{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jun 28, 2013 14:51:42 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 28, 2013 14:51:42 GMT -5

[/i]

~~~~~

My bare feet are hardly discernible beneath the layers of ice which have bound me to a surreal portrait of white, saturating the little vision I have left as I fade between this world of total white and another of an incomprehensible black.

I think it’s freezing, but I can’t be sure, because my face is contorted into a sneeze at the sweet fragrance of what seems to be jasmines and there’s a bird that keeps whispering even though every time I turn my head to find it, I’m only met with more somewheres.

Out of one of these somewheres, I am met with not a bird, but a penguin, a small envelope held between its two flippers. Its humanlike eyes beckon me to take the envelope and so, with much lassitude, I take it from the penguin’s wings and tear it open numbly. But before I read it, I realize, oh man… I’m not wearing pants. The letter, writing with an unsteady ~~hand~~ wing:

D e A r P e O p 1 e

I ‘ M s 0 r ry Y o U h a f t 0 l oO k u p a t s k I e s.

L o v E <3,
T h e B I r ds w h o c h o S 3 n 0 t t 0 f l y
[/center][/i]

… And I open my eyes
To the bright blue
From which all penguins have
Shied.

I hate the sky.[/i] But before I ponder the thought any longer, I sit up a little -- a chirping bird sitting on a branch to my right with a patch of flowers just beneath it (how did I get here again?) -- and look over at my legs. Realizing I am fully clothed, I contract into a sleeping body again and shut my tired eyes…

Goldfish swimming in a tank –

And I am immediately jolted awake because goldfish in my subconscious is the last thing I want, the last thing I need filling my nightmares, because goldfish remind me of my childhood pet Tobias, and I gave Tobias to Kormiko and every thought of Kormiko gives me that sinking feeling in my stomach that further reminds me that I’m not a bird, [/i]that I’ll never be a bird, and I can pick up feathers for as long as I want but wings, wings are made of more than feathers,[/i] and because of that, the ground will always be my home –

the solid,
still,
blatant ground. Ew, it’s a worm![/i]

I jump to my feet and drag them languidly to another tree and sit. Luckily, the tall trees cover most of the sky – the tall trees? What am I doing here?[/i] Did I do something last night? And then I remember the bottle, my parent’s basement, my frustration, oh god I’m thirsty, is this really what it feels like to be hungover, I can’t even remember last night, when’s the last time I saw Kormiko, wouldn’t it be nice to fly,[/i] and I suddenly remember the scribbled note I’d left in Kormiko’s mailbox a couple nights ago after ringing his doorbell twenty times, the only words being that simple phrase that had incited such a dynamic dream last night, words that sounded so much more malicious than their intent: “I hate you like I hate the sky.”

And it all comes back.

The days of crying helplessly on my bed because Kormiko wouldn’t answer his phone or his doorbell or even his constant mail – I wrote out actual words for him and he still didn’t respond![/i] Days of constant emptiness. And then the tiny drink from one of the bottles in my parent’s basement, the desperation, the curiosity. And then another drink, and another, and then a lot of wandering people and a lot of wandering and then…[/i]

Here.
The woods.

I wonder if the woods loves me.[/i] I know the sky doesn’t; it loves the birds and the butterflies -- the animals that feed on perfection as they soar through the skies -- but not me.[/i] Does Kormiko love me? Or did the sky take him away too, give him wings, taunt me with a dream I’ll never reach?

If they did,
I’ll tear the sky apart.
I’ll tear it apart until all the birds fall down.[/i]

Where is he? My thoughts whisper. (Where am I?)[/i]
My weary gaze glides gently to the blue above me, the blue that I love and hate and the blue that I wish my hands could take.

I wish I didn’t want to fly.

I wish I didn’t feel envy coursing through my veins every time I picked up feathers from the ground.

I wish I could be a penguin.

Yes, a penguin. [/i]

I smile and close my eyes, letting my neck rest against the trunk of the tree. I’ll find my way home later.

ooc; sorry/not sorry this post is mostly about penguins and feathers and goldfish. [/blockquote][/size][/justify][/color]

Last Edit: Jun 29, 2013 10:27:04 GMT -5 by Deleted

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jun 30, 2013 19:16:07 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 30, 2013 19:16:07 GMT -5

[/color]. It’d come to her on especially long walks though the tall trees growing outside of the districts. I think it was her way of lightening the situation, the two of us without much food and ragged bits of clothing, defended only by the long twigs we liked to call knockers ( on account we had whittled the front ends to make them better for cracking open someone’s skull [/i]). Life was much more exciting and free outside of the districts. Even if we didn’t know where our meals were coming from we had each other, and we didn’t have to listen to anyone telling us what we were supposed to do or see or learn. We would steal books and art, we would read and talk about what was right and what was wrong. We had our own code of conduct, and our own golden rule—[/color]leave the world better than you found it.[/color] Which meant people, places, or things weren’t ever supposed to be harmed if we could help it.

Today has been particularly hard on me. The heat has set in for the summer months, and sweat drips off every part of my body. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve ducked into the districts. I had heard they were preparing again to get ready for their annual games[/color], which meant that there was a lot more security around. I did my best to stock up before heading out into the wilds (both on food and human interaction); it’d be some time before I’d come face to face with anyone friendly. My big knapsack clanked against my back—it’s full of treasures, of things I’ve collected over the years. I have colored bits of glass that look like jewelry, old books with worn leather bindings, a few scraps of paper with drawings. Beautiful things, pretty things that I can look at when I’m tired and have set up a little tent for the night.

