temptation [Raseri]

As you walk home on a surprisingly cool summer evening, it occurs to you that you're late for dinner.

For some reason, however, this doesn't bother you as much as it should. Perhaps it is because: A) this happens often; B) you know the food won't be very good anyways, as your mother has never been known to be a particularly good cook; C) you would rather your brothers and sisters receive the nourishment; or D) all of the above. So you take your time, counting the cracks in the pavement as they pass silently under your shoes. Raising the polystyrene coffee mug to your lips, you down the last swig of its bitter, lukewarm contents before scanning the area for a trash can. There’s none in sight.

The coin in your hand does a few aerial somersaults, glinting softly in the pale, yellow light of the streetlamps until you snatch up it up out of the air and slap it on your wrist. Heads. Sighing, you begin to look around for a place to dispose of the coffee cup; “heads” is the side you picked for “don’t litter”. Fortunately, you stumble across one when you round a corner, even though said turn isn’t on your usual route.

”I don’t wanna die,” you hear as you’re tossing the cup in the plastic bin, so soft that, at first, you aren’t entirely sure that it was real, that it wasn’t in your head. But when you turn towards the sound, you see a perfectly real boy there.

”Hey, sorry, were you talking to me?” You ask, stepping towards him.

rusted brandy
in a diamond glass
everything is made from dreams
time is made from honey slow and sweet
only the fools know what it means

”Nah, man. You must have heard someone else,”” the boy replied, leaning against a pole. I did a quick left-to-right scan of the area in which we stood, and although it was getting dark, I could see well enough to tell there was no one around but us. It had to have been him I’d heard, I was sure of it, but I didn’t challenge him on it because I didn't want to seem rude. ”Maybe they’re talking about the upcoming Hunger Games. I’d hate to see who get reaped this year. Wouldn’t you?”

Ouch. Bad conversation topic. The subject of the Hunger Games was a touchy one, in my opinion. There was only one right answer to this question. ”You know it, man,” I affirmed with a rueful smirk. He has no idea. With six younger siblings at home, the Reaping wasn’t exactly a day I wanted to think about, or even talk about, really. If anything were to happen to any one of them…

For comfort’s sake, I changed the subject.

I stuck out my right hand, offering him a handshake. ”My name’s Caius. So, uh, what brings you to the streets of District Nine on this fine evening?” I asked.

{ooc- s’okay, mine sucks too xD}

rusted brandy
in a diamond glass
everything is made from dreams
time is made from honey slow and sweet
only the fools know what it means