~blackened brown eyes {o p e n - for one}

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<sub>It's spring time, probably my least favorite time of the year. Why you ask? Because it's that horrible period between the end of the Hunger Games and the next reaping. The void of mourning and anxiety. Kids run around outside, enjoying the weather whilst they can. Before long they'll be stripped of their happiness and pushed to the edge of the unknown, a step away from glory, a step away from death. Me included.

I'm nearing the end of my teenage years, I don't have to put up with it for much longer. I've seen things that have scarred me for life, so naturally I shouldn't be afraid at the moment in time. Yet for some reason, there's an scent of despair echoing around the District. I bet it's not only in Six, but all over Panem. People working like drones in the fields, empty eyes and minds. All the while the Capitol is preparing for the next Games. It freaks me out a little. The dukes of destiny are preparing the game that twenty four will play, and one will win. No matter how old you are, or what you think you've seen, that's creepy to a teenager.

I'm physically big, long hours in the field have made me muscular and fit. My facial features are that of a young man, breaking out of teenage puberty. I look older than most my age. Yet deep down, I know I'm a kid. Kids get scared, I'm not afraid to admit that. Yeah, I'm scared of the reaping, just like everyone else. Just maybe not for the same reasons. Living with my Grandma has made her very dependent on me. I fear more for her well-being with me in the Games than my own.

This is all hypothetical. I'm a very statistical guy, and I know I have roughly a thirty seven in twenty two thousand four hundred and nine chance of being reaped. A statistic that's granted worse than my odds in previous years, but still I know I'm more or less safe.

Why am I even worrying about this?

I roll out of bed, my feet heavy on the old oak floor. The bed is tiny, and when I lie in it my legs stick out the ends like a man sleeping in a child's bed. That's essentially the case. I've grown out of it, but Gran' doesn't seem to notice. I find my shirt pretty quickly, thrown over a poorly constructed table. My lacks are on an equally awful chair, but my boots are not in my room, more likely downstairs.

Slugging downstairs, Grandmother is already awake and sat in her chair. Oh how it looks so comfortable by the fire. That big rocking chair, covered in blankets and cushions. I'd love to sit in that chair, toasting by the flames as they distort my features onto the wall in the form of dancing shadows. But no, I must go to the station, where there are bound to be some Capitol trains in need of maintenance.

"Good morning, Grandmother..." I say with over-exaggerated politeness. Maybe I am in the mood for mocking her almost Capitol accent. She turns her frail head to look at me, those wise eyes narrowing without any other emotion showing. Then, she looks away.
"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Mellor..."

More great words of wisdom

I sigh.
"Who's imitating? I have to get in the mood for work... Y'know they hate it when I speak in such a broad District Six accent..." My accent is indeed quite strong and Sixian. The Capitol residents sometimes have a hard time understanding me. It works both ways, I don't always know what to say when they talk so high-pitched and fast at me. I'm a repair man, not a linguist.

"Don't let me hold you up, you'll be late..."</sub>

[/b] She says, knowing I really can't afford morning chit-chat. It's a good thing, I'm usually too tired for her wit, and end up making a fool of myself. I grin, slipping on my black work-boots and heading outside, making sure to grab my rucksack with all my repair kit in. Hopefully Gran' has a productive day, I hate it when she sits in her chair and watches old Hunger Games tapes. She used to be obsessed, now she's just ashamed. She watches because she doesn't want to forget. I don't know the details, just that she knew some Tributes from Six back in the day.

I head to the station, which is on the other side of town, meaning I have to traverse the labyrinth of buildings and streets to get there. I sigh, and set off down an shady looking alleyway. A shortcut I use often.[/color]

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#94aa88 narrative
#acbc44 thoughts
#acbed1 personal speech
#fefb98 speech of others

theme~[/color] "Can't stop, gotta date with hate" - Lostprophets
notes~[/color] Open to anyone, I just need to vent my muse on Mellor ._.[/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote]