Seeds of Blossoms (swizzelpop)

~something fancy will go here soon~

xx

Annebelle

xx

Though we closed the drapes, closed the shutters, turned a rickety old fan on, and wearing thin and light clothes, heat seeped through every crack, crevice, nook, and cranny of our little house. My mother also closed them because, though the sun was sinking further and further below the horizon, she claimed (or, rather, slurred) that it was too bright and ordered me to close them. The fact that I was trying to melt down a pan of soap that I nicked from the factory to resell at the market didn't exactly help the heat. After attempting to cool it, I began to shape it, molding it into shapes with my fingers.

I'm no artist, I couldn't draw to save my life, the smell of paint gives me (and my mother) a headache, I hate it when clay gets under my nails, and singing makes my throat hurt. I resort to molding soap because it's easy, I can get it out from under my nails, and sells okay in the market. People call them 'cute', then I give them a glare, and they drop a few coins and take their damn soap.

Tonight I was attempting to form a duck when the sun was finally slipping below the horizon. I'm pretty sure I smelled, both like soap and sweat, and I wasn't getting anywhere, and the beak wasn't getting any better than it was an hour ago. For whatever happens wrong to me, I find a way to blame the Capitol. If it wasn't for the Capitol, there wouldn't be a factory that was mandatory to work in. If there wasn't a factory mandatory to work in, there would be no accidents. If there were no accidents, my father wouldn't be dead, and I wouldn't be here trying to make a duck out of soap. For two coins. Average.

I get so frustrated that I almost shave the whole beak off. To my surprise, it looks perfect. I add a curve of definition to the beak and kiss it.

Then, a knock on the door.

Jumping two feet into the air, my duck goes flying, and hits the side of the counter and then drops to the floor. Oh shit. Picking the duck up, I realize it's come into two pieces, the body on one side the head on the other.

Angry at the person at the door for disturbing my work, I storm to the front door, yanking it open.

"What do you want? I'm out of soap for the night, so, so- so-"

Annebelle had noticed the boys' face, searching his features. He had the most beautiful brown eyes that I had ever seen, topped off with eyelashes longer than mine. His hair was brown as well and closely shaven to his head.

The most prominent feature on his face, however, was a long burn scar that ran down his face and up to his eye.

Oh, I'm..." I tried not to let my eyes linger on the burn but it was like trying to not look at something that someone points at and says, hey, look at that! Feeling more sympathetic, I opened my door, letting in fresh air to try to get the horrible smell of the soap.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked hesitantly.

xx

Annebelle

xx

I opened the door wider for the boy, Shayde, and he brushed past me. I wasn't scared or the scar, though, because I've seen burn victims, er, my dad. Watching the smells of my house hit his face, I feel conscious of how I smell. Probably like crap.


"I'm Shayde Truedhart. I live in town not too far from here. Just thought maybe you might still be selling some soap. But, of course, if you aren't I can be on my way ..."

No, please, please, don't go. I have no friends, all I do is work, and never get any visitors. Stay. I nearly say this aloud but I stop myself.

"I can offer you five coins for your best." he offered.

My jaw dropped. That's little less than I earn in a day, somedays more. Closing my mouth, I became business. I led him into our kitchen, explaining how I... make the soap, then carve it to the pleasure of people in District 4 and the Capitol.

"Well, this is what I have for today, it's not much. I only said that I didn't have any because I got frustrated and, um, you may have startled me when you came to the door, and this little guy went flying." I showed Shayde the duck and its head, laughing a little. It looked so silly.

"I also have a few typical soaps like ovals and squares tonight but non of it's my best," I shrug.

I never had imagined really showing people my work. I'd display it in the market, sure, but I never really showed people other than there. My mom never cared and all of my older siblings are gone, leaving me to deal with the witch. I saw him disapprove of the smell of the liquor when I had first let him in. Well, welcome to my dysfunctional world. I began to feel uncomfortable about the way he was paying me. What if his life was worse than mine? But what if more fortunate? Still, no one deserved to over pay for a simple bar of soap that looks remotely like a square or a circle, or a beheaded duck. Especially the beheaded duck.

"Five is too much. Just pay average, it's usually around one coin or two. Four if I'm sly enough."

x
Annebelle Santings
x

"Do you think that maybe you could reshape that again?" he asked, gesturing towards the soap duck. I glanced at it, looking over the damage. The severed part was in two whole pieced, a good sign that it could be fixed.

