Dessa. A pan sits between us. Inside, there is a mixture of stew and rice. Of course. Mom used to make this all the time, back when she was alive. Since her death, I haven't made it for myself. It was always one of my favorite meals. I've craved it many times since her passing, but I never cooked it for myself, afraid it wouldn't taste the same. Dessa asks if I'd like some bread, and before I have a chance to answer, she jumps up and get some anyways. Her hands are shaking slightly as she cuts a couple slices from the loaf and deposits one on my plate. Earlier, she said she was a cripple. Is this what she meant? Is there something wrong with her hands? I feel suddenly guilty. If 'd known, I would have offered to help her cook or something. To make up for it now, I deposit a spoonful of dinner on her plate after I get my own. I hope she doesn't mind that I've done this. When Dad was alive, he always dished up the meals for everyone. It feels almost natural for me to do it now.

"I'm sorry, I should have asked you what you wanted. I just made the first thing I could think of. This was my father's favorite thing to eat after he had a long day at work. I guess I just thought you might too..." I smile at Dessa. I'm really glad she made this. I've missed this particular dish.

"It's fine. My mom used to make this for me a lot. I haven't had it since she died, though, so this is nice." I get a forkful and shovel it into my mouth, careful not to get any on my face. I don't want to look like a slob. It's really good. It tastes just like Mom used to make it. I take another bite, then wash it down with a gulp of water. "It's really good," I say. I'm not sure what else to say. I'm hungry, but I don't want to seem impolite if I don't talk to her. I've never eaten at someone else's house before, so I don't really know what's expected of me. I take a bite of the bread, racking my brain for something to talk about. And then it hits me.

"Dessa, are those your flowers by the window?"

Last Edit: Mar 23, 2011 9:56:59 GMT -5 by Morgana

Lydie
Merchant

[M:-515]

112 POSTS
last seen May 5, 2012 19:39:48 GMT -5

I'm sittin' on a gold mine!

//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Mar 26, 2011 10:52:59 GMT -5

Post by Lydie on Mar 26, 2011 10:52:59 GMT -5

Dessa Rhodes

Zigger had dished out the food for the both of them, something that Dessa was grateful for. Because she knew that if she had tried to dish up her on food she would have dropped it, her hands unable to hold such a weight. Her father had always dished out the food too, though he had only started because of an incident when Dessa had tried and had gotten the food all over the table and floor. When she cooks her hands get weak and shaky, she can't hold anything in them for a while.

I hope Zigger doesn't notice I'm not eating right now, because that would embarrass her even more than dropping her food all over the place. When her parents had been alive she had always been the last to finish eating because she waited for her hands to stop hurting before she ate. By then usually her food was cold.

But she was happy to see Zigger eating her food, because she had been so worried before. She was glad that he liked it, but also worried because she had brought on the remembrance of his mother, who was dead just like hers.

"Dessa, are those your flowers by the window?" He asks as Dessa is worrying over what he might be remembering.

Dessa looks up at him surprised then over at the greenhouse and a small smile forms on her lips. The flowers have been doing much better this year. It had taken her a while to figure out how to plant the seeds from the wildflowers at the field. But once she had flowers sprung from the dirt and kept blooming. She saw the black eyed susans, the only ones she knew the name of, along with the rich red flowers, and the white and baby blue blooms that were just beginning to grow.

Everyday she would tend to them, water them when they needed watering and spoke to them as she went about her day. She found it wasn't quite so lonely in the house when she did, even if they never answered. They had grown by her hands. and that was a good enough answer for her.

She liked taking care of the flowers, because they were the one thing that she could take care of, that had to depend on her to survive. "Yes, they're my flowers." She replies quietly. "They're very important to me." She looks back at Zigger and smiles, warmth on her cheeks because he acknowledged her flowers. "You see I found this field of wildflowers one day and it was beautiful. But when winter came around all the flowers disappeared, so my father built me that greenhouse so I could have my own flowers, ones that never disappeared because of the cold." She glances back at the flowers again and says in an almost inaudible voice, "They're the only thing I have to be proud of."

