#also using the dye station because I can’t bring myself to pick what to use my free ur dye on

[livvie-love-nikki]

Nikki Shroud

[justamixofemoandpunk]

Ok so i have to publish stuff for one of my classes. and I am publishing it to tumblr dot com

Please don't be mean I'm sorry.

Poetry Portfoilio:

I Come from poem

I come from rainstorms

Softly tapping the windows,

Nourishing the ground

Rainbows are just around the corner,

And yet nobody wants it to end

Soft and comforting

I come from rainstorms

With howling winds,

Beating at the doors,

flooding ponds and

Spattering against the window

Ripping petals off flowers

Violent and merciless

I come from cool mornings,

With fuzzy sweaters and hot tea

Coffee weak to with sugar and cream

Favorite spices stirred in

Trees are turning bright colors in the distance

Rubbing sleep from your eyes

I com from cool mornings,

With harsh wind biting cheeks and noses

Painfully early

Headaches from trying to remember a forgotten dream

And burning fevers

I come from mist and fog

Warm mornings with honeysuckle perfume

Birds in the far distance chirp

Of a new day

Covered in a fluffy white sweater

I come from mist and fog

Shrouding the distance

“Danger, Danger” whispers the trees

A snake slithers unseen on the forest floor

Mystery itself is fearful

I come from power herself

Spring spots poem

flowers peeking through honeysuckle vines

with bowed heads from the weight of the world

and pink stretch marks from holding it up

they do not care, they know they are strong and beautiful

and yet tired all the same from the thankless work

more flowers appear,

this time with anger that they hold the weight of the world

they have bowed heads too, they are also tired

they do not want to clean up thanklessly after others

just like the previous generation

yet they are tired, because they do it too,

and try to explain they they do not have to be the only ones to help

the first flowers fade, wrinkling and fading

tired out, exhausted

they droop to the ground

without mourning save but from the other flowers

just as they fall

more flowers bloom in their place

not picking up the weight of the world,

they have seen the damage it does

they do not want to hurt

they try to convince the other plants and creatures to help,

telling them that the damage won’t be so great

but the others just laugh

After all, why would they pick up, why would they work when they hadn't before?

they wouldn't be hurt either way

it stings, it hurts

so when the last generation dies

there is a frost

everyone suffers

the other plants are mad at the flowers

for not picking up the weight of the world

the flowers are angry, because the other plants will not listen

only cruelly twist their words against them

so when the next flowers appear

the dying second set of flowers tell them not to pick it up

for the other plants will eventually pick up their share

the new flowers won't pick it up,

and they try to explain that everyone needs to help

but the other plants won’t listen

and the cycle repeats, it looks doomed

When will the other plants learn?

Will the flowers ever get a break?

Sonnet

Sonnet to people who won’t wear a mask

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day

For thou art hasn't even a bit of class

You look like an animal that eats hay

Say, thou art even dressed the part,( donkey)

You killed a baboon and stolen it’s face

you're a murderer and uncunning thief

your mother never gave you an embrace

but a mere peek of your face causes grief

You are steadfast to theories of fraud

you use sources from all except science

At logic you have stridently guffawed

doctors receive only your defiance

To the nearest grocery employee

I say: run! covid is a guarantee

4 word poem

444Early thunder webs porch

I woke up early this morning

Packed my bag, took a quick shower,

Stepped onto the webbed porch

Walked down to the nearest train station

The city was already bustling, but in a tired sort of way

I boarded the metro, and dozens of ghostly eyes glanced up,

Haunted by the lack of sleep, decimated by the stresses

Only one pair of them saw me, I knew.

It was myself at a young age

visiting the art museum with my mother and brother

I still remember that trip.

If only my naive self knew what would happen.

What would become of me

What will happen

These Have I Loved

Cars whizzing past my house, blaring the radio, the sharing their snippets of sound

Raindrops dripping down a window,

The smell of baking bread in the oven, and the sizzle of eggs on the stove,

A book by the crackling fire,

Inky calligraphy, a page of scribbles for warming up the ink

Shooting stars speeding by, a gasp and a hundred thousand silent wishes

The stars and the moon, shining bright,

White roses dyed with split stems

Chalk monsters on driveways

Clouds forming and shifting, butterflies flitting between the bushes

Honeysuckle flowers picked and nectar greedily sipped out

Lumps of moss gently placed in potting soil, caringly watered.

666 this is just to say

This is just to say:

I forgot to text you back

I forgot to write the email

I promise I was thinking of you

I promised I haven’t forgotten

I miss you so much

I promise I love you still

I promise I promise I promise

I am thinking of you

I care, but I can’t write the email

I promise I tried

Forgive me

stretched pantoum( I’m sorry 3 stanzas wasn’t enough)

I’m scared/

Another friend drops/

I do not know their name/

Why does nobody notice everyone is falling//

Another friend drops /

My heart beats faster/

Why does nobody notice everyone is falling/

They’re being murdered by the minute//

My heart beats faster/

Why does nobody else see the blue-grey-green murderer/

They’re being murdered by the minute /

It’s holding a bloody hatchet, //

Why does nobody else see the blue-grey-green murderer/

It’s holding their head under water,/

It’s holding a bloody hatchet/

Why do they answer it’s sick questions //

It’s holding their head underwater,/

I KNEW THAT PERSON/

Why did they answer his sick questions/

They’re gone now, never coming home, never coming home//

I KNEW THAT PERSON/

And they’re gone, gone forever/

They’re gone now, never coming home, never coming home/

They were drowned in the fountain//

And they’re gone, gone forever/

With a hatchet in the back/

They were drowned in the fountain/

They were poisoned//

With a hatchet in the back/

They sank to their knees, eyes up to heaven/

They were poisoned/

They had no choice//

5 different ways of looking at the moon

A one-eyed space cat,

Staring with unwavering attention,

Never bothering to shake the glittering dust off its coat

It keeps a silent sigil

A bitten cookie,

Rudely munched on by ants

They didn’t even notice the silver and gold leaf

In their hunger, it was just more food

The cat is growing sleepy

It has been there for millenia

Ever watching, waiting

Why does it stay? What is going to happen?

