dust and shadows // open

The sky is growing lighter, weak sunlight filtering through the tree tops. It was closer to morning than I'd thought. I'm still singing quietly to myself as I check over my limited supplies. The song is one my mother taught me when I was young. Thinking about her sends a pang of nostalgia through me, but of course I can't go back. Sometimes I wonder why I even left in the first place. But it's too late now, though I often find myself thinking of what would happen if I returned to District Nine. Surely that Capitol would seize me, avox me. And what is there to return to anyhow? Most of my family is gone. I don't even know if my mother is still alive. And if she is, would it really be worth going back, even if I could? No. I miss her, but perhaps I am better off out here.

With daylight, the forest comes alive. Leaves shiver in the slight breeze, small animals chitter in the limbs above, and somewhere a mockingjay mimics my song. I brush my wind blown hair back from my face, hopping down from my resting place, dropping lightly to the ground. It's warmer now, and I strip of my jacket, knotting it around my waist.Reaching back, I tug an arrow from my quiver and nock it, peering among the trees for any signs of small game. I'm about to set off when a voice stops me in my tracks. I spin around, my song cutting off abruptly. A boy stands several paces away, his hand hovering near his pocket. I stiffen, thinking of a weapon stored there. My grip tightens on my bow. "What's your name?" I hesitate before answering. "Layla." I say finally. The boy looks to be a bit older than myself, and his appearance makes me think he's been out here a while too. This eases my mind only slightly, though I find myself hoping he's someone I can befriend. I've been deprived of company for so long, it would be nice to have a companion again, to hear another human voice.

notes: n/a
outfit (general idea): here

As someone who has been living in the woods for the past two years, I know that out here, there’s no such thing as overly cautious. Still, when the boy pulls his knife, a strong feeling of unease crashes over me. I hold my ground, refusing to let my fear show. My fingers contract nervously on the handle of my bow, the other hand tentatively resting on the point where the arrow meets the string. I hold it in a relaxed, yet ready position before me, the weapon aimed toward the earth. I tense as he advances a step forward. My mind is racing. My ability to shoot from a distance is to my advantage, but the last thing I want to do is harm him. Then again, I haven’t the slightest idea what his intentions are. So far, he’s only demanded information from me. But, if a fight were to occur, surely I would be on the losing end. I’m decent size for girl of sixteen, but I am nothing compared to the young man standing before me. He’s much taller, and likely much stronger as well. I could run, but as fast as I am, there’s no guarantee I can out sprint him. And that would only appear cowardly, and I will not be seen as such.

”Where are you from? Are you from the Capitol?” His tone is bitter, angry. ”Because if you are I am not letting you bring me in.” I give my head a slight shake. Chances are I couldn’t turn him in even if I wanted to. ”No, I’m not from the Capitol.” Not a Peacekeeper, which, it seems, it what he suspects. When I speak, I’m almost surprised to find that my voice is calm, steady. ”District Nine.” I pause, meeting his deep brown eyes with my own bright green ones. A barrage of questions flood my mind. I’ve answered enough of his for the time, now it’s his turn. ”What is your name? And where are you from?” I am again pleased to find that my voice does not give away my unease. My gaze is firmly focused on him, searching for any signs that might arouse suspicion. Nothing so far, but I can’t deny that he is rather good looking. He’s aiming a knifeat you and you’re thinking about how helooks? I chide myself, my eyes briefly flitting to the weapon he hold, then back to his face. His eye will give him away first.

notes/ooc: Hi! & it's totally fine, I didn't introduce myself either. Anyway, I'm Hidden and I am just as happy to RP with you. ^.^ You've got a great character, by the way. I like your writing. :] Here is the link to Layla's bio as well.

When I was young, my father made me promise never to go anywhere near the district boundary. But my grandfather used to tell me stories, tales of the times before the dark days, when the people of District 9 still lived off the forest. I'd ask him endless questions, always finishing by begging him to take me into the forest. He'd laugh and tell me he was too old, and so eventually I asked my father. I remember how he looked at me, how stiffly he spoke when he made me swear never to go beyond the fence. I didn't keep that promise, I was far too curious. I don't remember now what lie I told him, but I do remember what he said afterward. "I trusted you, Layla."