Last Edit: Apr 12, 2011 17:41:28 GMT -5 by Lydie

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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Apr 8, 2011 20:18:28 GMT -5

Post by Morgana on Apr 8, 2011 20:18:28 GMT -5

Zigger Antonym

Though she says the words softly, I still hear them. "They're the only thing I have to be proud of." A pain shoots through my chest at her soft words, spoken in a low tone. The only thing? That can't be. There has to be something else. Maybe she's good at school, or singing, or...Those plants can't be the only thing she's proud of. That's too depressing. At least she has one thing to be proud of, I think. There's some people out there that don't even have that much.

I take another bite of food. I can't help but notice that Dessa hasn't even touched her food. Her hands are hidden in her lap, so I can't tell if they're still shaking or not. My guess is they are, and that they hurt too much to even pick up a fork. I silently curse District Twelve for not having Doctors, and I curse the Capitol, too, for not providing what we need. Dessa's life could be so much better if she lived in another district where there was more money. She could have medicine to fix whatever's wrong with her hands. Her parents would still be alive. And maybe she'd even have a whole garden instead of just a box beneath her window.

I chew my food slowly, chasing it down with a drink of water. "It's not right, the way we live. People our age shouldn't be in the world alone. There should be enough money for people in every district to get medicine. We shouldn't have to suffer because of where we live and what the Capitol decides." Sure, life has been just the tiniest bit better since we've had two Victors in the past three years. We won't starve to death, but there's plenty of other ways we can die. A cave-in at the mines, an illness we can't afford to get treatment for. The cave-ins can't be helped, but illness and injury is something that there could be a lot less suffering from.

Before I met Dessa, I didn't care so much about what the Capitol did. I knew they were bad, but I didn't care. So my life sucks. Too bad for me. But someone like Dessa doesn't deserve to suffer. For the sake of people like her, things have to change. I bang my fist down hard on the table as I say, "Damn the Capitol!" Water sloshes over the edge of both Dessa's glass and mine. Someone needs to stand up to the Capitol. Oh, I know people have tried, but they obviously haven't tried hard enough, or else things would be different by now. I've never wanted to be a rebel, never wanted to speak out because of my own suffering. But for Dessa, I would risk any punishment. I would do whatever I could to make her life better, and at any cost.

Lydie
Merchant

[M:-515]

112 POSTS
last seen May 5, 2012 19:39:48 GMT -5

I'm sittin' on a gold mine!

//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Apr 12, 2011 17:38:57 GMT -5

Post by Lydie on Apr 12, 2011 17:38:57 GMT -5

Dessa Rhodes

When Zigger's fist hits the table the glasses jump and slosh water onto the table. Immedietely Dessa springs into action, getting up from her chair and grabbing a dish rag to wipe up the water, the pain forgotten. She realizes that this time Zigger's outburst doesn't scare her, like in just this short time they've spent together she already knows that this is just how he is, how he deals with things. Now she just wants to help him get it all out of his system. She wants to see him smile for once, rather than see those sad eyes or mad ones that only seem to dwell in the darkness. She remembers dwelling there, no more than thirty minutes ago, but he saved me, she thinks, and she realizes that more than anything right now she wants to save him too. But why? she wonders, why is it so important to me to see Zigger happy? She thinks about this for a moment then realizes that it's because she's grateful, because there are only so many things she can do to thank him.

She wipes up the water and refills their glasses, pretending she doesn't see her hands shake from the weight and effort of pouring water. She knows that this is when she's supposed to say something, something that'll change his mind, that'll make him feel better. Zigger is filled with so much anger, undoubtedly due to the death of his parents, he's lost faith in the world. But how can she bring it back?

Dessa remembers all of the things Zigger has said to her in his outbursts and in the moments when sadness seemed to consume him most. Then his last outburst rings in her ears, It's not right, the way we live. People our age shouldn't be in the world alone. There should be enough money for people in every district to get medicine. We shouldn't have to suffer because of where we live and what the Capitol decides. Damn the Capitol!Those last three words come out the loudest and Dessa has to try hard not to let them take her over. They're hating words, words that, if said often enough, can ruin a person and turn them black. Dessa doesn't want to see that happen to Zigger because she knows there's a good person there underneath this hurt and hate. He's only appeared for a few seconds at a time but Dessa knows he's there.

