in this distortion [Meeka--open]

Meeka was exhausted. The hours at the factory has been long and hard. All the cotton fibres that she had inhaled would likely kill her in the long run. Like it was doing to her parents. Arthritis, bronchitis. All of that would be the end of her parents and no one was going to care. Today her father had lost his job. Naima had actually broken down and cried at the news. It meant that Naima would have to work extra... down in the filthier streets. She would have to work overnight. She told the younger children that she would be sweeping the street at night.

Everyone knew that she wouldn't be doing any of that. Girl's sold their bodies once their family reached the bottom of the heap. At least Naima hadn't allowed for her to do the same. "No Meeka, you work at the factory! I won't allow it!"
She walked up a narrow alleyway that led to the larger Mainstreet. Her meager wage was clutched tightly in her hands and she turned. And she walked right into a figure. Her coins dropped onto the pavement.

"Oh, no!" She flung herself to the ground to scrape the escaping coins up in her hands. There wasn't much to scrape up. She stood up, her face red with shame. "I'm so sorry," she said to the girl she had bumped into. She felt self conscious immediately, considering her state. Her face was smudged with grime from the factories. Her knuckles were raw and scraped from the hours she spent spinning wool. Each finger was dotted with bloody pinpricks. Her appearance must have screamed 'Factory Girl', therefore automatically labelling her as the filth of District Eight. "I am so careless today, don't know what came over me."

Meeka stared at the girl. The girl could not be much older than her and yet she looked a little younger. Possibly because she wasn't as worn as she was at the moment. She smiled gratefully, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Not everyone was as friendly in District Eight. There were always people who would throw curses and even get violent for something as simple as walking into someone else. The girl clearly was not from here. Not from the city.

She took a moment to let her eyes flick over the girls' clothes and face and hair. She looked clean and healthy. Vibrant and fresh... young. Though the girl was skinny, but that was normal for citizens of District Eight. Her face burned with shame as she realized what she must look like in comparison. As if to further the shame, she saw what looked like shock register on the other girl's face. Clearly she must have realized what Meeka was. A Factory Hand, nothing more.

"I... what?" She was so taken aback by the question, that she was not even able to answer it. Why should she not be okay? Maybe because she was dirty? Did the girl think she had gotten into a fight? Or maybe she looked tired. She should know that everyone looked tired after work. She wondered briefly what the girl's life was like. "You're clearly not from here," she said carefully. Though not unfriendly. "Of course I am okay." She wasn't really. Her father lost his job, her mother was about to die and her sister would have to sell her body to disgusting old men. Her siblings would have to go hungry and work even more than they already. And then there was always The Hunger Games... No, no one was really okay, but everyone said so. One only had the right to not be okay if the whole family was dead or what not. "I'm Meeka by the way."

Meeka realised then that perhaps her well meant assumption hadn't come across the way she had meant it to. She felt horrible instantly. "Oh! No, no, I did not want it to sounds like... that. It's just... well, the way you act, it's different. You live in the outskirts, why are you even here? Not everyone is as friendly, you could wander into the wrong neighbourhoods." Like the one her sister would be working at soon enough. She frowned at the girl. She was pretty and clean and she stuck out in the crowd like a piece of chewing gum in a burnt out fireplace. "You shouldn't stick around here," she advised slowly. "There's... bad things."

The wage in her hands was becoming slick with the sweat from her tightly clenched fist. She was lucky that she had run into Kirin and not some other person. Another might have taken her money immediately. "Well, it's nice to meet you then, Kirin." She frowned at the question. She was headed home. But why was the girl asking? Did she expect to... oh. It dawned on her. "Would you like to... I mean, I'm headed home. I have to look out for my siblings because my sister is..." She paused. "My sister has to work." Meeka felt that maybe the girl wanted company. And Kirin did not seem half bad. Plus, she did not feel like it would be alright to just let her walk around the city by herself at the stage. "I think we still have some tea from this morning. It's not bad. Come on, no one will mind." Like one more person would even appear out of place in her already crowded house. She smiled encouragingly and started to walk down another cobbled alleyway. "So, do you have any siblings?"

One of the only possible upsides to living in the most industrial part of the city was that Meeka was able to maneuver her way through the throngs of people and up side-alleys and hidden pathways with expertise. The marketplace was jam-packed as always. The stands were wafting delicious smells into the crowds and scrawny men and women were holding artefacts and precious linen into the air, practically thrusting them in people's faces. "Don't look at them, Kirin," she advised cautiously. "If you look at them, they'll think you want to buy something." She never bought from the stands. Things were expensive, many people sold fake, broken or even rotten material.

Instead, when she reached the last stand that was piled with apples, she pocketed one. Sure, theft was punishable with the capital of all punishments, but no one ever noticed. Even if they did, no one told the Peacekeepers. In the end, everyone had stolen something once or twice. Whether it was two buttons from the factory floor or pieces of cashew from the marketplace. No one needed more enemies.

She heard Kirin's question and just shrugged. "My sister's just my sister. I guess we get along." They turned into another stench filled backalley, sidling past a few clean dustbins. They had been picked clean by a couple of street urchins. Three children with sunken-in faces sat cowered by one of the bins. "Please miss," one of them called out. Meeka had very little time to weigh out the pros and cons and tossed him the apple. It was a good apple and she woul have to get another for her siblings tomorrow. "Almost home," she muttered.

Finally, they made it. Passing another starving woman... but she had no apple for this one. She half-hoped that Kirin would have something to spare. There, behind a rotting old picket fence was the soot-ridden door of the little place called home. Her little sister ran at her right away, hugging her around her midsection. "Meeka! Naima's gone sweeping, said she'll be back later. She told me to wait for you. Look!" Meeka found herself looking down at Lyra's oustretched fingers. It was a small length of cloth. "Where'd you get that?" She was worried that the girl had stolen it. "I found it, honest. 'Tis mine if it was lying on the sidewalk," she said sincerely. She nodded and turned to look at Kirin apologetically. "Uh - Kirin, this is Lyra. Lyra, this is Kirin." To Lyra's credit, the nine-year old did not ask why Meeka had brought a person home but merely shrugged and ran off, probably to find her twin. "Do you want some tea? I think we have some bread as well?"