A teacup,

Left with only the bitter dregs,

Someone forgot to take the teabag out

The last drops are cold and strong

Maybe the cat drank it

A colourful stamp on paint named ”Satin night”

Spotted and not quite perfect

Maybe from a cork

Slammed so hard the paint spattered

And made stars

I remember poem

I remember sticking my hands and head out the car window as we sped down the highway at sunset, speakers resounding our favorite songs on cassette,

Walking around the city with balloons in hand- we had picked them for the other

I remember laying on the rooftop, and you showed me my star sign, and yours, and your favorite constellations and their stories,

And I remember your face when I gave you a strawberry plant that I grew just for you

I remember making our playlist, with all our favorite songs, and it was fun because you tried to add words to the titles to make them funny because

I remember “It’s Not a Fashion Statement, It’s A Deathwish, Mom” and “Bring Me to Life, Mom”

And I remember your anger when they called me that word.

I had to hold you back to keep you from hurting them.

You flat ironed my hair, and I remember dyeing yours neon green.

I remember slow dancing in our room, with lit scented candles to spotify playlists and McDonald’s ads.

I remember growing ivy on the staircase with you

I remember your smile

4 word sketch poem

Firstborn, whistle, moonlight, strings

The whistle of the first firework,

it screeches up into the dusk.

The strings it releases explode and crackle,

A chorus of gasps and Oohs and Ahs

As the firstborn child sneaks away, unnoticed.

It’s fine, that was their plan anyways.

Fireflies are twinkling, traffic is clogged and congested.

They round the corner, pacing fast but quietly, the way they learned in 5th grade.

The boots make it difficult, so they tiptoe on the narrow strip of grass that lays next to the sidewalk.

They’ve reached their destination: the pharmacy.

It's hard not to attract attention when you’re the only customer in the store.

A few minutes later, they leave, crinkly plastic bag in hand,

Nearly sprinting towards their family.

They’ve only been gone for five minutes, but

The fireworks and the fact that they’re normally quiet has kept their family from alarm.

They sneak back into the circle,

doling out candy to delighted brothers and sisters,

The parents have no idea.

[mercurialmist]

Orts, Meghan Murphy, 2021

When coral and poppy lipsticks melt into waxy pools they are scraped away. Yet the empty tubes remain, rimmed with colorful remnants of time. 

The residue of laughing painted lips cling to hollow silver shells. The stifled air, moist with trapped memories, turns acidic, tarnishing the silver bullets in blues and greens. The weaker metals succumb to corrosion and the smooth geometric objects of the vanity descend into the mirrored surface…an infinite reflected universe of pock-marked moons and rust-cratered pits. Glass perfume bottles, whose contents have long-since evaporated, reveal droplets of gooey condensation on the inside. 

Every time I turn on a faucet the water splutters in mud brown streams before finally fading to a pale yellow trickle. 

Inside this house there is no letting go. 

We can’t even replace the carpets, until the carpets speak for themselves—abruptly unraveling to trip us up. Failing plumbing stains the walls in murky teardrops, rivulets cascading down, down into the earth—and the same shade of paint is used to cover up the blooming mold. The wallpaper-ed rooms are less lucky—if the wallpaper is no longer in production then it stays, doomed to gradually be absorbed by the sweating house. A bathroom with walls of vibrantly colored, life-sized birds has faded from ornate detail to abstract shapes. The yellow finch that used to watch me with a discerning eye, has been reduced to the silhouette for a toddler’s puzzle. 

The house gasps, groans, wheezes and secretes …

There are birds of all materials here. Porcelain eagles, taxidermy ducks and pheasants, delicate glass swans, a bronze peacock figurine…..

On the wall of the den is the mounted head of an indeterminant creature. Its mouth is open to reveal pointed white teeth and I see my brother and I reflected in the protruding marble eyes.

“It’s a fox,” I say.

 “No,” my brother responds resolutely. “It’s an opossum.” 

The toy box, an excavation site where the heavy wooden blocks of my mother’s childhood lay at the bottom and my own plastic toys float towards the top, all webbed together by the roots of tangled doll hair. We prefer to play with the bronzes—a collection of dog-sized statues line a room, an infinite circular migration. We climb on to ungiving saddles, little hands grasping cold buffalo horns and clutching at the faces of stoic Mohican chiefs. 

I am all too aware of the constant surveillance that follows my padded footsteps. The walls are covered in heavy oil paintings, depicting dramatic scenes of nature—a ship caught in the throes of an angry sea, horses (so many herds of horses) in various landscapes—galloping, grazing, leaping into the air with rolling white eyes—and two large portraits of them, stationed in the heart of the house. 

The grand piano sits below their looming faces—a glossy sacrificial altar. The ebony surface is covered in a clutter of picture frames, the many factions of a tangled family tree. The newest faces and unions vie for the front, dangerously close to the edge, while past, ended marriages and children long grown linger in the back.…. It’s the photos that don’t make it in the frames that matter—those candid moments that break through the glossy sheen.  