The boy's grip on his weapon relaxes slightly, and he shuffles forward again. I tense. He claims his name is David, that he's from District Twelve. I hear it's awful there. "How do I know you're not lying?" He asks, rather suddenly. I shift uneasily. "I ought to ask you the same question," I say finally. Then I carry out what could possibly be the most foolish thing I've ever done. I pluck the arrow from my bow string and slide it back into the quiver on my back. I let my arms fall to my sides. Unease and instinct getting the better of me, I take a small step backward. Every instinct, everything I've learned out here tells me what I've done is stupid and naïve, that I should be fleeing. But I won't runaway, not again.

notes/ooc: Sorry for the shortness xP

I can still clearly call to mind my life prior to this, before I fled the district. I guess you could say I was lucky. Lucky that my family had a house, that I had a family at all. I suppose I was better off than many, but how fortunate was I in the end? Sometimes I wish I could go back District Nine, back to living in the slums of District Nine with my family. Even if I were to go back, what would I be returning to? My old life is over, my family gone. No, running that day was my only option.

He chuckles at my response to his question. "I suppose you really don't." This statement, however simple, arouses my suspicion. But he's right, I don't know if he's telling me the truth. He could be making everything up as he goes along. I can't possibly fathom what reasons he may have for lying - if he is indeed lying - and so for now I give him the benefit of the doubt. A moment later, to my relief, he sheaths his weapon. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I'm a bit taken aback by his question and the acid in his words. I glance away from him briefly, pondering just how I should respond. I return my gaze to him, hesitate just a moment. "I had no choice. My family...they're all dead." Just these few words bring back vivid memories. Putrid black smoke darkening the skies, peoples' screams piercing the air... I wouldn't wish such a terrible event on anyone.

Eventually the sounds of the forest pull me from my dreadful reverie. David is leaning against a tree, as casual a pose as if he were talking to an old acquaintance. Something still nags at my conscience, though I can't put my finger on it. I tuck a lock of my hair unconsciously behind my ear, wondering if I should voice the slew of questions now running through my head. My father always said curiosity was my 'besetting sin'. But alas, it still gets the better of me. "And you..." I begin, "What's your story?"

"You always have a choice." I press my lips together and turn away. I did have a choice; there are always other options. I could have stayed - I should have stayed. I ought to have remained and cared for my mother. I tell myself she's still alive, still living in that crumbling one story house. But I know that that probably isn't so. Perhaps if I hadn't left, she'd still be alive. But like a coward, I ran.

We are our choices.

The silence seems to stretch on endlessly. "I know." I draw a weary breath, turn back to him. Another length of silence. I shift my gaze downward, staring absently at the needle covered earth. It has turned damp with the arrival of morning, the dew making it look blurred and fuzzy. I'm reminded of those first drowsy moments after awakening, when my thoughts and memories are hazy and for a moment I'm floating in blissful oblivion. The boy speaks again, and I look up. "Everyone has a story," I murmur, but his voice is so dark, so gravely serious, that I say no more.

Out of my entire past, I think I recall most clearly - and most frequently - those few days before I split. My mother never moved from her bed, never spoke, and I felt more alone than I can ever remember. I thought perhaps by leaving I would be escaping that feeling of loneliness, but doing so only brought it to a new intensity. It seemed there wasn't anything left for me in District Nine, that everyone who had cared about me was gone. And if no one cares for you, do you really exist at all?

Whether it was death by starvation or illness, chances are if I'd remained I'd be six feet under by now. Oh, I had a choices. I could have stayed, watched my remaining family die, let myself perish or be whisked away to some community home. Perhaps running, cowardly as it might have been, gave me a second chance - however slim - to live. I've been living like this just two years, but out here you learn fast or die.

I thought perhaps, that after some time, living a nomadic lifestyle might bring a sense of freedom I was never able to experience in the district. I thought I'd be able to forget my old life, forget everything. But being a wanderer doesn't really set you free, and it doesn't let you forget. It only makes you remember. The memories, the guilt, it all stays with you.

I gaze quizzically at the boy standing before me. He appears frustrated to me, angry, bitter. I feel for him, yet something still bothers me. I've got a nagging feeling that he's lying, but about what I can't say - not that he's revealed much. I chew my lip, hesitating. But finally, my burning curiosity gets the better of me. My father used to say curiosity was my besetting sin. "But perhaps yours is?" I prompt tentatively. I say no more, not wanting to pry.

ooc: I apologize for the delay and shortness of this post, I've been busy recently