I clutch my walking stick when I hear the snap of a twig. It’s not often I come across wandering wanderers like myself. Often I turn and run if I get the chance, or try to take to the trees. No sense in fighting, especially when a lot of us travel in groups. Me just by myself is in for a world of hurt if I try anything on my own. Besides, I don’t like to fight. I’ve found it abhorrent to have to solve anything through violence—momma always said I was a stupid, sweet pacifist.[/color] I just don’t know why people can’t solve things through talking. Maybe since I like to tell long, rambling stories, I have that bias. Today, however, I feel a prickle run down my neck and through my back. It’s the heat making me anxious, and my boots crunch against the dirt. I hold the walking stick in front of my fact, and angle around the edge of a tree. I spy the sight of a young girl resting against a tree, and let out of a sigh of relief.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I say, my voice booming out to her. I still have my walking stick between my hands, but a part of me is already relaxed. “I didn’t think I’d come across anyone for another few weeks.” I all smiles as I bounce along, padding my walking stick into the ground. “And a pretty one too. You know, you look like you could be straight out of a…” I search for the words. What were those things that people read? Or that thing they watched when they wanted to be entertained. “Magazine. Or television!” I’m all fluster and flattery now. “What’re you called, little lady…?”[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

Last Edit: Jun 30, 2013 19:17:13 GMT -5 by Deleted

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 2, 2013 10:23:27 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 2, 2013 10:23:27 GMT -5

[/i]
In the few seconds that I close my eyes, I drift through that picturesque little world between sleep and consciousness,[/i] the birds’ chirps following me as I enter a dark room – a dark room with two metal shelves, a sink, and a small bowl crammed into the corner. It only takes a couple of minutes for my subconscious to put that image in my head and remind me of the killing fear that room had imbedded into my mind and then still the relief of coming out so alive. [/i]

But that’s when the sudden thought hits me, the slim possibility that Kormiko might be back there[/i] – the terrible idea that they took him back (although it is a somewhat relieving idea to think he may have not left me intentionally); but what if the Detention Center really did? And now he’s going to pay for the lack of suffering we endured last time…[/i]

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Ahhh!” I scream, momentarily frightened by the booming voice that interrupts my dreams. I open my eyes, but it’s okay; it’s no peacekeeper, no Capitol official, just a boy. “My goodness, you startled me!” I sound like my mother when I say that with the stupid Capitol accent that I've been trying to get rid of for years.

And the thought of Kormiko in the Detention Center hits me again, but I don’t say anything. I don’t cry or scream or make some ridiculous run to find him; I just let my insides slowly melt, pushing the sorrow away and forcing the curious to stay.[/i] I’m free, I’m out of the Capitol – isn’t this what I’ve always wanted? To explore the world beyond?

“I didn’t think I’d come across anyone for another few weeks. And a pretty one too.” I slowly stand up, pushing my frenzied hair out of my face. Pretty? Please. I would kill for a hot shower right now; but although I may be a (slightly prudish) rebel and even an arsonist, I’m no murderer. So that shower’s gonna have to wait. “You know, you look like you could be straight out of a…magazine. Or television! What’re you called, little lady…?”

I imagined this day for a long time – the day when I’d finally break free of the Capitol’s chains and see what’s beyond the empty little world we live in, but more importantly, the day I’d finally figure out if goldfish really can swim in the ocean. But I never thought I’d be doing it alone. Every time the idea came to my head, I saw Kormiko – Kormiko and I, Freya and Kormiko, Mr. Lazarov and Ms. Hanig, (Mr. and Mrs. Lazarov?).[/i] I almost never saw just Freya, but when I did, I saw big and powerful Freya. Not “little lady” Freya. A few minutes ago, I thought about holding off my judgments, but all I want to do right now is punch this guy in the face. [/i]Little lady? Little lady?! I thought District people would be cooler than this.

“You’re the one who looks like you could be straight out of television. I’ve watched the Games enough times to know,” I say nonchalantly, taking a few steps towards him and observing him curiously, like a child at the zoo – scratch that. I’m not a child.[/i] More like a detective, a much disoriented detective. Discarding all previous judgments, but still making new ones, I let the questions run wild. “…Why are you walking with a stick? Your legs look fine.” I inquire, proceeding to look at his clothes. Before he can answer my last question, I’m already asking, “What have you been doing, playing with pigs?” as I snicker quietly at his appearance. And then “What do you keep in there?” as I point to his backpack. “How long have you been out here? What district do you live in? Do you even live in a district or are you like homeless? Why are you even out here? By the way, do you have any food because I am so damn hungry! Do you have a weapon or something or do you just walk around out here unarmed? Oh wait, are you trying to get into the Capitol, because if you’re trying to attack or something, I can totally help you out with – oh my, who the heck designed this jacket? It looks like it’s from the dinosaur age!” I exclaim, putting my hands onto his sleeves and then fumbling with the material, unaware that this may at all be an invasion of personal space.

Us Capitol citizens are used to walking all over things. [/i]

And then I realize just how much “Capitol blood” I have in me and quickly step back, embarrassed. “Sorry! Sorry! I don’t mean to be offensive or annoying or anything, I really don’t, sorry! I’m not usually like this! I just…I’ve never met someone of your species before.” And then my face turns red and I want to erase all of the words I just said. Capitol citizens use so many derogatory terms to describe district people that they've just become habit. “I don’t mean species! I mean…people. Or something.” I cover my face with my hands. Where has my eloquence gone? Where’s Freya: freshman class president and sophomore class vice president (only because of that stupid, rich Andrea Baker who took the whole school on a shopping spree)?[/i]

I take a deep breath, but that breath is drawn short by the enrapturing shiver that chills my entire body[/i] when I think about what Kormiko may be doing right now in comparison to what I’m doing right now.

Finally deciding to take a few steps back, I answer his previous question, “Okay, hi. I’m Freya,” I say, my voice lowering about five octaves. “And I’m not a little lady, because little ladies are always supporting characters and I’m not a supporting character, okay? Go read Jane Eyre and come back with some respect.” However, I doubt he’s ever even heard of such a book since all of those pre-historic books were taken and destroyed many years ago – although some were kept away by a fifteen-year old girl who found a basement full of treasures.

Because to me, I am nothing but a heroine writing her own story. [/i]

ooc; So...this post was going to be really short. And then it wasn't. [/blockquote][/size][/justify][/color]

Last Edit: Jul 2, 2013 10:28:47 GMT -5 by Deleted

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 3, 2013 13:42:34 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 3, 2013 13:42:34 GMT -5

[/color]), sending me back a step. My goodness, you’ve startled me.[/color] I scrunch my face upon hearing her accent. The way the words fly out of her mouth, I can tell that she’s not from any of the districts that I’ve become familiar with. They roll off of her tongue in such a natural, punctual way that they’re altogether lovely and grating. I shrug my shoulders. I don’t think anyone is usually afraid of me, at least, that’s not their first reaction when their eyes come into focus and can see that I’m not even six feet tall (four or five inches shorter than that, actually[/color]) and no great muddied warrior with a switchblade or other frightening bits of a steel.

You’re the one who looks like you could be straight out of television. I’ve watched the Games enough times to know… [/color] This makes my skin crawl, and I’m not sure what it is about it. Last time I went into a district, an older woman that had been dawdling on the street had grabbed onto my arm. I thought she was the batty type, the sort that you shove off and ignore, since she’s lost all the marbles rolling around in her head. But she kept screaming something at me, something about my face, about—I don’t know, something about the games. I took off running before she got enough attention from anyone else. I just remember her screaming about the games, and the whole of her shaking and collapsing down onto the ground like a rag doll. I raise an eyebrow at this surly lass—because surely she is surly—and let out a chuckle. Maybe it’s better I look familiar, and that she hasn’t run off screaming. Must mean that she’s alone though, if she hasn’t gone off running or calling for anyone else.

