Cold, Cold Water - OPEN
Apr 6, 2012 11:03:30 GMT -5
Post by mina on Apr 6, 2012 11:03:30 GMT -5
Rye Flanaghan
It was Sunday afternoon, and it was hot out. Rye let his toes sink into the wet sand in front of him, and bent forward to stretch his back. He'd been up and down the cliff side a number of times that morning teaching Finn to climb, and he was sore from the effort. At least he was done for the day, as he set the night's traps the last time he went down. Finn was far worse off than Rye was, though, and was now home putting salts on his muscles. Rye was, for the first time in a long time, alone. The sun was high, and no one was out on the beach - everyone was resting from the week's work, or preparing for the viewing of the Games that evening, so Rye was out here by himself, sitting on the beach, stretching.
He was wearing the District 4 uniform - a pair of shorts, and little else. A pair of light sandals lay next to him, but his calloused feet preferred to be bare when working and climbing. His skin, from top to bottom, was leathery and tanned, irreparably damaged from the sun, a rough, hopeless rubble of human flesh, covered in dark spots. He blinked his hazel eyes up to the sun, and sighed.
Even now, Rye felt hopeful. Finn was a good climber, for a beginner. Soon he'd be able to help Rye out with the daily tasks, and they'd be able to double their haul. Everyone was healthy - a little underfed, but nothing to worry about seriously. They had enough to survive, a roof over their heads, and no one in the Games. No one likely to be either - there was enough of an appreciation for them that there'd always be volunteers to take their place. He had to admit that the idea of Finn being in the reaping this year made him lose more than a night's sleep, though. And he would have to deal with that every year now.
Time for a swim to soothe his muscles. He stood up, and started heading out into the water. The waves were pretty strong, so he knew not to go too far out. But just as he was about to dive in, he saw something - a small dot in the distance, a person out in the water. He wasn't alone.
It was Sunday afternoon, and it was hot out. Rye let his toes sink into the wet sand in front of him, and bent forward to stretch his back. He'd been up and down the cliff side a number of times that morning teaching Finn to climb, and he was sore from the effort. At least he was done for the day, as he set the night's traps the last time he went down. Finn was far worse off than Rye was, though, and was now home putting salts on his muscles. Rye was, for the first time in a long time, alone. The sun was high, and no one was out on the beach - everyone was resting from the week's work, or preparing for the viewing of the Games that evening, so Rye was out here by himself, sitting on the beach, stretching.
He was wearing the District 4 uniform - a pair of shorts, and little else. A pair of light sandals lay next to him, but his calloused feet preferred to be bare when working and climbing. His skin, from top to bottom, was leathery and tanned, irreparably damaged from the sun, a rough, hopeless rubble of human flesh, covered in dark spots. He blinked his hazel eyes up to the sun, and sighed.
Even now, Rye felt hopeful. Finn was a good climber, for a beginner. Soon he'd be able to help Rye out with the daily tasks, and they'd be able to double their haul. Everyone was healthy - a little underfed, but nothing to worry about seriously. They had enough to survive, a roof over their heads, and no one in the Games. No one likely to be either - there was enough of an appreciation for them that there'd always be volunteers to take their place. He had to admit that the idea of Finn being in the reaping this year made him lose more than a night's sleep, though. And he would have to deal with that every year now.
Time for a swim to soothe his muscles. He stood up, and started heading out into the water. The waves were pretty strong, so he knew not to go too far out. But just as he was about to dive in, he saw something - a small dot in the distance, a person out in the water. He wasn't alone.