I enter rooms on tip-toe, and hold my breath, always waiting for…what? To see the statues scramble back into place? The portraits conversing? I can’t even find peace in the bathroom, where a framed, larger-than-life nude woman bathes in the moonlight, glancing accusatorially over her shoulder at me. 

And when it all becomes unbearable, all that empty, heavy space, all the unblinking eyes, I defy the house the only way a child can. I open the home stereo system, installed under the old record player, and press play on the album ‘Now That’s What I Call Music. 9.’ There is something immensely satisfying about filling the space with the pulsating base of Missy Elliot and dancing spastically around the house. Pausing in front of china cabinets and display cases to flail my limbs wildly. I am both defying the on-looking artefacts and also moving, running, prancing, and crawling for them. I scream the obscene lyrics, and when I don’t know the words I fill the void with howls, yelps and guttural cries. 

In the summer, we collect dozens of inky black tadpoles from the pond and bring them inside to observe their evolution into frogs. With transfixed satisfaction we watch the wiggling amphibians absorb their tails and gills, to sprout webbed feet, gradually preferring the floating branches to the depths of the tank. 

By the time the frogs are leaping and croaking, their startling ruckus is too erratic and I can feel the house expelling their presence. When I release the frogs, I think of the mounted fox, collecting dust in his perpetual snarl, glass stags frozen in flight, the bronze boar in everlasting terror and the hounds always tensed to lunge. 

We have granted these things a power and their stillness now vibrates with a tension that will surely crack if the white porcelain arms of ballerinas, extended high over heads, don’t finally rest. 

Every closet and drawer is filled with them. Racks of dresses hang in a shocking burst of color that even years of mothballs can’t subdue. Stacked boxes of white leather gloves, waiting to either mold itself to my skin in a permanent grasp or disintegrate from the shock of warm, pulsating flesh. His imposing army of suits, the outgrown shells of a larger-than-life man. 

Over the years, we grow bolder and shift through her dresses, fingering the stiff fabrics and choosing our favorites. 

“Try them on girls,” they whisper. 

We are all silent as the rigid materials swallow our pre-pubescent bodies, but there is no warm encasing or folding of fabric over our slight frames. The dresses stubbornly maintain their womanly shapes, and we are just sticks propping up the figure of her. 

It’s when we start to move that the ritual commences. There is something intimate and precious, and thrilling, because we know it is wrong to be wearing her clothes. In these gowns we feel elegant and graceful and hold our heads high as we twirl and pirouette through the house like a coronation—a sense of importance and birth-right. 

We baptize the stiff dresses in our sweat and the dusty-dry fabric greedily soaks in youthful beads of perspiration…a secretion of inheritance. 

…10 years later

“Now that I’ve left, when I come back to the house I feel like that boy, Holden, from Catcher in the Rye,” he says with a half-smile. His posture is rigid though, and I find my brother’s resigned behavior maddening, as if we hadn’t spent our childhood living here. Hands stuffed in his coat, he winds through the room, giving the furnishings a wide berth.  

“Remember,” he continues, “how Holden loved the Natural History Museum as a child and suddenly he can’t bear going back because he’s changed and everything remains the same inside the museum?”

I only vaguely remember something about a red (or was it orange?) hat and a carousal. His eyes finally land on the oversized portraits of our great-grandparents, dominating the living room, and his expression sets.  

“Meg,” he is resolute but I can sense a dread in his voice that alarms me.

“I love you and I want to set you free.” He emphasizes “free” as if it means so much more than I understand. 

“Sometimes the power of a place, an artefact, or a story, can help guide us into our own. But this has gotten way out of hand. We,” he gestures around the room to indicate our family, “we were once the weavers of our truth. But, suddenly our hands couldn’t keep up with the loom, or it was like the loom didn’t need us anymore…and now we’re tangled, trapped, suffocating in our own creation, while the story shuttles on. I hope that you are able to let it all go…leave this tangled mess where it lies. Perhaps pause to wonder at the knots, frayed ends, and faded dyes…at this jumbled creature that has enveloped you, and what it once was. I want you to feel the blood start to circulate back into limbs that you haven’t even realized are numb, wrapped up in this vice-like thread. When all this is over, maybe take a strand or two with you to carry around as a reminder.”

In the back of my mind I can hear my cousins’ comments about how lost my brother is. How ungrateful he is to turn his back on all that our family has worked so hard to achieve, and how our spoiled upbringing is the only explanation for his dissatisfaction. 

“I don’t understand…”

He surges on:

“You know how Grandpa taught me how to fish? And how I was so excited that I nearly hooked myself in the eye?” I smile fondly as he touches his brow, where a small scar disrupts the arc of hair.

“That never happened. I got this scar from hitting my head on the coffee table. I don’t even like fishing. And I barely remember them!” 

He gestures accusatorily at the serene, smiling faces on the wall. 

I am horrified. 

I was born shortly after my great-grandparents had died, and grew up envying and reveling in everyone else’s memories of them.  

“I started to catch on that everybody in our family had these special moments with them, and that there was never any kind of timeline or specific setting. And everyone is always trying to up each other with how meaningful their memories are. Aunt Susan got herself into trouble when she went a bit too far with her sailing story, involving that storm and shipwreck, forgetting that Grandpa never learned to swim.” 

He picks up a porcelain horse from the mantle-piece and snaps a leg off. For a moment I swear I hear the terribly crisp ‘crack!’ of breaking glass, resounding through the house. Instead, there is only my own sharp gasp and a dull splintering sound. 