Why are you walking with a stick? Your legs look fine. What have you been doing, playing with pigs? What do you keep in there?[/color] I wiggle my finger at her questions, but before I can get out a word, she keeps going. Each time I open my mouth to try to answer her, she spits out another question, forcing me to close my mouth and furrow my brows. I must look like a fish, opening and closing my mouth over and over again while she spits out questions mixed with the slightest bit of condescension. At last she seems to settle. Sorry! Sorry! I don’t mean to be offensive or annoying or anything, I really don’t, sorry! I’m not usually like this! I just…I’ve never met someone of your species before. [/color]

I should be offended. This girl out in the middle of nowhere, sitting by herself as though life is just going to pass her by. There is a lot of danger out in these woods, especially for people that don’t know what they’re doing. I ought to tell her what for, I ought to read her the riot act. But part of me is proud. I am a different species; I am a boy that’s gone and made it on his own, without ever having to live by the rules of the capitol. My mother should be proud, I’m smart and strong, I can fend for myself. I don’t have a roof over my head and I might smell like a pig but I’m happy. Which is more than what most people can say. If that makes me a different species and a different breed then I will bend a knee and tip my hat at the suggestion. That’s what they did in old times, right? I let out another chuckle and rub my forehead with my ruddy hands. Okay, hi. I’m Freya.[/color] At last she reveals her name. I mouth the word, and feel my cheeks pull back as I pronounce it. And I’m not a little lady, because little ladies are always supporting characters and I’m not a supporting character, okay? Go read Jane Eyre and come back with some respect. [/color]

“I don’t know who that is,” I admit. The only books I’ve ever read were the ones my mother managed to steal. Big tomes, like Moby Dick, about some giant whale, or Treasure Island, about swashbuckling pirates. Mostly adventure books, ones that made me proud that I was growing up to be like them. I held up my walking stick and waved it in front of her face. “And I’m sorry if I offended you. But if you really must know. I use this,” And I take a step closer, holding the thing inches from her face. I give her a light tap on the forehead. “…like that. To take care of anyone that is pesky and decides that they want to mess with me. Because as you might have imagined, it’s a little hectic out here.” I step back and shake my head. “You’re not…” I bring an arm behind my head. “You’re not from around here, though, are you?”

I know from her questions there’s no way she’s a wanderer. She’s got an air of refinement about her that pretty much betrays her from ever being from a lower district. She could have been from one of the upper ones, but the accent. Man. I can’t get over the way she sounds, it’s as though she’s got marbles in her mouth to protect the words from falling out. I run a tongue along my cheek and wonder what I must sound like without having had a home to model my words after. And some of my words, they might make her scratch her head, like calling my walking stick a knocker, or that she looks chawed up—meaning a mess. I hoist my backpack over my shoulder and plop it onto the ground. For a second I wonder if maybe I do need a new jacket—after all, I like to think that I have a good eye for what looks pretty—but I busy my hands with the contents of my rucksack.

“How about a slice of apple?” I pull out a tiny little red apple and hold it in my hands. I don’t have much to share, but when it comes to having company, if just for a little while, I’m aching. “And as far as I can tell… well, I’m not from any particular district. I was born—“ This part of the story is muddied, and I don’t want to tell her just yet, so I chew my lip. “In a group of people that decided to wander. Since we didn’t want to live inside the walls. I’m Rum Tum. Rum Tum Tugger.” [/justify][/blockquote][/size]

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 5, 2013 12:15:56 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 5, 2013 12:15:56 GMT -5

[/i]
“I don’t know who that is. And I’m sorry if I offended you. But if you really must know. I use this like that.” He taps me on the forehead with the stupid stick. Once the stick goes down, I bring a hand to my forehead, wiping up the little spot of dirt it left. “To take care of anyone that is pesky and decides that they want to mess with me. Because as you might have imagined, it’s a little hectic out here.”

I can’t tell if he’s serious or if he’s joking, but I assume he’s serious. “What kind of self-defense weapon is that? They tell us all you wanderers carry around illegal weapons like they’re toys, but I’m pretty sure you’re doing it the other way around.” I cross my arms, trying to understand these nomadic humans.

“You’re not…You’re not from around here, though, are you?” He asks.

“No, I’m not,” I say, almost regretfully. “I’m from the Capitol…but let’s get something straight up front. When a girl asks me whether she should buy a new Chanel handbag or a new Gucci handbag, I tell her I really don’t freaking care! And you know, if you want to wear a jacket from the dinosaur age, wear it, because I am so sick of hearing people complain about how their hairstylist didn’t do it right this time or how their skin isn’t dyed the right shade of purple – then why dye it in the first place?! And my goodness, I have not slept for the past month because my parents think it’s SUCH a good idea to throw raving parties every day at our house until 4 AM. And let’s not even get into the games, okay? I could go on for a century about how much I hate it when my mom’s like, ‘Honey, c’mon, watch the games with us. It’ll be some good family bonding!’ And when everyone and their mother is gossiping about me behind my back and when my parents think there’s something wrong with me because they heard something about me setting fires and they think I’m going to murder the whole Capitol overnight, people really need to calm down sometimes! So yeah, I might be from the Capitol but that doesn’t make me one of those airheads, okay? I’ve been to the Detention”—I stop myself mid-sentence and let that fully enrapturing shiver enter my spine again because I see that dark cell – the dark cell that had been my home for months but is now probably housing a young man who is only there for loving me:[/i] for loving me enough to listen to my wild ideas, for lighting the match when I told him to, for trying to navigate the seas that came from my mad thoughts.[/i]

And for a few seconds, silence eats my words.[/i]

“How about a slice of apple?”

I’m glad to tune back into reality. Or fantasy. Or whatever this woods is – alternate reality?[/i] Anyways, the way he says “slice of apple” makes me think he doesn't have much food on him – when’s the last time he’s taken a bite? [/i]Is he saving up? For once, I open the door for the little sensitivity my heart holds and I let it speak. “Never mind, I’m not that hungry. I can wait.” Plus, like this boy. It doesn't seem like he has a gun, he doesn't seem to be a murderer, and he hasn't yet started complaining about his new haircut or something shallow like that. He seems like an actual person with actual feelings, actualy ambitions, and actual problems. Kind of like Kormiko. [/i]

“And as far as I can tell… well, I’m not from any particular district. I was born—In a group of people that decided to wander. Since we didn’t want to live inside the walls. I’m Rum Tum. Rum Tum Tugger.”

