With Ears To See and Eyes To Hear //Python, Open

With Ears To See and Eyes To Hear //Python, Open Mar 30, 2012 19:47:20 GMT -5

Post by Python on Mar 30, 2012 19:47:20 GMT -5

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The sun peaked its head over the horizon basking the district with delicious golden light that made the dew-covered grass twinkle. A pair of silvery irises shimmered against this blanket of sunlight and a pair of dainty, scarred hands clutched a sketchbook full of bittersweet memories. Pearl Millison, with fair hair dangling past her shoulder blades, inhaled the crisp air of dawn and slipped a freshly sharpened pencil behind her ear. Today was the day the young Career would skip the blood and the sweat and the senseless violence to kick back and do what she did best; draw.

Flipping through the pages of her private sketchbook one would find pictures of every variety and color. She sketched people, landscapes, plants, jewelry, antiques - anything. Any piece of the world that caught her artistic eye could become another permanent stamp in her book. Another piece of her precious memory. Instead of expressing her grief, joy, despair, guilt - everything - in words, she sketched them. Her book was her diary. A picture is worth a thousand of her words, and a million others too.

With a sigh of content the gentle girl followed the morning breeze that tried to catch the bottom of her dress. She was bent on visiting her favorite location in district one: a small pond on the outskirts of the district only a mile or so away from the district boundaries. The line drawn between her suffocating life of failure and a life of imprisonment in the Detention Center. No, she would never venture farther than the pond. It was in her nature to obey rules, especially if defiance could land oneself in prison.

Then again, she was already living an caged life. What could be worse?

You could be in the arena. No, that wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t happen. Because if it did, she would be destined for death.

A spot redder than any flame appeared in her peripheral vision. There was a girl - not a strange sight, since she was wandering through neighborhoods - facing a brilliantly towering tree with bark as white as Pearl’s pale complexion. A streak of color extended vertically down the pretty bark; a crimson color. Blood. The girl was scratching and clawing at the bark like a vicious feline until her nails ripped and leaked with the substance. Every logical part of her being screamed for her to leave - to scurry before the odd girl spotted her. However, the sight of blood reminded her that the girl was injured, and although she was rather squeamish, she wanted to help in any way she could. Despite the chance of an accident or other unpredictable event occurring, Pearl gathered her false courage and slowly approached the girl. She kept a decent amount of distance between them, and parted her rosy lips to speak. ”Are you okay?” she asked. Her tone offered nothing more than her utmost sincerity.

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