“This isn’t hand-made, limited edition porcelain from Vienna. It’s acrylic. Probably from China. Maybe there was an original figurine once-upon-a-time, and maybe Grandma really did smuggle it back from Europe in her jacket, but this particular one is the third acrylic replica—in our lifetime—to be placed here.”

He looks at me pleadingly, “surely you must have caught-on that something was up…”

I look around the room; was there an imperceptible dulling of color and light? Had there always been so much…stuff? Every surface is covered with the treasured belongings of my great-grandparents. I finger the scratchy wool of pillows she crocheted. Here was his rifle collection, above a desk littered with her stationary and a heavy glass paper weight. And suddenly I feel those binding ties that he had been talking about. Every object, painting, and photograph that has been eternalized in my memory over the years, is connected to me by hundreds of threads tied to my ribcage. As I stare at the tremoring silky strands, I wonder whether I spun this web or if the objects themselves cast the net. And now I can never unsee or un-feel myself caught, suspended, propped-up in this thing. I realize that these are ties only I can sever. But what if these little connections are what hold me upright? I picture myself a crumpled heap on the floor, with no more wonder and certainty to buoy me back up. 

“Hurry!” My brother says, an edge of desperation in his voice, “before it is too late.”

I frantically begin to pull…and pull and pull and the fibrous strings just keep coming….slipping, wet and glistening, through my skin… and then with a panic I press on my stomach and, instead of my bottom ribs, all I feel is soft, vulnerable intestines. I am unraveling myself. I am this thread, and I was moments away from unmaking myself.

Suddenly, my brother’s face transforms. As I watch, it continues to mutate between gender and age, and yet there is something familiar looking back at me. In skin that is soft, taut, and lined—all at once—I glimpse iterations of the same eye-shape, and pointed chin. And I am not afraid. “You have passed the test. And so, you have earned these—The Scissors of Acceptance, and The Stone of Truth.” They pass me a pair of small silver scissors and a whetstone, that sits reassuringly in the palm of my hand. 

“But ask yourself: why was it so easy for my little tale and demonstration to nearly unspool you?” 

When does the silence of family secrets, glaring omissions and mysterious gaps, accumulate to become more substantial than what is known? Perhaps the unspoken and unacknowledged is the backbone of the narrative. Perhaps one doesn’t necessarily contradict, or negate, the other. 

I can not pull, or exorcise this thing from my body; I must accept it for what it is and be grateful that it supported my trembling legs until I could stand on my own. I use The Scissors of Acceptance, sharpened by The Stone of Truth, to cut the strings. Each snip of the scissors is a snapped chord—a violent jerk, quivering, and finally stillness. 

I leave the house. And these ‘orts’—leftover fragments of the past—trail behind me in a soft silver wake. As I continue moving, the ghostly little strings begin to tentatively seek each other, connect like grasping hands, and eventually these remaining ties are the beginning of something new, and whole. A sheening garment, light as air, covers me like a second skin—as comforting as a blanket and protective as armor. 

See more of Meghan’s work at: https://www.everythingforever.net/meghan-murphy

[jcmorrigan]

Notes from a Racecar Bed

The F/O? Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. The S/I? Rachel Scribere - mundie, writer of much fanfiction, independent contractor supervillainous minion who has also given up on adulting. (Most of those things apply to me IRL!) I’m only YT-current, not VRV-current, and it’s been four episodes, so I’m well aware this ship could get sunk at any time. I’m just having fun while I can. AU where I have a more “normal” job based on real-life events but do evil on the side. This ficlet features some sensuality (though no overt sexuality), discussion of illegal activities I only do in my fantasies and would never do IRL, and a blatant admission of how many ASMR videos I have watched, because cringe culture is now dead on my blog.

***

         Like so many nights before, sitting on the racecar bed, me with my legs crossed, him curled behind me. So lucky he likes to spoil his favorite minion, I thought.

           Though given who we were, it wasn’t a sexual tantalization. No, he’d found the weak spots in my shoulders. His fingers would dig into them for less than a minute and I would be like a collapsing water balloon.

           “ – and then she fuckin’ waves me over, even though I’m helping that other guy,” I rant, “and I have to just up and abandon the dude and walk over to see what she wants, and it turns out her card doesn’t have enough money on it, surprise surprise, but oh noooooo she can’t possibly believe that, but I’ve got this guy waiting, so I go bug my manager, and she’s trying to tell me she’s on the phone, but I see this lady about to EXPLODE so I tell her that this CAN-NOT-WAIT, and long story short, that’s why this Saturday, I really need to get some cash the good old-fashioned illegal way.”

           “What, like tricking a gas station clerk into leaving his station for just long enough that you can get behind the counter and steal an entire pack of scratch lottery?”

           “…That was incredibly specific, Gio.”

           His left hand kept massaging my shoulder; his right disappeared, and I could hear the nightstand drawer opening. “Prepare yourself,” he teased. “You’re about to tell me I’m the best boyfriend-slash-boss you could ever have in three…two…”

           A pack of scratch lottery, thicker than a deck of cards, was tossed rather unceremoniously onto the blanket in front of me.

           “Oh my GOD!” You’d think that would have been a scream of dismay and horror, but I’d lost my morals a long time ago. I picked the pack up with glee. “You even got the crosswords!”

           “I know how much you love a good puzzle.”

           “This is so gonna help me pass the time at my car appointment.”

