Flowers for mother. < Jack >
Nov 9, 2013 21:46:02 GMT -5
Post by Lils<3 on Nov 9, 2013 21:46:02 GMT -5
Name: Adrienne Islington
Age: 16
Gender: Female
Her silky brown hair is worn long this morning, draping down past her shoulders, ending near her chest. Adrienne is clad in her usual pink dress shirt, her sleeves rolled up to just above her elbows, revealing her slightly toned forearms and hands. Her shirt unbuttoned at the top and bottom ever so slightly to ease the heat. Her denim shorts are worn without any stockings today, and she completes her outfit with her scuffed work boots.
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I came home,
like a stone,
and I fell heavy,
into your arms.
Small spotlights of sunlight seep through the slits in my blind, illuminating my face, and my scantily clad body. Ugh.. it's almost midday... My hands do the work and get me upright, picking the thin sheets off of my bare self. My hair is messy, I'll brush it in a bit. I swing my legs out of bed and climb to my feet, feebly stretching to limber up for today's activities. My feet are padding against the wood floor, and I stop myself infront of the mirror. There I was, skinny, slightly toned and pale white. Shaking my head loosens my hair up, and I run my fingers through it until it's at least a little straight, before reaching for my shorts, stepping into them and pulling them up and over my behind, covering me. There's my shirt. It's a nice shirt, silky and pink, my favorite color. I soon have it buttoned up, with the top a little undone, revealing my belly button, the top revealing some of my chest. My fingers run through my hair as I trapes down the stairs, saying my goodbyes to my father and brothers, before slipping my boots on and walking into the sunlight. Beautiful day, the sunlight embraced and illuminated me, welcoming me into the new day.
Pat pat pat. My boots make that sort of sound as they meet the gravel, and the wind whistles silently like the artful dodger as my basket weaved holes in my flower basket meet the breeze. It's busy today, it wont be long until public viewings of the games, so I better get moving. The path was in view, the path to the meadow. A few children run past me, giggling and pushing eachother as they reach the path, the meadow's path, where the children played. Most children are there today, except for a few. There are a few people who aree sullen, almost hostile. It was because of the games, because of Kyle. I kept my head down and continued to waltz down the path, eventually reaching the bank, my gaze fixates on the most beautiful stretch of grass in the world, period.
The fresh aroma of the fresh cut grass snakes into my nasal cavities like a malevolent serpent aching for a fleeing meal. Brightness reflecting off of every surface as the midday sun beams it's rays about, illuminating the beautiful meadow. The loud commotion of children frolicking about the field, the bustling of the town square but meters away; it's truly an atmospheric morning in District Two. My footsteps become muffled as soon as I slink onto the dry grass and begin walking down the bank toward the meadow, the beautiful lightning blue Scarlet Pimpernels swarming the meadows surface, blocking all signs of deep green turf just buried beneath. The meadow itself is starting to become more of a flower bed, which is perfect. Reaching down with my dominant hand, I begin the task to slowly scoop the best looking flowers from the ground, making sure to be careful and selective, mother loved these flowers, and they'll make a good addition to the ones currently resting just in front of her headstone. This task used to be father's, but ever since he became unwell it has become mine, a chore to say the least, but it has become part of my monthly duty. Although the games are currently ensuing I haven't found the time to pay too much attention, even though it is indeed forced viewing, my mind has always been astray, thinking of training regimes, work or helping bring food to the table. My trance was swiftly broken, I've been staring ahead for a good thirty to fourty seconds, but just then a ladybird, blissfully unaware of me being the giant, possibly murderous mammal I am, nonchalantly perches upon my nose. I stare at it, in a lop-eyed fashion, probably looking very, very strange to those surrounding me. Positioning my mouth, I aim my breath up, as if aiming to blow my hair from blocking my vision. It's wings appear and it is gone, like a dream one failed to chase.
These days of darkness,
which we've known.
will blow away with this new sun
which we've known.
will blow away with this new sun
After recovering from my daze, I return to waltzing through the field, scooping the best flowers. Time was ticking by, but on my days off, I do enjoy these flower picking days. The world, as horrible as it is, and it just seems to beautiful and innocent in the meadow. A hand ran it's fingers through my hair, my own hand. My eyes lay upon the smallest, most sullen looking flower amongst the beautiful bed, shadowed by it's fully grown kinsmen. My heart strings pulled, I carefully pull it free of the meadow, crouching down at a spot in the sunlight, I dig it it's own place to grow and nourish itself, my previously clean, trimmed fingers now caked in dirt and wet mud. I remain crouched there, for a while, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my palms, staring at this flower. It reminds me much of my father, overshadowed, broken and forgotten, but shown the light. That's it, this flower is my father, my father is a flower. Shaking my head, I quickly go about the task of getting to my feet, I release a quiet giggle at my outburst of philosophical thought, scooping my basket up, containing all the flowers I need to make a decent bouquet. Turning on my heels and breathing in, the taste of the midday air was a sweet one, and it brings a smile to my face. Moving swiftly, I begin to make my way at a steady pace from the meadow to the bank, steadily clambering to the top of the bank, and passing a few small alleyways to the town square market. It was very busy today, a lot of people took days off, it wouldn't be long until the games will come back on and the stools will be pushed aside, so people had the right mind to complete some last minute shopping, I'm on a mission to find some string, to tie these flowers. People begin to rush, pushing and barging, yelling and shouting, I feel someone barge my shoulder knocking me forwards, my grip on the flowers faltering, and the fragile plants falll onto the concrete floor, some trampled in the rush, I quickly kneel down and begin cleaning them up, the most sour of facial expressions easily giving off how I feel, but I am speechless. A small clearing in the crowd parts for me as I do so, and I embarrassingly begin to scoop each flower up.
And I'll kneel down,
wait for now,
and I'll kneel down,
know my ground
