old friends // still young // Kendall
Jun 16, 2013 21:00:10 GMT -5
Post by Emma on Jun 16, 2013 21:00:10 GMT -5
Finn York
[/size][/font][/color] We had always been friends. Our parents were friends. Our mothers were good friends when they were our age. Rita and I were like peas and carrots. But I would always like to be the carrots, since I like the colour better. Rita and I have always been the two kids that nobody could find alone. Sometimes I felt too far for Rita. She’s smart, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes she doesn’t get it. Like when I rant about Father’s new break-through at the lab, and she will interrupt me and ask, “What’s a zygote?” Simple question, simple answer. But I love her none the less. Rite comes from a hard home. You would be surprised what she’s been through. She’s great really.
I sit on the side of the road, with my feet in the street, and my butt on the curb. I sit with the lab book in my lap, studying the periodic table of elements avidly. Lost in the world of science, and my own dream. A daydream. A dream where, everyone was an element of the table. Some like people are like Gold, beautiful, and wondrous as it gleams and reflects, but they're actually quite soft, weak people, people with no back bones. Then there are people like Platinum, where you have to go to extreme heights to melt or even dent the metal, as their surface is untouchable, or people like Francium, so unstable, and will react to anything, even simple things, such as water, but water isn't even simple, it is a compound, and no compound is simple.
I am awoken from my blissful daydream by a little bird chirping, singing its song confidently as it perches on its branch in a tall, nearby oak. It's limbs reaching out long and strong, standing straight on its root feet, resting on a bed of mossy grass littered with discarded leafs. The bird is a beautiful colour, blue as the sky. No, the colour is richer, more magnificent, captivating as it pelts out its glorious tune. Sialia sialis, an Eastern bird, a song bird. It continues to sing as I imagine the world through its eyes.
No worries. None at all. Doing its business in peace, hunting the worm, building a nest, looking for a mate, no feelings, no emotions. I wonder what it's like in its head, with a brain that small, what does it see threw those colourless eyes? What does it hear threw all those feathers, can it even think? So many things I wonder as I sit on the curb. I glance at my neighborhood, but I see nothing new. The same simple houses, neither big, but not tiny. All decent, with decent people, with decent jobs, with decent lives. Although this is the district, not the Capitol, no nobody’s life is perfect. About as perfect as it gets in Six. Heaven.
I can hear her footsteps as she rounds the bend. I can recognize them, light and easy, in a skipping sort of rhythm. I jump up from the curb, and call to her, a smile widening on my face. “Rita!” She comes running around the bend with a smile on her face, and her hand waving to me.
I sit on the side of the road, with my feet in the street, and my butt on the curb. I sit with the lab book in my lap, studying the periodic table of elements avidly. Lost in the world of science, and my own dream. A daydream. A dream where, everyone was an element of the table. Some like people are like Gold, beautiful, and wondrous as it gleams and reflects, but they're actually quite soft, weak people, people with no back bones. Then there are people like Platinum, where you have to go to extreme heights to melt or even dent the metal, as their surface is untouchable, or people like Francium, so unstable, and will react to anything, even simple things, such as water, but water isn't even simple, it is a compound, and no compound is simple.
I am awoken from my blissful daydream by a little bird chirping, singing its song confidently as it perches on its branch in a tall, nearby oak. It's limbs reaching out long and strong, standing straight on its root feet, resting on a bed of mossy grass littered with discarded leafs. The bird is a beautiful colour, blue as the sky. No, the colour is richer, more magnificent, captivating as it pelts out its glorious tune. Sialia sialis, an Eastern bird, a song bird. It continues to sing as I imagine the world through its eyes.
No worries. None at all. Doing its business in peace, hunting the worm, building a nest, looking for a mate, no feelings, no emotions. I wonder what it's like in its head, with a brain that small, what does it see threw those colourless eyes? What does it hear threw all those feathers, can it even think? So many things I wonder as I sit on the curb. I glance at my neighborhood, but I see nothing new. The same simple houses, neither big, but not tiny. All decent, with decent people, with decent jobs, with decent lives. Although this is the district, not the Capitol, no nobody’s life is perfect. About as perfect as it gets in Six. Heaven.
I can hear her footsteps as she rounds the bend. I can recognize them, light and easy, in a skipping sort of rhythm. I jump up from the curb, and call to her, a smile widening on my face. “Rita!” She comes running around the bend with a smile on her face, and her hand waving to me.