           I could feel him wincing as his right hand returned to my shoulder. “Just don’t, y’know, bring the whole thing to the dealership. Because if they see you with that – well, I learned that the HARD way.”

           “Yeah, I bet you – “ I realized what didn’t add up. “Dealership? You drive a fucking Vespa.”

           “WHICH YOU CAN GET AT DEALERSHIPS!”

           “Fair point. Anyway, I’ll just sneak like five into my book.”

           He ended it the way he always did – halting slowly, then dragging both palms down my back. I shivered, and I knew he noticed. “No offense, but I think my thumbs are gonna fall off.”

           “I thought that was longer than usual.” I then stopped to ponder it. “…Have I ever tried on you?”

           “Wait, what?”

           “Have I ever tried massaging YOUR shoulders?”

           I could hear a snicker from behind. “You know, that actually sounds amazing and quite well-deserved on my part.”

           “Well, then let’s switch places, dork.”

           First, I turned about to look up into his eyes, their gold flecks reflecting off the irises. God, I could call my eyes “the color of ocean at twilight” in parody fanfic 365 days out of the year and that wouldn’t change the fact that they were the dullest possible mix of blue-green-gray. And his eyes…they always sparkled.

           His lips curled into a sly smile, his fangs peeking out beneath his upper lip. “Are you lost in my eyes again? I must say, I can’t blame you.”

           I flushed, turning away instinctively. His hand beneath my chin, turning my gaze back up to meet his, changed that.

           “Uh…hi?” I said rather nervously. Still wondering how this happened. How I could have been with someone for this long, nestled into him atop a racecar bed with his hands on my shoulders for half an hour, and still get so anxious about him.

           “You know, Composer…” He was now smirking broadly. “Your eyes are the color of this one sapphire necklace I stole once. But also kinda mixed with the color of the worst bruise I’ve ever gotten. And man, was I proud of that bruise. And that necklace. Actually, I’m pretty sure I got those on the same day…the point is, they’re beautiful. Your eyes, I mean.” He pinched the hinge of my glasses, pushing them closer to my face.

           Part of me I kept wanting gone but he obviously didn’t.

           “Thank you,” I practically choked. “They’re…nothing compared to yours.”

           “Well, mine are the best, but yours are a really close SECOND best!”

           Now I was the one practically laughing. “Just switch with me.”

           As we crawled around each other, I couldn’t help but admire his frame – I always did. Just something about his slender lankiness that made my heart speed up. Even sitting, he was taller than me, just by a bit, but enough that I felt dwarfed. Now I was faced with his shoulders, and above that, the fluffy fringes of his cotton-candy hair.

           A lump rose in my throat; I was almost too nervous to start. After all, there was a very decent chance I sucked at this. I just tried to remember how I wanted it done; do unto others. I lay hands on him, beginning to work. “So tell me,” I urged, “what minor nuisances pissed you off today?”

           “Well, I almost had to change Car Crash’s name to Vespa Crash.”

           “Ouch.”

           “Then there was the person with the whole ‘Anvil’ Epithet. Whose Epithet is ANVIL? I was lucky to get ou – I mean I was lucky to get a way better Epithet than that. I mean, Soup is better than ANVIL, right? But I was always going to get out of there with – “

           He gave a sudden, sharp intake of breath, and my hands froze. I had just remembered how much I enjoyed when he dug into the very hollows of my shoulders, that all-too-often tense spot leading up to my neck, and had been attempting to mimic that. Probably a bad idea. “Did that hurt?” I asked softly.

           To my surprise, he replied, “That…did the exact opposite of hurt. Keep doing it?”

           “…Yeah. Okay. Sure.”

           As I resumed, I found myself compelled to ask: “So, did that, like, turn you ON or – “

           “Of course not, but this might be the closest I can get.”

           “Well, you know you can always promote yourself to demi at this point and I won’t even be mad.” I gave my left hand a break to flick at the ends of his hair. “I won’t be able to help you with any of it, but – “

           “That’s not in your contract, Composer. Don’t even worry about it.”

           “Duly noted, Boss.”

           I had been better at mimicry than I had expected. He was practically melting back toward me, his shoulder-flesh sinking beneath my hands. That was when I got a rather devilish idea. “You know…I may or may not have a few other tricks up my sleeve.”

           “Oh, yeah? Well, play them on me and let’s see how well I withstand them.”

           “You know the sheer volume of ASMR videos I watch, right?” This room being one of the few places I could bring that up and know I wouldn’t be mocked for it. Same way he could wear pink tie-dye pajamas and not hear any shittalk from me. “I’ve learned things. Things you wouldn’t believe.”

           “Come on. I’ll believe anything from you, Composer.”

           “Then don’t say you weren’t warned.”

           I let his shoulders alone, sliding my right hand up into his bubblegum-pink hair. Struck once again by how ridiculously soft it was. He seriously put time into it. I started off in the traditional method – just working the skin of the scalp, same way as the shoulders.

           “Seriously?” he taunted. “I mean, sure, it’s good, but this is just level-one stuff. Even I could – “

           That little devil took over, and I changed tactics, using the gentlest of pressures to scratch through his hair with my fingernails.

           “…Now thaaaaat’s more like level three.”

           “I finally get to spoil you for once,” I said cheekily.

           “Well, outside of the general gratification that automatically comes with recruiting you as an independent-contractor minion.”

           “You’re sweet.”

           “Yeah, well, that’s our secret, remember?”

           “What secret?”

           “About me be – “ He got it then. “I mean. Yeah. Right. I didn’t say anything. You don’t know what I’m talking about.”