“Do you people usually give your kids names like Rum Tum? Or you are just one of those unfortunate children who have parents that want to become innovators for the next generation’s set of weird names?” It’s only after I say it that I realize I’m being a tad offensive again. “But don’t worry, I know enough people like that. There’s a girl who goes to my school named Xervakiea and I have no idea where that came from.”

I think about what Rum Tum Tum Tigger, or whatever his name is, just said. I wonder what it’s like to wander day and night and never have a direction.[/i] I guess that’s the one good thing about living in a tiny world like the Capitol; people give you your purpose.[/i] Then again, if you don’t like that purpose, there’s nothing to change. “You know, you kind of remind me of a character I read about in a book called Into the Wild,” I say, thinking about the crate of stolen books in my closet. “He spends his whole life wandering through the wild, looking for something more. Except he wasn’t born into it like you were.” I pause, trying to remember what happens. “But then he dies.“ I shrug. I didn't like the ending.

"It wasn't such a great read, but I can probably find the ebook for you on my phone! There's internet service out here, right?" I take out my phone and turn it on but before I can even answer my own question, my eyes go wide and I throw the phone from my hands, chucking it at the ground. Why do I have my phone?[/i] Once my parents find out I'm missing, they can just click a few numbers and then they've found me again. And then the peacekeepers have found me again. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I stomp on it with my shoe a few times until the screen is cracked and my foot can't destroy it any further. [/i]

"We need to move out of here, get as much distance as possible," I say hastily. "My parents can track me on that thing. Start running." And I set off, my weak legs pulling me forward, my throat already gasping for air. The only running experience I've ever had was seventh grade track-and-field, which I only joined because my parents wanted me to. Time to put the skills, or lack thereof[/i], to the test.

ooc; Half of this post is yellow. Did I mention Freya never shuts up?[/color][/blockquote][/size][/justify]

Last Edit: Jul 5, 2013 12:20:09 GMT -5 by Deleted

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 7, 2013 23:01:13 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 7, 2013 23:01:13 GMT -5

[/color] I look down at the apple as she speaks and nod my head. Maybe it’s the gentleman in me, or maybe it’s from being alone for so long, but it doesn’t bother me that she keeps running her mouth like the way a dog barks at someone coming too close to a fence. I wonder what it must be like running away from the capitol. Aren’t they supposed to have everything there? Then again, I recognize how awful it must be living cramped in a city, even if it is the lap of luxury. There’s nothing like the wide open spaces in between districts. I’ve got the trees and fresh air, and lots to see. I’m always finding something new, even when I’m not expecting it. Just the other day, I saw a fawn with her babies near a stream, taking in the water and acting like I wasn’t even so much as a shadow. Not that it would have made much difference, I don’t like to kill anything bigger than a rabbit. It takes too long to skin and prepare anything that big, and I’m a lot lazier than most people realize. Still I’m nodding along with her.

Is this what the whole world is like when you’ve got nothing but distractions? I never used to talk so much with my mother. We would talk about the trees, or the feel of the earth on our feet. We talked about what happened in history, and why the world was the way it was. We made up our own philosophies, we sang our own songs. It’s just as strange to me to hear the music of the districts when I’m there. Sometimes I’m afraid someone will ask me something that I don’t know, or something I don’t recognize and I’ll just freeze. I guess it’s why I turned to collecting. Picking out what I think is beautiful helps to connect me to what I don’t know. Like the little bits of glass I have in my backpack, or the old costume jewelry that I like to wear from time to time. It’s apparently strange for a boy to wear rings or necklaces, or big goofy earrings. But I always thought all of it was pretty, especially when it gleams in the sun.

Do you people usually give your kids names like Rum Tum?[/color] I lift up my gaze toward her now and narrow my eyes. “Well,” I take a bite of the apple she’s so courteously refused, “It’s nothing like Freya I guess.” I chew the apple with my mouth open and grin. “My family used to be a whole big clan, and they would play the drums at night. And my mom said she liked the way that it sounded, that it was supposed to be a sign of great things. So they would bang on the drums to celebrate all sorts of things. The sound of Rum Tum Tumming meant good things for us. So she named me Rum Tum, so that I would always be lucky.” It’s nothing like what they would do in the capitol, but a fat load of good that had done this girl, right? Out here wandering from whatever world that she knew. Had she said something about the detention center, though? I cock my head and polish off the apple with a crunch.

He spends his whole life wandering through the wild, looking for something more. Except he wasn’t born into it like you were. But then he dies.[/color] I should be afraid of that being my own fate, especially with a girl like this. She’s already got a piece of metal out and is warbling about the capitol. There’s no doubt that she’s going to get me into trouble. But a part of me feels bad for her—I can’t just leave her on her own. Especially not when I know just exactly how harsh and cruel the capitol will be to her if she gets caught. It’s not really my duty to take care of her but I’m not one to cut and run.

“In-ter-net?” I look at her quizzically. “Is that something you catch people with?” But she doesn’t answer before smashing her little internet machine to pieces. “Woah…” I look from her to the ground. “Slow down rabbit foot!” I call out, nicknaming her with the way she’s already darting further into the forest. I struggle to shove everything I need into my rucksack before I too take off running. It’s not long before I’ve caught up with her and am running alongside. “We should run… along… the river. We’ll be able to track where we’re going and if they send anything after us… we can get away. Besides… if they catch us, they’ll probably kill me, not you…”
[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 8, 2013 12:55:56 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 8, 2013 12:55:56 GMT -5

[/i]

“Well,” he says, “It’s nothing like Freya, I guess. My family used to be a whole big clan, and they would play the drums at night. And my mom said she liked the way that it sounded, that it was supposed to be a sign of great things. So they would bang on the drums to celebrate all sorts of things. The sound of Rum Tum Tumming meant good things for us. So she named me Rum Tum, so that I would always be lucky."

My mind holds this vivid image of people sitting around a fire playing drums, brothers not by blood but by the beat of the drum. I wonder what my parents named me after; is there a story behind me too?[/i] I shrug at the idea, knowing my parents would've never been that thoughtful. They’re probably too hung over to notice I’m gone in the first place. [/i]

“In-ter-net? Is that something you catch people with?” I give him a teasing grin. “It’s a nice reassurance knowing I’m not the only one who’s got a lot to learn.”

