Out and Shopping (Open)

I've just set down the apple on the little shop's display when I hear the sound of the bells on the door chiming and see a young girl burst into the store. Mouth still smeared with chocolate and ice cream, she looked innocent and carefree as she browsed the shelves. Such cheerfulness was rare in the district, especially with this year's Games going on. How old would she be before she got her heart broken by a Reaping? How long would it take for that childlike optimism to be replaced by exams and anxiety and stress? It was District Three, after all, and so the question wasn't one of if, but of when.

I pick up another apple, frowning at the soft flesh and slightly-plastic smell. It would suffice, I supposed, for the pie I would be making tonight.

Life in the technology district was chasing your tail and running a never-ending rat race unless you made room for yourself to stop and smell the roses apples. Only the apples weren't quite the freshest either, but when life gives you overripe apples you count your blessings and make apple pie and people tell you you should be grateful for having any apples at all. But I can't bear to be satisfied with a crate full of sad excuses for apples, next to brightly colored packets of noodles and tubes of drugs promising energy and productivity, not when I can remember this time of year once being filled with the smell of warm pumpkin, and cranberry chutney, and the cloud of pungent spicy constantly wafting through my father's kitchen.

I turn several more apples around in my hands before pausing and pivoting - the girl from earlier was still there, and I could have sworn she was looking at me.