           He then flinched and gave a light “Yeep!”. I’d changed tactics yet again – lightly grabbing the roots of his hair and giving a mild tug.

           “Did that hurt?” I asked, a new wave of anxiety suddenly washing over me.

           When he warbled “No,” I could hear that it wasn’t the tone of someone in pain – it was the tone of someone who wanted more of that. So I dealt more out, lightly pulling locks on the left, the right, near the front, near the back of his head.

           “I really did underestimate you on this front,” he admitted. “You know now you have to do this more often.”

           “You keep doing my shoulders and it’ll be an even trade.”

           “This is actually…really, REALLY relaxing…I could almost just…”

           It was gentle yet sudden, him falling back onto me, pinning me to the headboard. The back of his head was nestled onto my right shoulder, nuzzling close to my own face.

           “What,” I teased, “you’re falling asleep already?”

           He didn’t answer. Just snuggled a little closer back to me, like I was some sort of body pillow. That was when I realized he actually had fallen asleep on me – quite literally.

           “Gio!” I hissed, poking his shoulder. “Giovanni! Wake up!” Though I didn’t say it quite as loud as I could have. “I can’t sleep pinned up like this!”

           He wasn’t moving, sound asleep.

           Great.

           I contemplated just shifting his position, laying him down properly or just scooting out from behind him. However, that ran the risk of a rude awakening, and…I just couldn’t. He was twice as adorable asleep as usual, and considering that average, that’s a pretty amazing statistic.

           So I decided to try and make the best of it. Sure, I was pinned up against the seat of a faux car, but I had once bragged that I could fall asleep anywhere. (The airplane proved me wrong when I had no idea how to recline the seat, of course. Not a good sign in this case.) I tossed my glasses lightly to the nightstand and shut my eyes, attempting to make myself comfortable pinned between a crime boss and a hard place.

           Strangely enough, it eventually actually worked, somewhat. I could finally feel that state just before sleep when none of your thoughts seem to make sense, turning into a frieze of colors that make up surreal images as the opening act for dreams.

           However, I was just awake enough to be aware of a few things, if not so much to respond to them. One was of a weight being lifted off my chest and shoulder. The sound of a soft curse. A pair of hands gently locking over my forearms, and suddenly, things weren’t so vertical and solid anymore – perpendicular, much softer. (The mattress. I figured that out the next morning when I woke up in the usual position.) A muttering of words that I’m pretty sure were “There we are…nice and cozy.” Then, eventually, the pressure of a second body beside mine, clinging on like I was a life raft in the sea of somnolence, the only thing keeping us both afloat in the dream-realm.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #210

“made of flame, made of mud, i’m the many, i’m the one.”