Dessa knows that the only reason he blows up about things so much is because there's something that's really eating him up inside. It's not the injustice the Capitol does, or that she couldn't even stand herself enough to try and change. She picks out those little parts almost invisible to a person unless they're looking for them, no one should ever have to shovel the dirt into their own parent's graves. People our age shouldn't be in the world alone. I know how hard losing your parents can be. My mom used to make this for me a lot. I haven't had it since she died, though, so this is nice. She feels bad as she connects all these things together, because he's been more hurt by the death of his parents than she was. At least he loved his, the only thing to make her finally cry over their death was the thought of her surviving without them. She wonders how long his parents have been gone, if the wound is still fresh or if it's been scabbing over only to be ripped open again rather than heal. Dessa wants to heal it either way, she hopes that her words might be the first wrap of guaze to stop the bleeding.

With a deep breath she puts the rag down, she's afraid that she won't have the right words to save him but she can't give up without trying, Why don't you try living before you decide to give up on life? That's far more noble than giving up before you've tried. These words comfort her and she can feel a smile tug at her lips as she turns to Zigger and wraps her arms around him with a hug. "Don't worry, you're not alone, I'm still here." She says, her eyes squeezed shut because she's too afraid she might be wrong about all of this, "Sometimes there are things we can't control in this world, like my hands, but we can't dwell on them. We have to move on, deal with things the best we can under the circumstances. Your parents would want you to be happy." Dessa pauses for a moment and tightens her grip before these next words, "If you ever want someone to talk to, you can talk to me. I'm not going anywhere." This is the moment, the choice. He can take it or leave it, decide if he wants to be saved or not. Dessa's not going anywhere now.

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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie Apr 25, 2011 18:21:28 GMT -5

Post by Morgana on Apr 25, 2011 18:21:28 GMT -5

Zigger Antonym

My anger fades away as I watch Dessa mop up the water I've spilled. I shouldn't have gotten so worked up. I just know that she doesn't deserve this life. Watching her now, I realize how tiny she is. She's at least six inches shorter than me, and as skinny as heck. I'm skinny, too, but that's nothing compared to Dessa. She's so small and delicate, I'm sure it wouldn't take much to snap her in half.

What kind of person is Dessa, anyway? I can't picture her with the popular crowd in school. She's too small, too easily forgotten. She wouldn't be the type to flip her hair all over the place and demand attention from everyone. Nor would she be the athletic type, or the one that studies in all her spare time. No, she'd be the one that sits in the corner, trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible. She is the one that skirts the edges, that never belongs anywhere, and doesn't really care to. She is an outsider, wanting nothing more to be left alone and not noticed. She's not that different from me. When I was in school, I didn't want attention. I was smart enough to pass, but enough so that I attracted unwanted attention. All I wanted was to go about my quiet life alone. At home, though, I was a different person, loud and laughing, telling stories about things that had happened at school. At home, I was myself. Was Dessa ever herself at home? Or is she always pretending, always holding the hurt inside, not wanting to burden others with her problems?

I stiffen as Dessa unexpectedly wraps her arms around me. The warm of her body against mine is comforting, and I try to drown myself in it. The rest of the world doesn't matter, because here, with Dessa, it is perfect. There are no demands. There is just her, and me, and a strange little flutter in my chest that I try unsuccessfully to squash down.

"Don't worry, you're not alone, I'm still here," she says softly. I want to jerk away from her, tell her how wrong she is. Maybe I'm not alone now, but I will be. As soon as I walk out her front door, I'll never see her again. I will be well and truly alone, just like I was before. And it'll be fine, because I like being alone. It's what I'm good at, now. But I like being with Dessa, I catch myself thinking. I push the thought away. How can you like being with her you dolt? What's happened between the two of you? Other than saying you'll be here for her and having her stain your shirt with her tears, nothing's happened. There's no reason to like her, or even being with her. But for some reason, I do. Her arms are still around me, warm, and I like it. I like having her close, and-

Stop it. I don't want these thoughts. They aren't mine. I've been alone for two years. I don't need anyone. "Sometimes there are things we can't control in this world, like my hands, but we can't dwell on them. We have to move on, deal with things the best we can under the circumstances. Your parents would want you to be happy." But I already know this. I know I can't control the rock in the mines, and when it decides to fall. I can't control what the earth decides to do. And I don't dwell on my parent's death. It happened. i suffered for a while, but I got over it. They're dead, I have to keep on living. It's what you do.

