you better hope you're not alone {zoe} // blitz

you better hope you're not alone {zoe} // blitz Oct 23, 2013 0:12:40 GMT -5

Post by Meghan on Oct 23, 2013 0:12:40 GMT -5

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Clouds are marching along,
singing a song,
just like they do.
If the clouds were singing a song,
I'd sing along,
wouldn't you too?
If you just knew
what they could do.

I am always waiting for the world to change, for the reapings to be over, and for Panem to suddenly become some sort of new world. It is a box-cart dream really, a place where my imagination can hide on the days when my parents push a little too hard or my sister talks about the possibility of death just a little too eagerly. Still, if it is a dream then I never want to let go if I do not have to.

It is the dream I think of when I am walking home late at night. I think it keeps the bad vibes away, or something like that.

I tried to tell my mama once, long ago. She had yelled at me, told me that Panem was an honorable nation to live in and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the games and death and victory and whatever other bullshit propaganda they had tried to teach me from a young age. ~~frankly I thought she was just afraid of what that would reveal to the world to how she had tried to raise us. What did that imply, really?~~

Why was I telling you this? Was this a simple informative tale of some childish dream? Not exactly. You see, I have this friend ~~of sorts,~~

[/s]who I think is just as broken as me. If broken is the word I am looking for. Damaged. Crumbled. Crippled. Defective. Fragmented. Smashed.

Pulled into this mess, quite like me.

And, well, I wanted to tell him a story. A story of hope. Of dreams. Of renewal.

And so here I stood, at his window. Or under it, I guess. Throwing rocks, hoping to be let in. Was this creepy?

Would he even remember me?

"Nathaniel, you dunce. Let me in, or I will knock on the front door and tell your father I am ready for round two!" I whisper-shout from my spot on the pavement, but if my voice carries to his half-hearted ears is the great mystery of the year. Maybe I should of brought my knitting. It probably brought him enough emotional scarring that the sound of clicking needles would wake him from the deepest of slumbers.

Had to have a chuckle at that one. I am so clever, they should give me a reward.[/color][/color]

[/justify][/blockquote]

Oh, if you just knew,
what would they do?
And if the birds are
just hollow words
flying along,
singing a song,
What would they do?
If they just knew
what they could do.
Oh, if they just knew.

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Word Count: 385

you better hope you're not alone {zoe} // blitz Oct 23, 2013 22:20:55 GMT -5

Post by ✨ zozo. on Oct 23, 2013 22:20:55 GMT -5

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____________

nathaniel graives
____________

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There's nothing quite like the night. The world around you hides away (or rather is stolen into the darkness) and everything becomes irrelevant. You are the only light that can guide you through, choosing whether to step out into the cool streets or settle at home. Personally I prefer the hustling rushes of adrenaline that the night brings - diving into the unknown, into the innate fear every single human has. But tonight my body resides at home, because for some reason I don't feel like residing into the early hours of the morning, pushing myself through the barrier of fatigue and refusing to fall asleep. For once I'll give my body a break, let my mind settle into peace and fall into the clutches of sleep.

Or not, it seems, if a certain blonde has anything to do with it.

"Nathaniel, you dunce" she whisper-shouts from the open window, breaking my eyelids apart with her voice. Plunk, plunk goes the sound of rocks at the window - how original, I think with a smirk. "Let me in, or I will knock on the front door and tell your father I am ready for round two!"

At the mention of our last encounter I break into a grin. Bianca Sandrino is a force not to be reckoned with. For a moment I think my cheek stings from the memory, grazing a finger across my face before hopping off my bed (still clothed - I've got a bit of work to do with the whole sleeping thing) and reach the window, laughing at her below me. The night seeps into the room in chilling bursts of air and I lean against the windowsill, peering down at her.

"Well we can't be having that! Though I don't see any needles lying around, so I think I'll be fine." There's a fine line between kidding around and getting seriously injured with my newly-accustomed friend, and sometimes I don't know where we both are on the friendship scale and when I can cross it. But I'm as daring as she is threatening so I'll keep the friendly fire burning purely for the sake of curing my boredom.

My arm extends down to the ground, beckoning for her to take it and letting my loose attempts at humour slip from my lips. "Need a hand, Sandrino?"

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