Did your parents live in a different country before you were born? No. Do you have a preferred coffee brand? No. What’s something you’ve experienced that very few others have? Your favorite human on Planet Earth/God Himself noticing you. :') Three days I couldn't sleep. Three. Days. Do you have to wear an identification badge at your job? I don't have a job, yet. Have you ever dated someone who was terrible with money? No. If so, how did it affect the relationship? N/A How often do you paint your nails? Never. Do you know anyone who’s related to a current or former world leader? I'm related to Queen Victoria somehow. Idk about anyone else. Do you do your own taxes, or do you hire a professional? No job, no taxes yet. What is something you don’t have any natural talent for? Mathematics. Has anyone ever told you that you get too competitive over minor things? No. Do you usually befriend your coworkers, or do you prefer to keep work separate from your personal life? N/A What was the very first thing you ever saved up to buy with your own money? I think Venus. Describe your favorite Christmas ornament. Man, I have a lot. We've accumulated A LOT over the years between me and all my siblings. Mom gets each of us one every year, and she's also kept all the ones we've made throughout school. She's so cute y'all. There is this REALLY damn pretty swirling crystal one with an angel on the top of it I got from my grandmother, that's definitely one of my faves, I've always loved this lil gingerbread dude I made in pre-k, and... idk man, there are truly a lot. What is something you frequently forget? To turn the laundry room light off anytime I go in there at night for Roman's litter scooper or to bring dirty clothes in there. By this point it's like a joke in the house with how much I do it for whatever reason. How do you feel about your body? I hate it. Who is someone you would like to get to know better? Connie, but I respect her privacy. I know you have to be careful online. What’s your opinion on assisted suicide? For it. At what point do you consider a relationship to be ‘long-term?’ Hm, idk, really. A year? What jobs did your parents have when you were growing up? Mom worked with special ed kids at school, she had a job at the hospital doing computer work I can't remember because I was so young, Dad's been a mailman all my life, but he also worked at Lowe's as a carpenter I think for a while. Do they still have these jobs? Or different jobs? Or have they retired? Mom's got a totally different job, and I already mentioned Dad being a mailman. Do you have any recurring dreams? Themes, yes; dreams, no. Have you ever had to call 911? Why? Yes; Mom and I thought she was having a heart attack. Terrifuckingfying morning. Do you get out a lot? I might as well be on fucking house arrest. I can stay in the house and go nowhere for over a week. Do you eat a lot of vegetables? No. Last fast food you ate? I had a Hardee's biscuit for breakfast. Do you live in Canada? No. What do you think when you see two members of your preferred sex kissing? It's sweet, and brave considering the assholes of the world. Is that hot? "For fuck’s sake… It bothers the hell out of me when people fangirl over homosexual couples. It’s so disrespectful." <<< THIS. Would you ever want to be a chef? No. Bonfires: Y/N? They're fun. What’s a food that’s famous in your hometown/state/country/etc? Southern cooking, like fried chicken, mashed potatoes, hushpuppies, pulled pork, nasty shit like that. By pure coincidence, I literally hate almost all the "traditional" Southern foods. When’s that last time you saw snow? January this year. I think it was January... What’s something that you think will become obsolete in the next 50 years? Physically driving cars, probably. Are you efficient or do you procrastinate a lot? I procrastinate all to hell. Who are the 3 people you love the most? Mom, Sara, and then... idk if I can pick #3. Last person you slept in the same bed with? Sara. When was your first kiss? March 2012. Have you recently been sick? No. What song are you listening to? "Break My Mind" by dAGAMES. Would you marry someone if they were unable to have sex? Yeah. Have you ever made a boyfriend or girlfriend cry? Sadly. Does heartbreak really feel as bad as it sounds? It's worse. Weed, coke, crack, heroin, oxy, acid, x, k, peyote, mushrooms, opium…How many of these have you tried? I have no clue what like three of these even are lmao. None. How long has it been since you had sex? Like over three years. Who was the last person to call you babe? Probably Sara. Last reason you went to the ER? My sister got in a wreck. Were you a planned pregnancy for your parents? I believe so. Have you ever taken pictures in a photo booth? Yeah. When was the last time you shaved your legs? It's been many months. My legs are AWFUL, but it is an absolute chore to shave or use Nair because my hair is so long and thick. So I figure if there's very little/no chance someone's going to see my legs, why even do it. I really wanna get laser hair removal on my legs when I can afford it, though. What facial cleanser do you use? A Biore charcoal scrub. If someone wanted to know what you smelt like, what should they smell? I don't know? Probably dogs, lmao? How many purses do you own? One I use, then I have... two or three old ones saved just because I really like them. What are your top five favorite stores to clothes shop? Hot Topic, Rebel's Market, Spencer's, rue21, and... idk. I guess Wal-Mart lmao. What kind of clothes do you mostly wear? Yoga/dance/sweatpants with a tank top, graphic tee, or band tee. What about shoes? Flip flops like, year-round lol. If I do wear something else for whatever reason, it'll probably be my Vans or maybe a pair of Converse. Have you ever cheated on the significant other that you have now? No. For that one week a month, do you hate being a woman? Nah, birth control's made cramping a far smaller problem. Last thing you bought at the mall? Wow, I have no idea. Well... maybe a book before the hurricane to read if the power went out? I haven't read it if you're wondering, aha... Do your parents like your boyfriend/girlfriend? Yeah. Dad's met her once, but he seemed to enjoy her just fine, and Mom adores her. What store did you last buy clothes from? Wal-Mart. Which parent are you more similar to? I have traits aligning with each of them. I think my mom, but then again, I don't see my dad nearly enough to know his personality deeply since he changed IMMENSELY after the divorce. Have you ever been to another country’s capital city? No. What are some of your favorite qualities for another person to have? Compassion, wisdom, an open mind, gentle, passionate, a good sense of humor... What smell reminds you of your childhood? Chlorine, I guess. I swam a LOT as a kid; it was my favorite activity. Are you happy with who you are? In some ways, in some ways no. Do you ever sleep with your bedroom windows open? No; we live beside a busy road, and plus I don't trust people. Have you ever had a job where you didn’t fit in with your coworkers? No. What was the last word document you typed? I made a brief outline of the message I'm sending to the client who hired me for her wedding when I send her her pictures. Thanking her and telling her what more I could do for her, stuff like that. What’s something that has upset you lately? The extreme difficulty of finding a job for myself... Do you have a home security system? No, but damn do I want one. What’s something you don’t think people take seriously enough? If you know the darker part of my photography, roadkill. People see it and either think 1.) "poor thing" or 2.) "dumb thing," and that's it. No one seems to truly consider our responsibility to watch for animals on the road; in most instances I've seen, the animal is blamed for being "stupid." No, they're fucking terrified and panicking. Anyway, I'm going on a tangent. Basically, I think we should feel far more pity for what we end, even though it's accidental. And get out of the fucking car to see if it's okay/can be saved. Have you