{In the process of getting home} [Nyte]

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kousei ♚
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now and forever

{In the process of getting home} [Nyte] Apr 16, 2014 9:27:39 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Apr 16, 2014 9:27:39 GMT -5

CARBO STARK

This seems to happen everyday.

Everyday it seems like all I see is black, the darkest shade of black imaginable. Everyday I seem to disappear into the underground, not knowing if I'll come out or not. All black, black, black. Like some sort of cruel joke, I don't know when I'll come out, all I know is that I have to work. Keep on working, keep on working and hope the last thing I see isn't bright orange. It may be stupid but I want to live so that tomorrow I see another dark shade of black. This existence it quite dull. But it's still an existence and that I am grateful for.

I can barely see my pale skin because more soot, dirt and coal have covered it. Hard to believe that under all this black there is white. It's difficult, I'm just surrounded by bigger, burlier men who all see the same as me. We all want this day to end but the day ends when the men in white says it will end. Have mercy on us Peacekeepers, we've been working for hours. I don't know if they'll be happy with the work we've done, I know I've been working hard cos if I slip up the rest of us will surely die. Shovelling coal the dumping it in the cart.

I've heard many coal miners complain about the jobs they have, about how it lacks any creativity, about how it's dirty, boring and uncreative. Then why don't they just quit? Honestly at first I'd just grunt in agreement whenever someone would complain to me (as if I could do anything) but now it just gets annoying. We're all in this boat together, we're all dirty, sweaty, covered in soot, tired and just downright annoyed, but you don't see me and some of the others complaining. ~~I'm just as miserable as they are damn it.~~

My skinny arms shake and struggle as another shovel load of coal is lifted and dumped into a wheelbarrow. It's hard, doing this for hours, find coal, put them in the wheelbarrows, find more coal, put them in the wheelbarrows, it goes on and on. Sometimes I wonder if we'll ever run out of coal, surely the coal will run out right? I wouldn't be able to handle doing this until I die, maybe I'd be like one of the older people who work in the mines, working, working, just shrouded in blackness all day and the only interesting thing that happens is when there's some sort of explosion and everyone is buried or burned alive. I have no one to blame for this, after all I took this job the moment I turned eighteen in order to continue getting food. I have no one else to blame for this but myself.

Suddenly the bell signals that it's time for us to get out of the mines and I resist the urge to punch the air and cheer; our shift is finally done. I take a few slow but steady steps up out of the mines, leaving the eternity of blackness behind me for today. And then I see the blue sky, the white clouds, the grey and depressing seam buildings it's hard to believe that it's so easy to go from being depressed in blackness to actually seeing some diversity around me. And then I have to go back tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll just see more black for most of the day, tomorrow I'll have to work again.

I walk over to the grey tap and open it running my hands under the cool water to wash all the soot off my hands, I then splash my soot-covered face with the cold water and it goes from clear to black as it drips off my face. I use my shirt to wipe my face clean of the cold, black water and then dump my shovel into the pile. Good-bye and good riddance. I'd been clutching onto that thing for too long I thought my hands would never be able to let go of it, but then my small grin is instantly wiped off my face when I remember I'll have to pick it up once again tomorrow. Damn it. I can't complain, I asked for this job.

I take a look in one of the small mirrors provided but I'm not surprised by what I see any more, the water hasn't completely washed off all the dirt and soot and streaks of black still stain my otherwise pale skin. Although, the black does make my light blue eyes stand out like a cloud in a blue sky. On top of my head sits a black birds nest, sticking out in random places, my hair is usually black but all the dirt and coal has only made it blacker. Honestly, in the month I've worked in the mine I'm surprised a bird hasn't mistook my hair for a nest and landed in it. Or maybe they would if they didn't seem to be repelled by the seam and the noise of the mines.

I take off by myself, I don't usually converse or hang out with the other miners; they're just co-workers, not friends. There's a big difference. And now I'll have to take the agonizingly long walk across the stream to my house. My usual day is just depressing anyway. I swear any normal person would've hung themselves long time ago, but I'm not a normal person -at least not in my eyes-. When I get home at least I can relax, take a bath in the bucket, maybe uncle will let me get the much bigger bucket this time, that's way better, quicker and more comfortable, I've earned it, after all I'm the one working. The small hope allows a small smile to form on my face.

I ignore the unbelievable aching in my arms and legs and keep trekking on.

