THUNDER IN OUR H E A R T S }• Hazel Morgan.
Mar 26, 2012 21:18:22 GMT -5
Post by kendall on Mar 26, 2012 21:18:22 GMT -5
Cade Lee Bloom,
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The slight breeze ticked the back of my neck as I walk down to my spot. Well, in my mind I considered it my spot. Weather other children just like me claim it to be their spot too, I don't know. My sister Morgan and I found this little trail when we were younger. It lead to a little beach that was very small, so that's why I took possession if the little beach. For all a little seven and five year old could know, it didn't back up to anyone's property. No one really lived out when we live. It's a small 3 bedroom house with a kitchen, a small living space and a bathroom that was covered in Morgan's products. My sister gets the luxury of having a room all to herself while I have a room with my brothers. I knew some of of friends had big houses where they all have their own bedroom and had a parlor. I know it doesn't matter - my papa works hard for every penny this family receives. If he really wanted to, my father could just buy a knew, bigger house but I don't see the point. A house is a house. We were never really home anyway. Plus, our whole life was here. Really. Kyle, Morgan, Flynn and I were all born in this house. My mother also died in this house. It was ours. We could even imagine someone wanting this house anyway. It was cozy and homey. A homey feel not many people get at home.
Slipping into the trees, I swing my case over my back farther so it wouldn't get tangled up in the loose branches as I walked. That happened once. Being the klutz I am I dropped it and the case opened up. That resulted in a scratch or two and I wasn't planning on doing that again.
It was a late afternoon so I had plenty of time before I had to go back to the house. No one would be home to notice my absence. Kyle is who knows where - he never tells anyone, Morgan is out with her friends, Flynn is being babysat (which reminds me I have to pick him up) and Papa is of course at work. Just me and my music. That's how I can focus after a long day of socializing. Even though I love to talk, it is nice to just sit and watch the ocean thinking about what's it's like to live in the Capitol, where you wert under the iron fist.
The Hunger games is the one thing that scares people beyond belief. Besides the torture, it the only thing holding people back from thinking outside the box. I never have had an experience with the games before. If one of my sisters or brothers were pulled I don't know what I would do - I don't like to think about that. For this Games though - 22 dead, 2 left. None of them were in District four so it didn't really matter to me. District One or Two usually get all the favoritism from the Capitol anyways.That's all people at school talk about, the Hunger Games. And to tell you the truth I dint take interest in those conversations.
I opened my case and picked up my guitar from the emerald lining. It as an acoustic guitar my whole family save a whole awful lot for. I still feel guilty about excepting this gift but I love to play. The must comes naturally to me. I can write my own music as well as play from my ears. I have a hard time reading music or reading in general so I never wasted my time. I learned to use my ears. Tuning the keys I strum a melody to myself I use for warming up. It felt nice - like everything was stopping to listen. After awhile I start humming to a song my sister wrote about loosing someone you love. She always writes songs dedicated to my mother. Morgan was closest child to my mother and was probably the one most effected by t besides my dad.
The light breeze ruffled threw my hair as I played. A smile creeped onto my face. I felt as though I heard someone or something. I didn't stop though - it was probably my imaginary fans.
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