tomorrow/never/comes--Zori

tomorrow/never/comes--Zori Jun 25, 2013 0:27:16 GMT -5

Post by k!ah on Jun 25, 2013 0:27:16 GMT -5

The sound of echoing footsteps bounce off the walls around me and I take comfort in hearing only one pair. I have always been wary about my surroundings, always cautious about what could be out there, in the dark, lurking behind the corners. Tonight was no different. At every small sound, at every crack of a stick or scuttle of small feet my body jerks, instantly ready for an attack, but nothing comes. I knew that nothing was out there, waiting for me. I knew that no one was looking for me, just waiting for me to be on my own, just waiting for their chance to pounce…. But old habits, old fears die hard.

I round a corner and the cement beneath my feet turns into dirt, which coats my worn out sneakers in seconds. A small smile tugs at the edges of my lips as I watch as small puffs of dirt form as my feet pound lightly on the dry earth. Heat had caked the dirt, turning it dusty, desperate for a drop of moisture. The sun has been raging down on the district for about two weeks now and its impact it beginning to show. Small cracks wind up the path, like a spiders web, weaving back and forth in different directions. I pause, my eyes tracing on of the larger cracks that lead down the path.

The sun high in the sky, high above my head, it sent its searing heat down on to my body, turning my tanned skin slightly pink. I run a gentle hand over my warm skin, sent thrill of heat through my hands, warming me on the inside. My eyes scan the path in front of me seeking out some shade. Finally I find the shade I was seeking for and eagerly take a few steps towards it until it covers my whole body. Instantly I feel much better, the shade providing some coolness to the heat of the day.

Shade was pooled out over the path ahead of me, tall tress providing an escape from what seemed like the never ending heat. I was not sure if I wanted to go any further, hell, I wasn’t even sure where I was heading, all I knew was that I had to get away. I had to get away from the town, away from the place that harboured so many painful, heart breaking memories. So many memories that haunted my waking hours, that haunted my sleeping hours. In there- in town- there was no escape, there was no way I could escape the memories that haunted me… But out here, out here where there was nothing but dirt, nothing but nature and freedom, my memories set me free, allowing my messed up brain some time to think, some time to be free.

Out here I was able to think, I was able to breathe. I turn my face to the sky, the cloudless sky that towered above me, and all the other people of district eight. The sun was the only thing that was there, its ray spreading across the, blinding the naked eyes. Shielding my eyes I turn away from the sun, and back to the path with swirling web like cracks on the ground. Reluctantly I pull out of the shades shelter and take a pace into the suns heat, ready to face the battle that would eventually result in my gaining the shelter of the next tree along the path.

[ooc- sorry if it is really short and crap, it is the first time I have wrote with Saskia for a while, hope it is okay!:3]

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tomorrow/never/comes--Zori Jun 28, 2013 2:33:52 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 28, 2013 2:33:52 GMT -5

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•TRIUMPH O'BRIAN•

I hate when it’s too hot. There’s nothing worse than the heat to boggle people’s minds. If the dawdlers of the district weren’t already all swimming over one another because of their empty heads, the morons are a thousand times as dumb in the heat. Time seems slow down, too. Heat pulls at the clock, holding the seconds just a little longer. It means that everyone holds their words longer. But it’s not because they have a greater hesitance to speak. No, they just can’t make their addled brains function any faster. Sweat pours down foreheads and worse yet, hot garbage is the smell of choice for the summer. Big, heaping piles of refuse line the streets—how anyone even has that much shit I’ll never know, considering how poor everyone is supposed to be—and somehow we make our homes smell like a rotting fish carcass left out in the sun for four days too long.

That’s the main reason for my heading out of town. I don’t have a shift today tailoring, one of the few times to rest my wearied hands in the past week. We’ve been making lots for the capitol, with the games running up and practically smacking us in the face at this point. Don’t ask what I think about our chances and all that. Both our tributes died in the bloodbath last year, and that was good enough for me, considering that I think they are a no good waste of everyone’s time. At least when our tributes die early it means that we get back to focusing on what’s really important for ourselves, rather than rooting for some loonies that want to slice each other up. It’s a sick sadistic game and yet every year the same people—the ones that you wouldn’t normally except to be so gung ho about forced massacres—they’re ready and waiting to watch and to pray that our tributes make it to the finale. At least if they die in the bloodbath, they’re mostly innocent of the damage they’ve done.

The further you go outside of the town, or city—can I call a place that has too many people but not very many tall buildings a city? When you get further out, the roads turn from asphalt to gravel, which is a relief because the heat isn’t quit as searing when you walk. The one thing, the most important thing is that whatever the capitol did before was to remove most if not all forms of shade. The hot heat is extra bad when you walk towards the edges of the district. It’s almost as though they’re trying to remind us just how terrible the world is outside of our preconstructed walls. Don’t go too far, you might get sun burn or worse.

[/color] The walls at the edge of the district tell us to keep away as though people would be stupid enough to choose death over life under the capitol. I wouldn’t survive two seconds outside of these walls, and I’m tough as shit.

There’s a swirl in the distance, and I can’t tell if it’s the heat playing tricks on me, or that I’m about to meet up with someone (or something[/color]). You know the bad heat, the type that makes it look like wisps of air are lifting from the ground and swirling up into the air? The haze of the summer heat is in full force today, making the blurb of a form in the distance faze in and out of existence. Part of me wants to be alone, and to not to have to talk to anyone. I got out of town to get away from my mother and father, who’ve crawled under my skin with their constant criticisms as of late. They compare me to my brother, to how much better it would be if I followed in his footsteps. That I won’t be reaping age forever; I have a future to think about. Being one of the better families of Eight is no small prize and I understand it. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to stop being me just because my father wants me to make hats and jackets and gloves for the capitol. I’ve got plenty of time left to be me, to explore, to be silly—to help my sister be silly, too. And no one’s taking that away from me.

“It’s a hot one, don’t you think?” I say at last when I see her, skulking through. At once I want to knock myself in the mouth for being so dumb. People that talk about the weather are the worst kind of people, because they never have anything to say. They talk about the weather because it offends no one, and everyone can talk about it. There’s no thought put into it and you come out looking like a moron just for mentioning it. “Don’t see many people wanting to get out here when it gets this hot.” She looks younger, and I can’t place if I know her from somewhere. I must look like a sight, in a ripped tank top and my hair all acolor. It’s not as though it mattered up until now, did it, what I was wearing? Funny how many people are so up front about it. But every day I try something different, even if it’s just shredding up something old to look new. “Triumph.” I say with a salute.
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