Nervous Heartbeats and Slippery Fingers {zorionak}
Dec 17, 2015 18:45:45 GMT -5
Post by JaneD on Dec 17, 2015 18:45:45 GMT -5
marguerite harvard d2a (zori)
The sun had woken long before Paige on Sunday morning. She could hear her father and brother laughing downstairs; she could feel a sunbeam falling onto her closed eyes, beckoning her into consciousness. Her groan filled the room as she tugged her blankets over her head to escape its blinding light, but instead of falling back asleep she lay wide eyed staring up at the quilted blanket covering her. It was made for her when she was born, and now the colors were fading, there were holes lining the edges, and it no longer had the length needed to cover her feet, but still it reminded her of her mother who had made the quilt for her when she was baby, and who made a similar quilt for her brother when he was born. Its colors are still vibrant and it usually sits neatly folded at the foot of the bed that her father and brother share as a bright reminder of what they lost.
The front door opening and closing startled Paige out of her thoughts, she whips the blanket off her face and listens closely for noise downstairs. It seems eerily quiet in the house, all the laughing and talking she had been hearing all morning suddenly sucked up into a vacuum of silence. She supposed her brother and father must have left for a walk, judging by the sun streaming in, it must be a beautiful day. Rolling onto her side she notices a piece of paper and pile of coins sitting on her bedside table. A slender arm reaches out from underneath the covers to carefully jerk the paper from underneath the coins without them spilling over the side.
Whenever you wake up, please go to the market.
We are out of food. Love you!
Signed Holt and, in very wobbly letters, Caden.
Finally sitting up in bed Paige looks over to the small pile of money her father left her. Her stomach drops seeing it, and she knew without counting this would not be enough to buy much of anything. Her head hung in response to the cold metal weighing down her hand, anxiety and worry creepy in through her skin. A thought hits her. She hasn’t paid the market a visit in a while, and all at once she knew now how she was going to spend her day, and how she was going to feed her brother and father. At this thought a small smile creeps on her face.
She dresses quickly in her darkest clothes, stopping briefly to pull her long hair back and out of her face. On the way out of the door she throws on her black cloak that has a home on a hook in the wall by the front door. It billows as she steps out, pulling the hood over her head and covering the sides of her face. Paige makes her way towards the market by going around the edge of town, sticking closely to shadows and dirt paths. Despite her precautionary steps, today feels uncomfortable to her and every few steps her head keeps spinning around to check that no ones following. Perhaps after more time than normal due to nervous backtracking, she finds herself outside the largest market in District 12. Paige kneels by a tree a hundred yards away, planning which areas to strike.
The sun had woken long before Paige on Sunday morning. She could hear her father and brother laughing downstairs; she could feel a sunbeam falling onto her closed eyes, beckoning her into consciousness. Her groan filled the room as she tugged her blankets over her head to escape its blinding light, but instead of falling back asleep she lay wide eyed staring up at the quilted blanket covering her. It was made for her when she was born, and now the colors were fading, there were holes lining the edges, and it no longer had the length needed to cover her feet, but still it reminded her of her mother who had made the quilt for her when she was baby, and who made a similar quilt for her brother when he was born. Its colors are still vibrant and it usually sits neatly folded at the foot of the bed that her father and brother share as a bright reminder of what they lost.
The front door opening and closing startled Paige out of her thoughts, she whips the blanket off her face and listens closely for noise downstairs. It seems eerily quiet in the house, all the laughing and talking she had been hearing all morning suddenly sucked up into a vacuum of silence. She supposed her brother and father must have left for a walk, judging by the sun streaming in, it must be a beautiful day. Rolling onto her side she notices a piece of paper and pile of coins sitting on her bedside table. A slender arm reaches out from underneath the covers to carefully jerk the paper from underneath the coins without them spilling over the side.
Whenever you wake up, please go to the market.
We are out of food. Love you!
Signed Holt and, in very wobbly letters, Caden.
Finally sitting up in bed Paige looks over to the small pile of money her father left her. Her stomach drops seeing it, and she knew without counting this would not be enough to buy much of anything. Her head hung in response to the cold metal weighing down her hand, anxiety and worry creepy in through her skin. A thought hits her. She hasn’t paid the market a visit in a while, and all at once she knew now how she was going to spend her day, and how she was going to feed her brother and father. At this thought a small smile creeps on her face.
She dresses quickly in her darkest clothes, stopping briefly to pull her long hair back and out of her face. On the way out of the door she throws on her black cloak that has a home on a hook in the wall by the front door. It billows as she steps out, pulling the hood over her head and covering the sides of her face. Paige makes her way towards the market by going around the edge of town, sticking closely to shadows and dirt paths. Despite her precautionary steps, today feels uncomfortable to her and every few steps her head keeps spinning around to check that no ones following. Perhaps after more time than normal due to nervous backtracking, she finds herself outside the largest market in District 12. Paige kneels by a tree a hundred yards away, planning which areas to strike.