I watched entranced as the boy threw a shining coin, flattening on my counter. Fine, I thought. I could use it anyway, my father needs new burn medicine.

"Fine, four coins and I'll fix the duck," I smiled slyly. "And I'll try to ignore the corn on the counter. It also might take a while, so you might have to stay for a bit if you want it tonight,"

I set to work quickly, heating a small bowl of the same color soap, letting it cool slightly. She took a spoonful of the soap and put a bit of it on the body of the duck, picking up the head and putting it on like a puzzle piece, smoothing over the soap that squeezed out of the sides. The head on top had became a bit smashed and I put a little more soap there and smoothed it over.

I saw Shayde looking for a spot to sit down.

"There's a seat over there," motioning to a battered wooden stool.

"So, shall I just call you Miss Santings or do you prefer something else?" I laughed. 'Ms. Santings' seems to formal. I've only ever been called 'Annebelle' or 'girl'.

"Annebelle is fine. I was called Belle as a girl but that was years ago."

I swallowed, as my father had only called me that and thinking of him made my throat close faster that my brothers' peanut allergy. Tears pricked my eyes.

"Sorry, I was just thinking." I mutter, finishing a feather pattern on the side where it had dented.

x
Annebelle Santings
x

"Can you show me how you do that? How to mold it like that?" he asked, taking me by surprise. Mostly, people just want to watch, to see how it's done or just want their soap and hightail it out of there. But I had never really explained it to anyone.


"Sure, but it's pretty easy" I admitted. "I have enough left over anyway,"

I reheated the bowl of soap, showing him how it must cool slightly or, of course, you could burn your hands. I grabbed a large handful and gave him one to, the consistency between a solid and a liquid.

"This is the hard part. You can shape it in any way you want, starting to move my hands. "You have to work fast though."

I tried to replay everything I just did in my mind, wondering what I did or said wrong, what would offend him, what would want to make him leave. Here I was, knowing this boy for a mere fifteen minutes, and I already didn't want him to go, needed him to stay.

I fingers kept twiddling at the shape (I hadn't looked down yet) and I looked at it.

It was a heart.

I rounded the top and pointed the bottom, carving a curve in at the top as well. I smiled at my work.

x
Annebelle Santings
x

It was over before it started. Shayde reached into his pocket to pull out his money, slowly. If she could stop time she would, bringing Shayde along with me.

The night, though short, was the best experience I had felt in a while.

Just as this though occurred to me an unearthly scream came from my mother's room. She had either awoken into a hangover, or was extremely drunk. I cowered back into the cabinets, dreading what was going to happen next.

"Oh shit." I stumble past Shayde towards the front door. "It's a bad one." I grimace as she shrieked again.

I contemplated my options:

A) Save Shayde and tell him to go. Leaving me alone.
B) Go with Shayde.
C) Run.

I chose B.

"Ok. We gotta go. I grabbed his hand and barrel out the front door, taking care to slam it hard so as to aggravate her headache in spite of myself. The air outside is cool and fresh, I almost never smell the night air, as I'm inside sleeping or slaving over the stove shaping bars of soap.

Ah, I have no life. Maybe it was good to get out for a night.

"I'm sorry about that," And I am, actually, generally embarrassed of my mother. I feel a blush creeping over my face.

x
Annebelle Santings
x

I clutched Shayde's hand, supporting him as he fell and tugging him along further until we were out of the sight of their shack- er, house. Finally I dropped it reluctantly, letting myself and Shayde catch our breath. Sullenly I stared at the setting sun, now only a silver of the bright, slightly blinding orange ball that hung over the horizon.

She looked at Shayde, running her eyes over his face as he gasped for breath, lingering on his lips, and how soft they looked, how gentle they seemed. I grimaced, how could I even think about such a thing? We had only been talking, only had met each other, for... had at been so short? It felt as if I knew him for a lifetime.

I averted my eyes, sitting on a mossy rock, tracing my fingers over the rocks. The moss is dewy and cold, the rock smooth in some places rough in others.

"I'm so sorry about her," I say quietly. To my own dismay, quiet tears start to stream down my cheeks. I brushed them away angrily, but it wouldn't stop. These tears had been held inside of me so long that they came fast and furious now.

Sobs began to wrack my body, but I could feel them slowing down. I looked at Shayde with bloodshot eyes.

"I'm so sorry,"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.