“Whoah…” he says, “Slow down rabbit foot!” He struggles to get everything back into his pack, but I don’t wait. I never wait. Once he’s finally caught up to me, he says, “We should run… along… the river. We’ll be able to track where we’re going and if they send anything after us… we can get away. Besides… if they catch us, they’ll probably kill me, not you…”

“Good idea,” I say, my voice empty as his last sentence echoes through my brain and slowly pulls it apart. Besides…if they catch us, they’ll probably kill me, not you... Guilt scurries through my veins. They won’t catch us, will they? They won’t. They can’t. I cannot, under any circumstances, let this turn into Kormiko 2.0.[/i] Maybe I should just run back to Capitol and crawl beneath the covers in my bed where I know everyone will be safe; but at this point, I know there’s no going back. As we run, I can only help but feel an even greater wave of guilt engulfing me as I realize that heart-pounding activities like this are usually reserved for Kormiko and I. [/i]What would he say if he knew I was out exploring the world without him? What if he comes home to the Capitol and I’m not there? What if he never comes home? Or maybe, what if I find him first? What if I never make it home? [/i]

The only direction I have in my life is the one that tells me we’re going west because the sun is on the other side of the sky. Everything else is just a blur.[/i] At this point, the river is next to us and my legs are fighting to keep up with Rum Tum. I don’t want to come off as weak and unskilled, especially when I know Rum Tum is probably judging me as some airhead Capitol girl even though I specifically explained that I was not! Then again, who’s to say I’m not judging him too?

“You know...I wonder if there’s...a district near here.” I say between gasps as we run. “Do you usually...enter the districts? These woods are humongous! How long have we been running...because I don’t see any District... fences yet? But I guess the world...is pretty big. In school, we used to look at maps and it all...looked pretty small until... they told us that there are thousands of miles out there, a good majority of them...open woods. And they said that there’s wild animals out there...and muttations that they let loose so that people don’t try to run off. That’s why they say you don’t see wanderers a lot; they die off in about a week...and the ones who don’t are caught. But it all seems like BS if you ask me; I mean, you’re still alive…”

I realize my words are of useless context. What an idiot. "To be honest, I'm just trying to make...conversation." At some point, however, it becomes too hard to breathe and talk at the same time while running. Still, I keep my legs in action, despite my weakening lungs. Don’t stop, I will my body. As we run, I watch the trees as the wind rattles their leaves, so enthralled by this idea of a forest. However, the heat wears me down and spots cloud my vision, and although I don’t want to stop, I force myself to slow. “Can we…can we stop…I can't...” I say, trying to catch my breath. The dots circle my vision like bugs crawling into my eyes [/i]and the world almost goes black for a second, but I don’t let it. Instead, I sit on the ground, reach my hand out to the river and bring a splash of water to my face. I try to get up but soon give up, letting my head fall to the grass, my eyes staring at the entrancing sky like an idiot.

"Do you run through these woods all the time? Because seventh grade track-and-field definitely did not prepare me for this," I laugh and refuse to move from my comfortable spot on the ground, my heart pounding and my breath still trying to catch up. For a second, I want to tell Rum Tum to just leave me here, leave me here to lie down next to the river underneath the trees and wait for the world to pick me up. Then I remember that I hate the sky that stares back at me[/i] and I pull myself to my feet weakly. "But we should keep walking, get more distance," I say shortly, pushing the sweaty hair from my face. I'm not giving up. At least not quite yet.
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Last Edit: Jul 8, 2013 15:03:07 GMT -5 by Deleted

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 8, 2013 23:20:34 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 8, 2013 23:20:34 GMT -5

[/color]) have a way about them, like they always know the answers to everything. It’s the wandering wanderer in me that tells me where to roam. It takes being out here, in the real world[/color], to know what’s important and how to really move. Heck, the last two years I’ve been on my own and found out just how hard it can be going a few days without water and your stomach rumbling grumbling when it’s not full of anything. They talk about the games, about kids having to make it on their own with their massive arenas full of strange things, but that’s my day to day. There have been a few times when I’ve had to hold my breath and seen the creatures that still roam between the districts. In the dead of night is the scariest, especially traveling alone. Still gives me chills when I wake up after hearing the call of something far away. It’s when I know I have to pack up and get going, and not look back[/color].

I treasure every moment. It’s what I’ve been taught and what I’ve taken to heart. You never know when the last moment might come, so you just have to keep living until it does. I look at Freya and shake my head at the suggestion of a district being near. We’re pretty far from anywhere at this point, which is both good and bad for our circumstances. Someone like Freya wouldn’t understand what it meant to live in the moment, would she? Talking about internets and doodads and strange machines—all these district people lived life with what was in their hands and right in front of their faces, not with the sand between their toes or the water swallowing up their heads. Man.[/color] I would rather be hung by my neck like a hunted bird than have to live that way. I cough and rub my nose as we come to a stop. As good of a shape as I’m in, it’s a toll to have to carry my knapsack and do it at the same time. I bite at one of my fingernails and throw a glance over my shoulder.

“You don’t see wanderers because they don’t want to be found.” I’m short with her and don’t mean to be. It’s not her fault that she has so many questions. If I was curious about the capitol I probably would be running off at the mouth, too. But it’s the way she says it mostly that gets under the skin. That’s why they say you don’t see wanderers a lot; they die off in about a week...[/color] I think about the number of other wanderers I’ve ever seen, and it’s no more than the fingers on both my hands, maybe a few toes included. We’re a rare breed, but I still think it’s got more to do with wanting to be found and being able to hide than anything else. And the ones who don’t are caught.[/color] It hits me like a punch in the gut, still, and I stare down at the ground for a minute or two. She doesn’t know a thing about my mother and I don’t feel like telling her, but it still hurts to think about it. I chew the bottom of my lip.

“Well, we don’t have much of a choice,” I say, still staring down at the ground. “We can go back to where you came from, which doesn’t seem smart at all since I bet they would catch us. But then I don’t know if you’ll be able to handle all the—all the hiking we’ll have to do to get to where we’re going. There aren’t any whozits or whatzits that you can just open up and call for help. It’s going to take a lot of listening for you to get through it, and I’m not saying that to be mean. I’m saying that because I’ve lived my whole life out here and I still don’t know what I’m doing,” I finish with a humph. I don’t even know why I’m offering to take her along, other than the fact that I feel bad for her. And if the capitol found her, dead or alive, they’d blame me for abandoning her most likely.[/color] All that and it’s been so long since I’ve had anyone to spend my time with, I don’t want her going just yet.

“We’re maybe a hundred miles, maybe more from District 7. It’s about a month until we get to District 11.” I look up at her with an arm behind my head. It’s not like I’ve ever had much of a plan, but usually during the summer months I try to make my way South East so when Fall hits, it’s not so cold. “What do you think?”

