don't kiss and tell {kousei}

josephine emerson.

Technically speaking, lunch isn't supposed to be until one o' clock, but that's a completely ridiculous time when Fint-what's-his-face came banging on my door at such an ungodly hour this morning. Not once in my life have I had to go this long without a meal, and my stomach is about to burst out of it's own skin with hunger. The around me have become boring anyway, and I can tell they don't think much of me.

I've discovered that the hollow faces here are no different from the ones back home. Empty eyes, sunken cheeks, little more than a pack of starving coyotes. The poor things. I'd offer them a bit of money, but I only have a few coins in my pocket from home, and I'm hesitant to part with them. They might come in handy some time soon.

I manage to drift away from the crowd, scuttling away into the shadows and down the hall. I've never actually been here before, but my family has dutifully watched the games every year, and I'd say I have some idea about where the food is. I can hear my stomach snarling like some sort of street dog, like the ones I've walked past back home on my way to the market. They're nasty little things with black eyes and bones sticking out at every angle imaginable.

Thankfully, the dining hall isn't too difficult to find, and the food is already out for us. A glance around tells me that no one is watching.

My feet drift over to the table, quiet as possible, and my eyes rake across the food like it's my last meal. I don't take my time to pick and choose.

It's the candies that catch my eye, the little bowl full of sweets and delicacies that the entire paycheck of Eleven couldn't afford. My mouth waters and in a matter of seconds I grab a handful and stuff them in my pocket. There's steaming bread rolls on the side, and one finds a home in each of my hands. I spot a small bowl of caramelized fruit, all colorful and shaped like flowers. I have to think a moment because both my hands are full. In the end, I shove one of the bread rolls in my mouth, grab the bowl, and hurry out before the rest of those vultures devour the feast we've been served.

It's not until I step back outside that I realize I'm not sure where to go. I hesitate, gaze flickering back and forth, feeling rather foolish with my mouth stuffed with bread and my face comparable to a chipmunk caught in headlights. Eventually I spot a turn in the hall, duck in that way, and situate myself in a crook of the small space.

Bending over has caused some of my candies to spill out of my pocket and scatter back out into the hall. Hurriedly, I set the fruit bowl down and reach for my shiny treasures, bread roll still half in my mouth.