changing destinations }} dreamer

changing destinations }} dreamer May 27, 2014 23:13:36 GMT -5

Post by k!ah on May 27, 2014 23:13:36 GMT -5

[ KELSIE HONDA ]

The sand beneath my feet feels like I am walking on the clouds. It is soft and cushioned, not rough and sharp like the cement of the walkway which was only a couple hundred meters away. I turn to face the pathway my eyes taking in the sea of grey and browns and greens. The man made sea of my home, district four. Smiling I turn my face to it was facing the raging deep green mass of water. The ocean, the free and natural part of my home. I don't smile at the ocean, my lips turning down at the corners as though a weight has been pressed against them. Memories surge within me making my heart pound faster and my throat burn.

But I push them away. I didn't need to remember them, I didn't need them to hunt my mind and being right now. I didn't want them too. Sighing I drag my glance away from the unpredictable mass of liquid and back to the sand that was beneath my feet, sliding between my toes, tickle in the soft skin. I pause for a moment, wriggling my toes so that my feet sunk deeper and deeper into the white grains, until they were no longer visible. The only sign they were there was the shifting in the sand as my toes wriggled in their positions. I often wandered how sand came to be they way it was, was it because it was constantly moving? Being dragged in my the ocean and spat back out agin? or the wind sweeping it up in its arms only to shower it over a new location meter away?

It was a curious substance.

Sighing I dig my feet out my eyes looking up at the path in front of me. It was just another expanse of sand, lot and lots of it. Concluding with an old looking boat which had managed to become ship wrecked far away from it's home. In the shadows I could see a figure, the figure of what I assumed to me a man. His features were prominent, not soft. I didn't find it odd, that a person would seek shelter from the wreck, because I, myself, had found a home which could only be classified as a dump. But this was probably no home for the boy, just a get away.

I had no intentions of actually interacting with the boy, only if he looked like he needed it, but I had all intentions of walking over to the old rotting wood, my eyes eager to study the old broken mess. I don't know why I wanted to study it, maybe I get a connection to it and passed events, maybe I get like it was something important, that they would have wanted me too. Hastily I take off in its direction, my feet walking with a purpose, my hands eager to explore the rotting surface.

It only takes me a few minutes to reach t and when I do I find myself as far away from the man- which I could confirm now- as I could. My fingers touch the rough surface, peking paint sliding off in flakes and showering the ground. I close my eyes for a moment only to be bombarded with crashing waves, howling winds and fear. Hastily I pull away, my heart betting in my throat like an angry bird trying to escape is cage. It was ok, I am ok, it was all ok, I reassure myself as I walk around the ruins.

After a moment I find myself face to face with the person that I had promised to avoid. He had a cigarette against his lips and was breathing in the foul substance. I screw my face up and turn away, only to stop. This guys needed my help, I mean he hadn't said anything, but it was obvious, right? He was allow such a sick substance to enter his blood scream, he was practically calling out to me. With new found hope, I turn to face the boy, a ghost o a smile on my lips. I crouch down next to him, only wandering temporally what he must be thinking about me and my odd actions. “Hey, you know, smoking is bad for you. It will only lead you to an early death, you should stop because there are people who care about you,” I smile more widely at him, my eyes welcoming and open. Had I said the right thing? I didn't know, I could only hope.

changing destinations }} dreamer Jul 14, 2014 12:55:37 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2014 12:55:37 GMT -5

8FA8A1 ~ Narration
869497 ~ Thoughts
A0C7B1 ~ Other’s
DCD2A8 ~ Speech
ECE6BC ~ Lyrics

Having a job is more stressful than Liberum ever thought it would be. Waking up before dawn to wax the boards of the surf crazed fanatics chasing the moon’s tide or to set up for the morning rush of people who have that very specific wax that their surf board needs to “function properly” wasn’t what he was expecting when he decided to work at the popular chain surf shop in 4. Working at a chain store means that they have most of their waxes and boards available for sale, wet people refuse to buy their own and continue to spend some upwards to 7 dollars a day to have other people wax their boards; only to scream at him and his other coworkers when they “miss a spot”. Well if you want to be a damn asshole about your wax buy some and do it yourself. Liberum thinks as wraps up his apron after his shift. No matter how much he “enjoys” the brutal hours and the angry people who are lazy and refuse to do their own dirty work; there is one part of the job that he truly enjoys. Teaching the little tykes to surf.

Seeing the children’s bright innocent eyes eagerly trying to absorb as much as they can in the short hour that they have pulls at something within Lib. Something that he thinks he should feel when looking at his younger cousins, yet he doesn’t. The pull of paternity, the wanting of having a child of his own, and frankly it scares him. To be feeling this at the age of 17, he hasn’t even made it out of the Reaping and already he wants to add more to the pool. That’s one thought process of his, unfortunately it’s the predominate one. He walks home wondering what parents must feel like when they see their child in the Reaping, how the probably wanted children of their own, only to see them ripped away. River Destin had a child herself when she walked into the Arena, only to leave her daughter an orphan.

When he arrives to his metal palace he went straight to his room and started on his secret stash, allowing himself to hot box for a little while, trying to drown out those paternal strengths. The boat creaked as the Vespoli’s ran around doing whatever they do. Davitt is probably getting his next delivery or order and the rest are just off and about. After getting comfortably high he grabs his packs of cigs and wanders around the boat that he calls home and finally makes his way outside. Not surprised to see the remnants of last night’s festivities still hanging around the hammocks and lawn chairs. The people are enjoying themselves further along the beach as they rising sun continues onto circular peak. There’s a reason why he enjoyed the morning shifts, it gave him the rest of the day to relax and de-stress, even though pot isn’t the most holistic choice. Yoga and other forms of “endorphin releasing” exercise was just too much work for Liberum.

Yet there’s a young lady who seems distant from the rest as she stares out into the blue abyss, no one ever truly knows where it ends. The geography lessins have been far and few between in his years of “schooling” as the wonderful country of Panem likes to call it. More like brainwashing to me, his warm fuzzy internal thoughts speak to him as the girl wanders aimlessly towards him. What seems like a couple of minutes must have been almost a full hour as the girl now stands only a couple of yards away. The boat wrecked pretty far from the main beach so it must not have been a short distance. It takes Liberum almost 40 minutes to get to the main part of the beach for work by foot. Yet here she comes, closer and closer and Lib as his now second cig burns in his mouth, the box laying casually by his hip as he sits against the rusted metal. The girl is wearing a short white tank that shows her midriff and short black shorts.

Her eyes are bright and are trying to hide the judgment under a warm and welcoming appearance, though her smile seems genuine. She finally decides to approach him as she warns him that, “Hey, you know, smoking is bad for you. It will only lead you to an early death, you should stop because there are people who care about you.”

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and glares it down; acting like his stare can blow it up. “Maybe you’re right, but I’m only 17 and I know the only guarantee we have is death. Death by drugs seems like a better alternative than murder, doesn’t it?” He looks up at the girl, a mock smile paints his face. However he still puts the cig out in the sand and the box towards her. “You’re right though, they aren’t good for me. Hide them from me will ya?” ] His motivation is not for himself or his current family, but for his future one. “Maybe paternity may just win after all, huh.”