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 10, 2013 1:09:31 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2013 1:09:31 GMT -5

[/i]
“You don’t see wanderers because they don’t want to be found,” Rum Tum says. The response is practical enough to shut me up. He bites his bottom lip and I said something wrong. I want to say something but for a moment, I realize it’s probably better if I just shut my mouth for once.[/i]

“Well, we don’t have much of a choice,” he says before I have the chance to think up any new words, but his eyes are still on the ground and even I, insensitive and aggressive, can tell something’s up. “We can go back to where you came from, which doesn’t seem smart at all since I bet they would catch us. But then I don’t know if you’ll be able to handle all the – all the hiking we’ll have to do to get to where we’re going. There aren’t any whozits or whatzits that you can just open up and call for help. It’s going to take a lot of listening for you to get through it, and I’m not saying that to be mean. I’m saying that because I’ve lived my whole life out here and I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

“We’re maybe a hundred miles, maybe more from District 7. It’s about a month until we get to District 11.” He puts his arm behind his head, just like before, and I smile slightly at his relaxed stance, but I’m still quite curious about what he was caught up in before and I start to -- Wait, did he say a month?![/i]

“What do you think?” He asks, and I immediately pull my head back into the current situation. What do I think!?[/i] Does he really want to know what I think, because I don’t know what to think when Kormiko’s probably locked away in the Detention Center or maybe he isn’t – maybe he’s making out with some older girl in her apartment on the other side of the District or maybe he ran away and for some absurd reason, decided to wander through the woods just like that! But either way, he’s going to come back looking for me, right?[/i] He’s going to come back and I’m not going to be waiting for him because I’m going to be miles and miles away, travelling with some mysterious young man I just met, and that looks pretty shady,[/i] right? But I’ve been waiting and crying and waiting and eating [/i]and crying for way too long and I just don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t I don’t I don’t I don’t and I hate my parents and I don’t want to be trapped in my fishbowl any longer[/i] and I just want to be one of those people who don’t have to think! But that gap in my heart that has been so empty without Kormiko is starting to close, but it’s not supposed to![/i] I have to wait for him! But my gut feeling is telling me that I can’t keep waiting like this. I gotta do what I want.

For a moment, I stop thinking because thinking hurts,[/i] and then I let my eyes fall on Rum Tum inquisitively. I’m not sure how I want to answer his question yet, so instead, I ask more. “Can I ask you something?” And this time, I’m one-hundred percent serious. “Don’t you ever get lonely out here? Or scared?” I glance around at the trees, trying to spot the many sounds that surround us, unpredictable in their ways.

“I mean, are you even an adult yet? Don’t you ever need your parents or even friends to, I dunno, help you if you fall ill or guide you in the right direction or even just be there for you?” I cross my arms, as if it will do me some good against the dangers that lurk all around me. My eyes fall to the ground. “It just seems kind of sad. How are you supposed to celebrate all this freedom if there’s no one to celebrate it with but the trees?” I hear a howl in the distance and nearly jump. “And the coyotes,” I add, although I’d always thought that coyotes were night animals, and the fact that one could be nearby gives me unsettling feeling that makes me question whether I really want to do this, or whether I should just crawl back beneath my covers and be a coward for the rest of my life. [/i][/color][/size][/blockquote][/justify]

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 14, 2013 22:51:58 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2013 22:51:58 GMT -5

[/color]

I blink. It’s a little like a punch to the gut then, coming from her. She hits the nail on the head harder than I thought she would, and still I’m not ready for the question. I lick my lips and stare up at the heads of the trees. They’re blooming now, but in a few months’ time, they’ll be changing colors. They always change, they’re always predictable that way. I turn and stare back at her. What’s a boy like me supposed to say to a girl that’s never even set foot outside of the capitol, to talk about what it feels like wandering through the wastes. I could lie.[/color] I don’t have to tell her the truth, since that’s none of her business. ‘Cause it’s easier to put on a façade. Nobody gets hurts when you soften the truth, especially for someone that’s going to be scared of it. But that’s a lie, too.[/color] If you don’t tell the truth, you’re just as likely to hurt someone when everything becomes real. Because as much as a lie can protect someone, the only thing it’s protecting is you. A lie’s just a smokescreen; when it clears away you’re left with what was there anyway. And then you haven’t got a choice as to who gets to tell the truth.

I mean, are you even an adult yet? Don’t you ever need your parents or even friends to, I dunno, help you if you fall ill or guide you in the right direction or even just be there for you?[/color] I shake my head. There was a smile, but it flat lines. I stare down at the ground. I’m seventeen. I’m a man, aren’t I? I don’t know how they do it in the districts, but I’m old enough to look after myself, and to make camp. I know what it means to look at someone and feel, or to dream about being touched. And I know what’s beautiful. At least, it’s what I try to understand, most of all. And I’ve learned how to navigate these woods just as good as anyone else. It just seems kind of sad. How are you supposed to celebrate all this freedom if there’s no one to celebrate it with but the trees? [/color] I clear my throat.

“I’ve been by myself for a couple of years now,” I say. I’ve never been one to hide behind a mask. I always saw things as more beautiful for what they were. Look at the rainbows after a rainstorm. Or the little dots on a pepper moth, all black and ashy and gray. They could write a billion words on just those little wings, flapping in the wind. Is it really that lonely out here?[/color] At least I could trust the animals and the trees. The weather, too. None of them tried to be something that they weren’t. People now, we’re vicious to one another. I like to think that we grow up into something different but, I know that isn’t true, either. We’re supposed to be smarter the older we get. And yeah sure, we get lots of thoughts in our heads about everything, but that doesn’t mean we’re better with our hearts. People can be just as mean and awful to one another no matter how smart they are.

“I would say I’ve learned how to survive though,” I let my voice fall. That I want company is another story. For as awful as people can be to one another, there’s no replacing a voice calling back to my own. “And yeah, it does get a little lonely.” I’m honest, if anything else. I like to be depended on for that. My mother always knew if I was lying, because I’m so terrible at it. “But I don’t mind. It’s why I collect so many things. It helps to have things to think about when you’ve got no one to talk to.” Does that make me sound pathetic? I feel my cheeks flush. I don’t usually get so embarrassed, but then I realize I don’t often have people to get embarrassed in front of. What about freedom? “Besides, I get to do what I want since I don’t have anyone to answer to. Who has more freedom than I do?”