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Last Edit: Apr 16, 2014 9:32:34 GMT -5 by kousei ♚

gamemaker artemie 🦉nyte
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{In the process of getting home} [Nyte] Apr 25, 2014 0:52:21 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker artemie 🦉nyte on Apr 25, 2014 0:52:21 GMT -5

m e r c u r y q u e e n
"m y f l a w s a n d y o u r f l a w s"

I've never worked a day in my life. Days wasted away, rolled up into paper and thrown away like the ash which felled upon clothes three sizes too tight. My mind so far away from my physical body i can no longer even feel it's weight within my skull. And I am flying. Nights are wasted wandering about the district, so lost within my own mind I cannot even fathom where my feet have taken me. It's only a matter of time before a needle pierces my flesh, sending something even stronger into my veins instead of my lungs. You're only fifteen. But in a world where each day could be my last, fifteen is ancient.

I don't think I'll make it to eighteen. Sure, District Twelve has its victors, it didn't make us rich. There was no fantastical turn around. We didn't become a career district, hell we didn't even become a decent district. We still die in mine collapses, we still work to the bone, we still starve. No one is invincible, not even the careers. But they can live a hell of a lot better life than we.

Smoke leaves my lips in a plume of gray. The bitter thoughts being whisked away by the wonderful herbs. I try not to think of how much I will have to steal to get my next fix. How much I will have to beg my "friends" for just ten dollars to roll a single joint. It won't be hard, I know it won't. A simple smile, a kiss on the cheek. I'll run my hand down his chest and nibble on his ear. They always give it to me. No matter if they tell me I need to stop, that I'll keel over the second I try to run, they'll cave. It's almost funny, how willingly I throw my life away with every breath. I feel it deep within. A rattling in my lungs as I inhale. That slight wheeze when I breathe in deep, the growing pressure in my lungs.

I'm scared of sickness. I've seen far too many bodies scattered along the streets. Emaciated and pale, sickly. I don't want to be just another corpse picked up by the peacekeepers. Someone to be pitied and later, forgotten. We don't have doctors in District Twelve, not a big surprise really. In the district which has nothing, why would we be bothered to do anything that could save our lives. Sure, there are people here learned in the art of healing. They'll charge you a fuck-ton for some herbs that may or may not be of some help.

People are greedy. Even in the poorest of places they'll strip you to the bone. ~~It wouldn't be too hard seeing as nearly every single one is visible under porcelain skin~~ I don't have much faith in humanity as a whole. The rich get richer and the poor get richer leaving misfortune to befall those who have too little to even be considered above pure scum. And people wonder why I smoke.

I don't know where I've ended up. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. The walls, the streets, even the dirt beneath fraying shoes is completely unfamiliar. I allow the panic to rise in my throat like bile, throwing the joint to the floor and crushing it with the heel of my boot. No fucking good piece of shit! That's it, I'm never putting another fucking drug in my body again. Good one.

Okay, that was a complete and total lie.

Still, this was a less than ideal situation. I've never before set foot in the Seam, but if I were to take a guess at what it looked like, it'd be this. Houses run down and dirty. A dusty black powder seeming to settle upon the windows and ground. Men and woman with black hair and dark eyes making the trek back to their homes after a hard days work in the mines.

Fuck. This is the exact opposite of where i want to be. I've heard the people here were... less than friendly. And that's on a good day. Perhaps they were rumors, the musings of those deluded into thinking they were more fortunate than these poor saps. Only one thing was for sure, I stood out like a sore thumb. I may have been about as nourished as they, but they were obviously bigger, stronger. They could easily take down a girl with my build. Take whatever bills I could have hidden in pants glued to my skin.

So i desperately search, my eyes making their way from person to person in a desperate attempt to find someone who looked friendly. Call me prejudiced, call me stupid or rude, but I was damn fortunate compared to these poor souls. I was not willing to chance whether or not the tales I'd heard were complete works of fiction.

My eyes found a young man. Hair stained with coal dust, but a half smile painted across his lips. I felt a tugging within my stomach, a happiness that I'd never felt before. He was obviously older than I, though this was not of my concern. More than half of my male friends are in their last year of the reaping, if not already free of the weight which the reaping carried. I throw my head downward making my way over to the man with haste. I give the slightest of tugs on his sleeves, searching for his eyes. "Uh, hey. Mind giving a lost girl some directions? Ripred, I hope I'm charming. Or else I'm thoroughly fucked.