But I realize now that I haven't really gotten over their deaths. I've just been running, and hiding. They wanted me to be happy, and no matter how much I say I'm fine, it's not the same thing. I used to laugh and smile all the time with them. But since their deaths, I haven't so much as cracked a smile. But how can I be expected to be happy when everything I loved in this world is gone? I had no friends other than my parents. Maybe that was my problem. I refused to share my smile with anyone but them. I closed myself off to the outside world, believing that no one else would love me as they did. Is it too late for me now? Too late to be saved from my first mistake?

"If you ever want someone to talk to, you can talk to me. I'm not going anywhere." I realize she's echoing my words from earlier. If they were true when I spoke them, why can't they be when she says them? What would it matter if I talked to her? Even if I did, and she understood, it wouldn't change anything. She can't fix me. I'm broken beyond repair, smashed and busted by my own stupid mistakes. The only thing I could accomplish from telling her is weighing her down with my problems. I can't do that to her. My problems are my own. She doesn't deserve to have them foisted upon her.

Do I even want to be fixed? I know that if I was, I wouldn't have to be thinking all the time, about my dead parents and about how I'll make it to the next sunrise. They would be near the back of my mind, not forgotten, but not always pushing to be remembered. I don't want to be hurt by anyone the same way my parents hurt me. Sure, they didn't mean to hurt me. They didn't mean to die and leave me all alone, after all. I don't want to let anyone close enough to hurt me. I don't want to rely on someone only to have them ripped away from me again. If I want to be fixed, I'll have to do it myself. And maybe I'm the only one that can, anyways.

I reach up and touch Dessa's face delicately, as if I'll hurt her if I'm not careful. I pull her arms away from my body and rise from my chair, abandoning my meal. My feet take me to Dessa's little garden on the sill. I stare down at a yellow flower. I have to tell her. I have to get it out. Maybe if someone else knows about my parent's death, it won't be sitting inside of me all the time, screaming to get out. I take a deep, slow breath, trying to figure out how to start. Words from in my mind, and before i stop to wonder if they're the right ones, they come spilling from my mouth.

"They pulled me out of school early, along with some other kids. They brought us to this room, this white room, already filled with wives and mothers waiting to hear the news. It was a bad cave-in, and they weren't sure yet who was alive and who was dead. Everyone was crying. I just sat in this little chair and watched them all. I didn't want to think about my parents, didn't want to wonder if they were alive." I close my eyes, trying to hold back images of wailing children, of pregnant mothers who would soon give birth to a child without a father. I swallow hard and continue my story. "A woman came in after an hour or so. She was wearing these ridiculous shoes with enormous heels, and they made this maddening clicking sound when she walked. She walked as if she didn't care that she was bringing us the news of our dead relatives. She read off a list of names of the confirmed dead. My parents were both on the list. I was shocked, of course, but I didn't do anything but keep staring around. I knew, somehow, that they were dead. I knew that I'd be alone when I walked out that door."

There. The story was out. Whether I liked it or not, Dessa knew now. There's a brief feeling of lightness, as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I shake my head. People say things like that all the time, and I'd never believed it really felt like that. But it does. It felt just exactly like a weight off my shoulders. I could stand a little straighter now. I look back down at the flowers, the colors seeming a little brighter. My finger strokes one of the petals absently. I don't have to be alone. The world doesn't have to be a cruel place if I don't want it to be. I don't have to be alone.

I look down at the flower again, realizing I've ripped a few petals loose. They sit on the dark soil beside the stem of the plant. "Oh," I say quietly. I don't know much about plants or flowers, but I'm pretty sure this can't be fixed. Can a flower survive without most of its petals? I wasn't sure, but I didn't think so. "I think I killed it."

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//Shattered Dreams\\(And)//Tattered Seams\\ {Lydie

Post by Morgana on Mar 12, 2011 15:49:01 GMT -5

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