I look up at her then with a half-smile. “I got by this far on my own. I guess if I fell down and died that would be my own fault, wouldn’t it?” I shrug my shoulders. “I always believed that we’re on this earth for as long as we’re supposed to be. I can’t stop if something is going to make me sick or kill me. That’s just the way it’s got to be.” I shrug my shoulders again. “It must be better than being surrounded by people and still feeling like you aren’t a part of anything, right? I’d rather be out here doing what I wanted than cooped up somewhere, not happy and still lonely. At least out here I don’t have anyone to answer to and nothing to follow. I get to make it up as I go along.”

I stare at the ground and smile again. “Why, you think I need the company?” I look up again. “Seems to me you’re the one that was running away from something.”

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 15, 2013 19:13:04 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 15, 2013 19:13:04 GMT -5

[/i]
“And yeah, it does get a little lonely. But I don’t mind. It’s why I collect so many things. It helps to have things to think about when you’ve got no one to talk to.” He keeps looking at the ground and shrugging his shoulders. I listen to every lingering word he says, but the part that hits me is, “It must be better than being surrounded by people and still feeling like you aren't a part of anything, right? I’d rather be out here doing what I wanted than cooped up somewhere, not happy and still lonely.” And I realize that I’m not out here because I need to get away from the peacekeepers or because I want to acquire new knowledge about the world outside the fishbowl. I’m here because I still don’t know where to call home.[/i] “Why, you think I need the company?” He looks up from the ground with a smile. “Seems to me you’re the one that was running away from something.”

I can’t stop myself from going back to his earlier statement about collecting and ask without any pre-thought, “But who’s going to collect your thoughts the day you die? You can think all you want, but that’s not going to change anything unless you actually speak out!” I am slightly irritated, especially having formerly aspired to become president, because I think that if you have a thought, you’re not supposed to keep it to yourself in your own little corner of the world.[/i] You’re supposed to share it. You’re supposed to be it! At this point, my face is red with passion and yet I can’t even see what a hypocrite I am. All I hear in my head are Kormiko’s words,[/i] telling me not to run away, telling me to stay and fight and change because that’s what real heroes do. They don’t hide behind trees their whole lives.[/i] I feel ashamed for even coming out here.

“Don’t you ever want to be remembered as more than just a guy who lived in the woods?” We wanted to go down in history, Kormiko and I; but those days passed and he’s gone now. My mouth doesn’t want to stop spitting out words. “You probably think people are so insolent, right? So instead of trying to change anything, you just hide out here and wait for things to work out for themselves. Selfish and typical. You’re no better than any other Capitolite.” And I know something’s wrong with me; I know there’s always been something wrong with me,[/i] because one second I’m asking him if it ever gets lonely and the next I’m condemning him for his honest answer. “You don’t just sit in a tree and wait for the knots to undo themselves.” You don’t just sit in your room and wait for Kormiko to come back either. “I don’t know about your stupid fantasy land, but that’s not how it works in the real world.” The resentment won’t leave my mouth; I’m not even mad at Rum Tum. I’m just angry at the fact that he’s so happy out here and I don’t think I can be happy anywhere! [/i]And somehow I can’t get it out of my head that I need to stop waiting for Kormiko and the fact that if I do, it will be utter betrayal.

“And I’m not running away from anything!” I lie. “I came out here because I was curious. And that curiosity has been fulfilled, so you know what? I’m out of here. I’m gonna actually be somebody with my life.” And with that, I start walking away in the other direction, anger radiating from my steps, my heart pounding with hurt and my feet screaming to find some sort of direction. I let a tear trickle down my cheek and quickly wipe it away because heroines aren’t supposed to be this fragile.[/i] It makes me wonder if Rum Tum ever sits down and cries out here, if he ever has any reason to. I doubt it; he seems so secure and self-sufficient. I think of Kormiko and I wonder if he still has my goldfish, the goldfish we were going to someday set free into the ocean. [/i]Maybe it’s dead. Dead in his apartment room. Dead, dead, dead. What if he’s dead? What if I go back to the Capitol and spend my whole empty life waiting for him and he never appears? I don’t even have anything I want to go back to, not at this point. The thoughts finally stop hurting[/i] and after about a minute of walking in the other direction, I regain myself. Shamefully, I turn around and retrace my tracks, my feet dragging me back towards Rum Tum.

“Just kidding,” I mutter, looking at my feet. After everything I just said, I shouldn’t even be back for an apology. “I’m sorry, you’re right.” I pause and fold my arms in an embarrassed manner. “Ignore what I said; I didn’t mean it. It was rude and I'm sorry. I…I don’t want to go back there, not to that prison full of pretty buildings and pretty people whose only thoughts come from what the media tells them to think.”

“It’s a lonely place.”

~~ooc: Freya has issues sometimes, ok.~~ [/size][/blockquote][/justify][/color]

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 15, 2013 23:27:53 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 15, 2013 23:27:53 GMT -5

[/color] I scrunch my nose. Is that what people are supposed to worry about?[/color] Why would it matter whether or not my thoughts get preserved somewhere? I always thought that life was more about living than anything else. Birds don’t care about being remembered. The trees certainly don’t change their leaves for it, and they’ve been around a lot longer than I have. Momma never put much importance on being remembered, at least, not doing anything that would make us memorable for anyone else. It was always more about being remembered by each other. But I’d always remember my mother because she was good to me. So what did it matter if anyone remembered her, she was important just to me. Though I knew now that that wasn’t the whole truth.[/color] I open my mouth to answer but she cuts me off again. Don’t you ever want to be remembered as more than just a guy who lived in the woods?

[/color]“I don’t care if people think I’m some crazy nutter,” I say. My eyes close and I point my nose in the air, haughty as I could be. “There are plenty of people that have no idea what they’re talking about, and what should I care if someone I don’t know doesn’t know about me. It’s more important to be remembered by someone that loves me, right?” Truth was simple. That’s what makes it pure. If you can distill it, break it down to its simplest parts, then it can be beautiful. It was what I wanted to collect, the truth about everything[/color]. Easier said than done, but I did a good enough job of guarding myself from what was false. “I’d rather spend my whole life looking for someone that wants to spend their days with me than trying to be remembered by all of Panem.” I can feel her grating on my nerves, which is a feat for me especially, but then she goes a step further.