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Last Edit: Apr 25, 2014 1:25:01 GMT -5 by gamemaker artemie 🦉nyte

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kousei ♚
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{In the process of getting home} [Nyte] Apr 29, 2014 14:27:40 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Apr 29, 2014 14:27:40 GMT -5

CARBOSTARK

My skin is darker than the ground as this point. But then again I guess that's just what happens when you've been rolling around in coal mines for as long as I have. I allow a small chuckle to escape my lips when I look around to see I'm pretty much all alone. This usually happens, when we first start walking we're like a pack of coal miners, the survivors of the mine, the survivors of the death hole we call a work place. We're like one big pack when we're on our way home and on our way to the mines. but then when we progress home we find that we all break off individually, going our own separate ways around the dirt maze to get home.

It's not that I'm friends with any of these guys -they're just co-workers of mine- but I often get very lonely because I'm pretty much always alone within a few minutes of people breaking off and going their own separate ways. To their brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, mums and dads. I live so far away from the mines; my feet are usually on fire by the time I get home and I just collapse to the ground. I mean sometimes I get to stick my aching, bruised feet in a bucket of ice or a bucket of warm water but not all the time. Those are just the gritty mines I guess.

I still keep the half-smile plastered onto my face though, I keep it there and it won't come off, as if it's engraved onto some kind of precious stone (we occasionally find those in the mines, they're just taken straight away of course) because I can't be depressed. I need to hold my head up high and act above it all, act like I'm above this depressing, dangerous, low-paying job. It's the people who hang their heads and let the darkness take them that usually end up keeling over dead or killing themselves. I'm stronger than that, I'm stronger than them. I keep telling myself that and keep the smile engraved onto my face, I'm harder than stone, I will keep smiling as if someone's engraved it onto my face with a knife. It's worked so far.

Even if it's just a half-smile that still counts.

It's quite peaceful, this silence that is. Nothing other than the sound of my boots hitting the tough ground and my laboured breathing. Just another reason to smile. When I get home there will be no peace and quiet so I might as well just enjoy it while I can.

However, in the corner of my eye I catch what looks like a wisp of gold hah, so uncommon here. But then when I snap my head around I see what appears to be a person, an actual person! And it's a girl who I don't seem to know. Of course I wouldn't know her: blonde hair, blue eyes, tanned skin as if she's been out in the sun all her life. She's obviously from the richer part of District twelve -at least I think it's richer, you can't get any poorer than this right?- so I wouldn't know her. The merchant section I think, were all the traders, bakers and all that live. And she's coming straight at me!

To be honest all those merchants, bakers, traders and such, I've never liked them much. I don't know but they just seemed to look down on me. At the local school for instance, I used to have a friend who was from there, blonde hair, green eyes, quite stocky since he lived with someone who sold food. Then one day he came up to me and said "We can't be friends any more." That was pretty damn hurtful, as if he'd taken a rusty dagger and jammed it in my stomach. When I asked him why the hell why he replied with "cos you're a dirty seam boy and I'll start acting like you guys." Come on! We're not savages or anything like that, okay maybe we are dirtier, rougher and poorer but we can't be that much different from them.

Whenever I got to the merchant section I always get really hungry, seeing baked cakes and cookies, all the fresh bread. One day I saw someone throwing bread out! To feed to the pigs. I guess we're just lower classed than pigs then. I wonder if she'll be lie that, but then again why would she even be here? I've heard rumours about us, they like to steer away from this place, as if we're rapists or something. Maybe this girl comes here often, maybe she has a friend from here and she's visiting, but that doesn't explain why she's stopped right in front of me.

My half-smile is wiped from my face (guess it wasn't engraved on my face like I thought it was, guess I ain't like no rock.) when she begins asking questions. "Uh, hey. Mind giving a lost girl some directions?" She's lost, poor girl, being lost in a place like this and all, while being really poor and run down the Seam is quite confusing to navigate around, unless you've been living here your whole life like I have then it should be easy. But I guess I understand exactly why she'd be confused, this ain't her home or nothing.

"Oh er, sure, ain't no problem I guess," I begin, but I'm still quite curious as to who she is and why she's here, not that it's my business but curiosity gets the better of me quite a lot, "Who are you if you don't mind me asking? You don't look like you're from around these parts or nothing y'know." I ask, wiping my dirty face with my dirty sleeve (I don't think I really made myself look any more cleaner). "You look more like those richer folk in those other parts." I quickly add, allowing a small grin to spread across my features.