Bleeding Hearts {//Arrows}

    Wooden shudders snap in a wicked willful wind. Tattered torn traces of curtains swim through the air tethered to the shifting shudders. Crippling coughs crawl from the crying crevices of orphaned children. A single shadow sits silhouetted by the windowsill. Dirt dwells within the grit of his nails and soot stains the skin of his face. Locks of black hair heave themselves upward in a jangled fashion revealing the pale purity of his snow white skin. Beneath this white winter blanket his bones are clear beneath his bending muscles. His eyes, grey as a clouded sky, stare endlessly through the empty panes. A younger boy lays gently pressed against the silhouette's side, yet even in his slumber he shakes from the serpent gusts.

    Does justice or fairness live within the confines of this world? Who chooses to tip the scale in a certain direction? Behind the beaten irises of grey clouds darkness lies within their hearts. Images of instant pain, of cruel crying, and of rivers of red never stop appearing. Like a lightning strike they stir him, shut down his systems into numbness, make him useless again. Useless while he sits cradling his younger brother begging for a moment of mercy from monstrous men. Useless while his beaten black and blue eyes blink at the sounds of shots, and awaken to find an orphan life in front of him and his brother. Useless to prevent injustice and unfairness. 

    A hand hits his shoulder stirring him from the surging storm, calming the terrible tides for a mere moment. In an instant his gates of distrust are daunting towards his, friend. "Prometheus listen, you haven't left that window for days." No answer follows, only silence. A sigh falls from the outsider's tongue before he continues. "I think you are in a slump. Okay, I get it. Life sucks, but sometimes we have to learn to keep living. That's why I left a gift for you at your old house. I'd hurry over now or you'll miss it." The hand hovers for a moment more before vanishing back into the phantom fog. 

    An hour later and the windowsill stands alone without a single silhouette, instead his feet follow a forgotten path. Crushed cobblestone crumbles beneath his steps but still he keeps on walking. Each pebble which moves beneath his feet forces forward flashbacks. He stands with his brother on his shoulders running down the cracked street. He sits on a crusty curb while a kite of rags ripples through the air. A family walks hand in hand through the first freshly fallen flakes of snow. Peacekeepers surge in and out of a house's door, the memory fades to reality, reveals an abandoned home lost to elements of nature. 

    A careful caress of the door and a creak crawls through the small shack. Inside shinning brightly to match the blood stained floors a girl with stunning red hair stands. Confusion creeps across Prometheus' conscious as he merely nods in confirmation of his identity. He sits as asked on the stiff couch covered in coffee and soot stains. A light flush fills his cheeks as he wonders what is happening. A single gulp gathers in his throat before he speaks within the sorrowful space.

    "Um how do you know my name and not to be rude but why are you in this place? Its not exactly... home-y."

    Its fast, the pace of Prometheus' heart begins to grow swifter and swifter with each step she takes. Sweat begins to stir upon his brow as he watches her. Inside the deafening frenzy of his frantic mind only one thought is able to materialize. What the hell is happening? Then carried off the lips of the red angel the answer he seeks is supplied with seductive intents. A gift? The gift! All along this was why Prometheus had been sent from his window sill into the shadows of the slums. Why he walked over coal and soot through a cold cruel district. All because his friend thought all he needed was a one night stand with an incredibly gorgeous girl. Now red was beginning to flush across Prometheus' cheeks.

    As his "roommate" drew ever closer to him another thought rose about the rancor. Why was she giving herself away like this? For a girl as obvious beautiful as her it made no sense at all why should would sell herself, sell her soul. But then it did, it clicked. She was doing it for the same reason anyone did anything in District Twelve. She needed the money, just like Prometheus she was another child left cruelly kicked by the wicked corruption of the government. They were both just monkeys made to dance and die for President Snow's amusement. All either of them had was the will to survive.

    Warmth suddenly spreads across Prometheus' legs as she sits upon him. At this point Prometheus' cheeks burn with the scolding heat of red fire ores, even more red than the rich locks upon her head. With worry he attempts to formulate some kind of communication but not even a sound escapes before she makes the swiftest step so far. Her lips, soft and perfect, press against his own and he falls into her for a second. He feels her heat, feels her heart beat, and for a moment he accepts her. Then he remembers none of it was real, she was here for money and nothing more than that.

    Reluctantly he removes his lips from her's and turns away from her face. Silence stirs for a second while Prometheus' fingers fiddle with the furs of the coach. "You... you don't need to do this." It falls from his lips quiet and hushed, no louder than the flapping of a lone moth's wings. "I know you need money, so just take what he paid and be on your way home. I'm sure your family misses you." Now Prometheus manages to set her on the seat next to him while he rises from his spot. "I'm not looking for anything quick, not to mention... Relaxation is a lie in this world." He pulls his coat on tight around him as he walks to the door. For a moment he dares to just leave but a he stops short of turning the handle. Instead he holds an old coat in the house in her direction. "Come on I'll walk you home instead."

    Its an odd thing, nobility. From the books I read when I was still in school to the lessons I learned its suppose to be between the highest form of combatants, only it isn't. In the microcosm manifested in Panem it appears that there is a horrid harmony when speaking in terms of nobility. In the wealthier districts where the gold gleams gushing in rivers and warriors are trained to the highest degree, nobility is rare. Then there's the lower districts covered in coal dust or filled with people losing life in fields where not a single speck of grace glimmers, yet can you guess what grows within the occupants as though sewn into their souls? Nobility. What a cataclysmic miscalculation in part of whoever designed the definition in the first place. There aren't any knights anymore, only those down on their luck and those lost in the lavish of luxury. 

    My focus finds itself back to the point of my direct digression, the girl whom which seems startled to be denied of her service. Her words wind and warp through my thundering thoughts as I try to calmly calculate the proper path to handle such a sticky situation. I soon find while wandering the channels of my cranium an answer which brings me back to the full front fight on the topic of nobility. This girl isn't willing giving away her joy, she's sacrificing it for the securement of a happier familial life, if there is anything I can understand in this wicked world it is doing something you just have to do. My heart pangs in pain for her, such a life is no life for a girl still glowing with youthful glory. 

    Nerves naturally build behind the barrier I've built inside my mind. Being open isn't something I am particularly perfect in performing given my past which still stalks me from the sinister shadows. Still, I have to learn to manage myself and find the might to still do what I know is right, using this girl is never going to be the right answer for me. A very rare sight stirs upon my face in the form of a soft smile, it doesn't have to be real to work so I'm told by my friends from the home. 

    "I'm not interested in you or your twin's services honestly. Don't take this as a rejection take it as a break, a chance for you to relax if it really exists like you say." My face falls to the floor as my feet lead me down the same shattered streets I've wandered weary and alone all too many times to count. At least for once the terrible thought of loneliness is kept at bay, even by such a strange circumstance. I suppose I should think of another thing to say other than letting the night draw forth its fire to forge eternal silence between us.

    "I take it you aren't the best off either? I know about having to do what you have to do. I respect what you're doing for your family." Its not much but its a metaphorical olive branch. In my mind I wonder what this girl is beyond the benevolent grace of beauty which she deploys to her advancement. Perhaps between such pristine impurity their is the core of someone who I would one day spend a night with beneath the stars.