So instead of trying to change anything, you just hide out here and wait for things to work out for themselves. Selfish and typical. You’re no better than any other Capitolite.[/color] Hiding out? Is that what this was? I narrowed my eyes and clutched onto my walking stick. She had some nerve coming after me like this, telling me how to live my life when she didn’t know the first thing about me. Figures that a capitolite would think that she was better than me. She probably thought she knew everything because she’d read it in books, or had people tell her what she thought was true. People like Freya seemed to think the only kind of education you can have is in a schoolhouse locked away under a bubble. They get their heads stuffed full of ideas, but nothing else. They don’t get to fill them up on their own. There’s nothing about how the world can be, no creativity. So she doesn’t stop to think about what she’s saying. I don’t know about your stupid fantasy land, but that’s not how it works in the real world.[/color]

Because the real world was the one where they threw children to the wolves and the rest of them sat starving down to bones. She was just a yapping girl, looking like a dog that had been frightened. The real world was out here. It was what grew after the bombs had fallen. It was in the places that had been left behind, like the crumbling buildings I’d seen, or the heaps of metal I’d walked through. This was real, and it was beautiful because it was true. There wasn’t the fabrication of the capitol or the desolation of the districts. I could spend my time swimming in creeks or sleeping in trees. In fact it was an endless road of discovery, one that I could spend my whole life waking up to. I moved to rub a finger against my temple as she continued to shout. I came out here because I was curious. And that curiosity has been fulfilled, so you know what? I’m out of here. I’m gonna actually be somebody with my life.[/color] But I don’t say goodbye to her because—and I think I’ve gotten good at seeing it by now—it’s not true at all.[/color]

As much as she’s hurt me and made me feel like the pond scum I’ve had to scratch out from my toenails, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. I should be angry, and I should let her walk away. A part of me wants to bite my thumb and spit at her, but my momma taught me better than that.[/color] What was our number one rule? Always leave the world better than we found it.[/color] Freya was lost and she wouldn’t last a day out here on her own. I wasn’t going to let her fall prey to whatever was lurking out here, and I certainly wasn’t going to leave her to die. It would make me mad and I’d probably regret the decision, but I wasn’t going to let her run off. Even as she walks away, I still find myself letting out a sigh, followed by a call. “Frey-uh,” I say more with exasperation than anything else.

I’m sorry, you’re right.[/color] She says and I have to hold back the curl of a smile creeping up my cheeks. Ignore what I said; I didn’t mean it. It was rude and I'm sorry. I…I don’t want to go back there… it’s a lonely place.[/color] I shake my head.

“I’m not going to ignore what you said, you had to say it.” I put my hands behind my back and lean forward. “If it’s what you had to say, you had to say it.” I let out a sigh. “But I don’t want you to leave, either.” I give a grin. “I do like the company. And I… maybe I shouldn’t have said that, either.” I hold out my hand. “Do you think we might start again, maybe? We could start over and maybe try to make this work? Because I can take you with me, as long as you promise that we’ll work together.”

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{Penguins} don't fly -- neither do I ;; zori Jul 16, 2013 14:41:01 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2013 14:41:01 GMT -5

[/i]
“I’m not going to ignore what you said, you had to say it.” He puts his hands behind his back and leans forward. “If it’s what you had to say, you had to say it.” The sigh kills me. “But I don’t want you to leave, either.” He grins. “I do like the company. And I… maybe I shouldn’t have said that, either.”

There’s a hole in my stomach,[/i] not because Kormiko is probably being tortured at this very moment, not because that dark room with metal shelves still eats my dreams every night, not because I can’t find any way to love my parents, and not because of any other “my life is so miserable” reason that my mind can conjure.[/i] The hole in my stomach is for the hurt I just caused Rum Tum, for he doesn't deserve any of the words I just threw his way. The less angry he is, the worse I feel about everything I said because guilt is one of the saddest feelings on earth, knowing you can’t change the person you were only moments ago; you can only change the person you are right now.[/i] Even if time can mellow guilt, it never truly goes away, does it? Because we all mature, and the more mature we become, the harder it is to look back at the people we used to be and see all the damage we’ve done.[/i]

Now I feel like there’s a barrier between Rum Tum and I, a barrier I built with my own two hands;[/i] and now it’s my job to knock it down. Kick and kick and kick at it until my feet are bruised and swollen, until there’s nothing more to break down, so long as I don’t kick Rum Tum in process. He’s been kicked quite enough. [/i]There’s a lot of barriers around me: barriers between my parents and I, my schoolmates and I, the entire Capitol and I. I don’t need any more or else I’ll be locking myself in a lonely room with no way out. At least we had roommates in the Detention Center.[/i] Because here is me, judgmental, grudge-holding Freya who jumped at the sound of every word; and then there is Rum Tum, who is too good to me, who barely budged even when I threw nasty words in his direction. [/i]I know that it’s no wonder he can survive out here all alone, even if he is about my age, because maturity like that isn’t for the weak. I might still be a girl, but Rum Tum is a man. [/i]

My eyes only lift from the ground a couple of times as he speaks. It’s hard to look at him and know that he probably thinks of me differently than he did only minutes ago. [/i]His words are so forgiving, too forgiving, even with a slight grin on his face. It’s enough that I have to say, “You have all the right to judge me. I judged you and I know I’m all wrong. I don’t know the first thing about being out here. I don't know the first thing about you.” He holds out my hand to me. “Do you think we might start again, maybe? We could start over and maybe try to make this work? Because I can take you with me, as long as you promise that we’ll work together.”

All my life, people have been giving me second chances and somehow I always screw those second chances up; but this time is going to be different.[/i] It has to be, because I’m done playing dress-up and I’m ready to be free. Starting over – what a big offer, an offer I probably don’t deserve after all the stupid drama I’ve put people through.[/i] However, I look up from the ground and give Rum Tum the slightest of grins, a sort of sad grin, for I still have yet to forgive myself.[/i] I nod, my lips struggling to form the words I want to say. “I would like that,” I finally speak. And although I’m not sure if he wants me to shake his hand or take his hand or whether it’s just a part of his speaking gestures, I take it anyways and pull myself forward until I can wrap my arms around him in a sort of thank-you embrace. I rest my head against his shoulder for a moment and the smoky scent of life hits me. I don’t know if this is awkward, but it’s not supposed to be. Excluding Kormiko, I don’t hug people often, but I’m reminded of how good it feels to know that this world is one person less lonely. [/i]“I hope that someday I can be good like you,” I whisper into his jacket before letting go of the embrace.

I let my hands fall back to my sides and look down at the ground in embarrassment as my cheeks go slightly red, hoping for goodness’s sake that I didn’t do something utterly wrong again.[/i] We’re starting over, right? With that, I lift my face to him with a half-smile that still shows traces of shame, but I think the barrier is getting thinner. I hope it is.[/i] “Well then,” I say, “lead the way, Rum Tum Tum Tum." And the "...Tum Tum Tum Tum Tum Tum" that continues to fill my head makes it hurt a lot less. [/blockquote][/size][/justify][/color]