Cast A Hook In Me [Open]

If there was anything at all that Lorraine Mercier craved the most, it would be a white winter.

She longs to feel the rawness of the season bite at the tip of her nose, to have goosebumps trail along the whole of her arm, to shiver violently in the bleakness of the night, to see the sky painted with grey.

She dreams of this futile feat as she walks along paved streets, the Sun beating down on her back, as hot as an afternoon in July. So much for winter, she thinks as she drags her feet from hot concrete to even hotter sand. Her bare feet screams as a searing heat ignites the surface of her skin, and she walks quickly to avoid pain, regretting that she had not brought slippers with her from home. Beads of sweat form on her hairline and neck. Irritated, she wipes it off.

White sail boats dot the line between ocean and blue sky, and she squints her eyes as she searches for her father's sail boat. In previous days, she would have come along with him, perhaps even take a swim to cool her body. But no, swimming was out of the question today, and of future days to come. How could she even think of swimming when the ocean was the home to a tragedy?

Still, she misses the power her body possesses as it moves through ribbons of water, the controlling vibe of threshing across the surface of the sea. Of becoming one with the life under the ocean, swimming in harmony with marine animals, submerged into a different world than the one on land.

She sighs as she lays her blanket on a desolate spot of sand. Surrounding her are clusters of people, here and there. Some splash along the shore, other lay on towels and sun bathe. As for Lorraine, she sits on her blanket with her arms wrapped around her legs, head resting atop her knees. Nothing about today was particularly different than the rest. She woke up, prepared breakfast for her father, went to school, retired home, helped her father with today's chores, and arrived here. She would remain here until the Sun sets, head home, prepare and eat dinner, then entertain her father by playing the piano while he sits and drinks tea until it was time for him to go to bed. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as she took a large breath of the salty fresh air.

Sure her life had become a daily routine, notably revolving around her father and her father's needs. But, any good daughter would do the same for an old and weak parent, wouldn't they? Or was she just secluding herself from a social life?

Shaking this question from her mind, she merely stood erect and stretched her cramped arms. As doing so, a strong wind pushed at her, and she stumbled back two or three feet. As for her blanket, it tumbled more than a few yards past her original spot, landing at the feet of a girl who also sat by herself.

Just my luck, contact with another fellow human, was Lorraine's immediate sarcastic thought as she went to retrieve her blanket.

Lorraine walked slowly and cautiously, reciting in her mind the phrase she would repeat to the girl. Sorry about the trouble that my blanket may have caused you. . . wait, no, that's stupid. That's my blanket, sorry for the inconvenience? No, sounds even more stupid. As she approached the girl, her mind took a turn for the worse and she stood mute. Painstakingly, she racked her brain for something, anything to say, when the girl saved her the trouble.

"Lose something?" She said, tossing the blanket back to Lorraine.

Clumsily, Lorraine barely got a hold of the corner of the blanket while the rest fell to the sand. She hastily picked the sheet up as color rushed to her cheeks. She felt silly and childish to be embarrassed for such a simple thing as losing and dropping a blanket, but still, she couldn't control the red hue that now flooded her flesh.

"Yeah, sorry about that." She apologized pathetically. The sixteen year old hugged the blanket closer to her chest as she involuntarily dug her feet into the sand beneath her.

She took this time to examine the girl before her. Her face seemed familiar, in a way. She probably goes to the same school as her, well, either that or Lorraine has seen her reflection in the mirror. An outsider could carelessly pass off the pair as twins, with their blazing red hair, deep green eyes, pale skin tone, and freckles splashed playfully across the face. However, with a clearer view of the two, their differences are distinct. Lorraine's eyes are not as big and bold as the other girl's, her hair is much more wild and curly, and she hasn't a vast amount of freckles as does the other. And, not to mention, the difference in their atmospheres. The way the other red head carries herself is undoubtedly more energizing. With a look of complete confidence and courage, she displays herself as an independent and strong lady - in contradiction to Lorraine's dull and gloomy atmosphere.

Lorraine pulled herself from this observation as she realized they both stood knee deep in silence, the kind of awkward silence that consumed Lorraine like flames. Again, she restlessly begged her brain to think of something to say to the girl. Should she introduce herself? Or should she say a witty remark? Or should she make a joke about all the "chaos" that the blanket caused? Or should she leave? Or should she just remain silent and beg to God that this girl would say something else to keep the conversation going? Lorraine was torn between the last two options, and she silently cursed herself for allowing her to become so socially deprived that she hasn't a clue to say in such a simple situation as this.

Was she always this way? Well, no. But, then again, reconsidering the fact that she always keeps in solitude, of course she'd begin to transform into a blundering girl. On the other hand, she's always kind when people actually talk to her, snapping out of an adolescent depression and greeting them with a warm smile and a bright spark in her eyes. But how often was that? And Lorraine never truly approached somebody herself. Really thinking about it, her sole companions are her father and the nightmares that follow her day and night.

Pathetic.

Wasn't it about time to change that?

"Um, I'm Lorraine, by the way."

Not the greatest introduction to slip past her mouth, but it is a start.

“Yeah we have… school together?” Lorraine let out a sigh of relief at this reply. So, the familiar face had a reason for being familiar (other than coincidently looking like Lorraine herself). Still, she had yet to give an identity, and Lorraine hovered over the girl hoping she wouldn’t have to ask her for a name. Luckily, the second red head once more saved her the trouble of worrying. “Right then. Aster.” She introduced. Lorraine made mental notes to not forget this and accidentally call her Amanda or Amber instead. “So nice to… formally meet you,” Aster continued. “You’d think you’d know the people in your classes after staying in school for so long, you know? But apparently not.” Lorraine let out a soft chuckle as Aster lightly laughed at the comment.

The simple statement couldn’t have been more true, and Lorraine could easily relate. She hardly knows a handful of souls at school - and this handful only consists of her teachers, if they even count. Of course, few people come knocking on her door from time to time, inviting themselves over to become a friend. But, how would Lorraine react? Sure, she’ll open the door. Sure, she’ll greet them wholeheartedly with a bright smile and simple conversation. But then she’ll close the door as arubptly as she opened it. After all, gaining close attachments with others is just plain useless when you have a high possibilty of getting hurt in the end - especially with an annual Hunger Games approaching each year. It’s one or the other: die or watch your loved one die. Well, luckily for Lorraine, she wouldn’t have to watch a loved one die if there wasn’t even someone she knew. Why risk the pain?

A gust of wind blew at the two girls, almost pulling the blanket away from Lorraine’s grasp, again. Either way, the strong breeze gave Lorraine a brief break from the winter’s heat, wiping away some traces of sweat that trailed along her forehead.

She sighed and tucked a strand of her fiery locks behind her ear, a sorry attempt to tame them after the wind let them loose. “The weather here is pitiful,” Lorraine said. Oh, how cliche, a conversation starter concerning the weather. At least she hadn’t said something stupid like ”How’s the weather down there?” And plus, the weather in Four is pitiful, was it possible to become sick of the sun? ”Some snow would be nice to replace this awful sand.” Lorraine added as she carelessly dug her feet deeper into the sand. She looked towards the sky and hoped that what she just said was deemed appropriate for a conversation.