Forgotten Times D4 [open]
Apr 13, 2012 19:37:08 GMT -5
Post by inkrage on Apr 13, 2012 19:37:08 GMT -5
Rhymer Blackwell
Actions 93AB74
Thoughts 4C612D
Speech 5C552A
Others Speech 81A150
She followed the familiar path that lead from the back of her family’s cottage to a calm park in District 4. The trail was worn down from many feet traversing over it in the past twenty or so years, but still, the flowers and other greenery surrounding its edges were beginning to bloom. Delicate, but sharp rose thorns tugged on her black wool sweater as the sixteen year old girl pushed through tall ferns. All of a sudden, small brambles that had strayed along the forest’s track pierced the bottom of her thin leather shoes. The girl gave a quick yelp of pain; she dropped the fishing rod and old woven basket she had been carrying to bring with her to the beach later in the day, and hopped on one foot to bring the other in her hands. Once she removed the wretched prickle, she gathered the fallen items and continued on.
The terrain came into sight after what seemed to the girl like hours winding down the path, but was merely around ten minutes. The dawn’s sunlight peeked from around the tops of the forest’s oaks, seagulls swayed nonchalantly in the sky as the girl settled her backpack over the lowest branch on a sturdy looking tree. The flowers bloomed to feel spring’s warmth, save for the cherry blossoms on one or two trees. Chilled wind lashed at the hair, and bit her uncovered neck and dark green cargo-capris covered legs, sending the once perfect dark brown ringlets whipping in all directions. She noted these observations to herself as she walked along the fresh green grass, stepping around stray daisies, towards a tall oak. Trying to grip the sharp brown bark of the tree as best as she could when she had worked up the courage to climb, her hands merely gave out within a few feet off the dirt floor and I fell to my back.
Her hands were stinging and covered in half dried tree sap, but the girl got up onto her feet and strained to climb once more. Determination to reach the top branches of this old oak, kept her shaking arms clinging to the oak. This very tree had been a common place she would visit as a child with her father; as it was one of the only public parks that had a forest within District 4’s limits. When she was younger, she could easily climb to the top and watched the birds build their nests; the squirrels jump from branch to branch and see the ants march up the old wide trunk. When she turned twelve –four years ago—that had been the end of her visits to this secluded area. The first reaping was the only thoughts that had entered her mind then.
Memories from the previous night flooded back into the girl’s mind as she glided her hands along the rough bark. She had tried so hard to forget about them during the time she had cried herself to sleep at around 10PM yesterday, but alas, the thoughts crept back. What if I get called at the reaping, will I be ready to fight? Will anyone volunteer for me? No, of course not. People would be glad to finally get rid of me. A silver dagger, engraved and given to the girl by her father was the only weapon that she had training with. Oh course I will never be chosen, the odds are slight to be chosen, but if I am, I know I will die. Will my mother be alright without me? Would my father worry or would he leave my mother? The reaping was approaching soon; the days seemed to sail by faster with each passing moment.
Her mother had not been comforting at all, despite the fact that the girl wouldn’t have wanted to share her fears with someone else anyway. In addition, her father was out most of the time trapping lobster and other succulent sea creatures to be shipped off to the capitol. In reality, the girl preferred to keep to herself most of the time, and as a result, she had few friends. Most people incorrectly gave reasoning to her acts as shyness, but in truth, she was a thinker and an observer. A clever one, at that, usually receiving high marks in school. She did not find any importance to the labels her classmates allotted to her, though. If people don’t like me, that’s their problem.
At around seven o’clock in the morning, she had eventually reached as far up the tree as she would convince herself to climb, which was only about half way up. Still, the girl was proud of this accomplishment that would have seemed like nothing if she had been younger. As the day wore on, hunger had forced her to ascent back down toward the backpack she had left on the lowest branch and began to forage inside for a piece of the dried salmon she had prepared a week earlier. Usually she would be shipping all the fish out to the Capitol, but the ones she did keep would either be made into a stew, or dried for about a week, then taken it to the market to sell-- given she would have to be careful about selling it, as that was borderline illegal. This routine of fishing, drying then shipping or selling would happen daily, either after school or early in the morning on weekends. Nevertheless, since she had fished more than her usual quota required the past few days, so she had decided to treat herself this morning to a small portion.
Looking around the park as she sat on the low branch, the girl observed that most areas of the park were very still and empty. When she had come here years before, she remember seeing at least a dozen people with children every time, so why not now? Did everyone grow tired of this park just as I had? The girl contemplated this for a few moments as she chewed on a small section dried fish.
Thrashing her head around, she heard a twig snap from behind. Ferns and undergrowth began to rustle and she strained her dark gray-blue eyes, trying to see what or who was here with her. Knowing that she probably wasn’t in much danger, since she was in one of the district’s public parks, she tried to calm herself. Yet, her instincts kicked in from the training she had participated in since her ninth birthday. The girl’s hand reached towards the silver dagger-- the one given to her by my father-- which was kept, tied to her left thigh. Sliding it free from its holster, and keeping her eyes of the bush that had become still once again, she watched quietly. A movement caught the corner of her eye, the girl turned her head, but she had not been expecting what her eyes were about to see. Her slightly sweaty palms dropped the dagger—causing it to fall to the ground with a thud—
Rhymer Blackwell stammered the only words that formed on her dark red lips as she sat awkwardly on the wide tree branch about five feet away from the crunching bushes. “Hello? Is someone there?”
[OOC: This would have to be one of my longer posts, usually I post my replies around 400-500 words, and I would love that to be the minimum word count for this thread. This is an open thread, so feel free to reply!]