ever gotten sick from someone else’s cooking? I believe so, but I don't really blame the cook. My stomach is just REALLY sensitive to food it's not used to, particularly fancier meals. What was the last kind of cheese you ate? American. How young is too young to be sexually active? "Personally, I think anything under 18." <<< Same. Would you ever dye your hair silver? I wanted to at some point, but particularly with my hairstyle now, idk how good it'd look. What was the last fun thing you did? Shot a wedding. Have you ever dated someone who had a child from a previous relationship? No. Is there any drama currently going on with your family? No. What’s your favorite kind of soup? I'm not a fan. Do you know anyone who practices Hinduism? No. How long was your longest relationship? Three and a half years. When was the last time you spoke to the first person you ever kissed? February 2017. What’s a political issue you have a strong opinion on? Gay rights. What snacks do you like to get at the movie theater? Just popcorn is fine. If I have any candy, it's from a gas station or dollar store. Movie theater prices are expensive as fuck. Have you ever stayed in a hotel in the center of a big city? No. What was the last fruit or vegetable you chopped/sliced up? Romaine lettuce for my iguana. When you take a nap, do you nap in bed or on the couch? In bed. Do you have any friends you have never gotten into an argument with? Yeah, Connie. Girt and I have also never really had an argument, he's just said things that hurt me as his sense of humor can be a bit harsh and they were sensitive areas, but he's never meant it. Do you think you could survive living by yourself for a month? No. Can you cook anything other then toast? Yeah. How many times have you cried over the last person you cried over?  I don’t remember the last person that I cried over. Have you ever been in an on-and-off relationship? So annoying right? No. Have you ever developed a crush on someone the first day you met them? I don’t think so. Have you ever been with someone who was really clingy? Did it annoy you? For only two weeks. I like to pretend that shit never happened. Is there a store you go to so much the employees know your name? The tattoo/piercing parlor I go to know me well; some probably remember my name. Do you have any friends who never shut up about their boyfriend/girlfriend? One literally only talks to me if she wants to ramble endlessly about him. Have you ever helped someone while they were drunk puking? No. There is NO way I could be with someone while they're vomiting. The sound would make me join in, and that's almost a promise. What annoys you more to do, sneeze or cough? Cough. Would you rather have a pet snake or a pet cat? I want another snake. Do you fall for all the lines about making guys/girls like you on magazine covers? Lmao yeah right. Do you have a calendar in your room? What’s it’s theme? My door is currently open so I can't see for sure, but I have three or four outdated meerkat calendars as decoration. Have you ever gotten anything racist about you yelled at you? No. Does the last person whose house you were at like anyone? She's married, so obviously. Do you own more pink or black clothes? Just about everything is black. Has a boyfriend/girlfriend ever given you a stuffed animal? Yeah. What does the last body wash you used smell like? I think it's some kind of ocean-y scent? I don't pay attention. I just know it's blue. What is the worst name anyone has ever called you? A martyr, and not the good kind. Where is your favorite place to eat out? Sonic. Does it bother you when people call you ‘ma'am’ or 'sir?’ No. That's general good manners in the South. Have you ever been obsessed with a television character? I don't think so, but maybe? What was the last thing that changed your life completely? Recovery. Do you have any step siblings? One. I don't call him my brother, though. Did you partake in senior skip days? HA I sure did. Have you ever read the Christian Bible? Not the entire thing. When the holidays come around, do you help decorate? Yeah. Has someone ever promised not to leave you? NEVER IN YOUR FUCKING LIFE BELIEVE THAT SHIT. Do you have a part-time job? No. Are you the type of person who likes to buy gifts for your friends? If I had my own money, I absolutely would. Hopefully I can when I have a job... though I don't exactly have many people to send anything to. Have you ever lived in an apartment before? I wasn't an actual resident, though I was pretty much always there. Have you ever been questioned by the police? No. Are you close to your parents? Yeah. Have you ever had to be put on medicine for a mental disorder? For most of my life. Have you ever been responsible for someone’s death? Wow, no. Do you ever spend the night with your significant other? Well, we're long distance. We do when we visit each other. Do you know a lot about serial killers? No. Have the police ever been looking for you? Ha ha yes, but only because my sister, friend, and I went walking on the beach at night, and apparently Mom didn't hear us when we told her we were going... Have you ever been in a car accident? Yes. Do you cuss more than any one else you know? Tbh probably lmao. How old is your youngest cousin? I don't know. Do you tend to talk on the phone a lot? No. Have there ever been any serial killers around your hometown? I don't believe so. When was the last time you went to a museum? When my brother and nephew were here early this month. Do you know how to shoot a gun and hit a target? No. What turns you on the most? Don't grab my boobs. Have you ever kissed someone of the same sex? Yes. Do you answer the phones at your work? N/A What’s your ring tone? The Revaleso remix of "Dear Insanity" by Asking Alexandria. The text alert sound is the chime of picking up a gem in Spyro. Do you want to fix anything with anyone? Yeah. Did you wake up in the middle of the night last night? I do literally every night. It sucks. What shows do you watch? None. Do you know anyone who has been arrested? Yes. When you were in elementary school, did you change best friends a lot? No. Have you ever suspected anyone of cheating on you? No. Who was the last person to give you a ride somewhere? My VR counselor drove me home the other day. What’s the scariest bug you’ve ever seen? I'm sure some kind of beetle. Not a fan of beetles. What was your favorite TV show you watched as a kid? Pokemon. :') How many times a day do you tell your parents you love them? Mom, at least once when she leaves for work. Dad, I barely ever see him, so. I don't daily. Ever talk to your pets? Of course I do. I talk to them like I talk to people. Do you think it’s alright if people baby talk to babies? ... Yes???? At a certain age you need to set an example to talk correctly, as the kid is going to copy you, but as a baby, no shit it's fine? Ever take a nap in a hammock? I may have fallen asleep, maybe not. Probably not tho 'cuz I would've been afraid of bugs (the hammock was between two trees directly outside the woods in our backyard), so I've likely just dozed for a bit, if anything. Who’s the best character in Rugrats? Oh boy, I don't remember them all. I know I liked Tommy, but I mean, he was the main character, so I guess that's to be expected for a little kid, mostly seeing him. Ever get caught doing something naughty with your boyfriend/girlfriend? No. Who has had the biggest impact on your life? Jason. Girls: ever wear boxers? Guys: ever wear a thong? No. Do you use q-tips to clean your ears? DON'T DO THAT. I got wax adhered to both eardrums because I did that frequently; it inevitably pushed things back and dried onto them. NOT fun getting it sucked out; hurts like a bitch. Always only use them for the outside of your ears. This has been a PSA. Ever want to make out with someone, anyone, didn’t matter who? No. Ever had your feelings hurt when you knew the person was joking? That is EASY, friendo. Do you make jack-o-lanterns during Halloween? Sometimes. Have you ever swam with dolphins? No. Cats, awesome pets or Satan in disguise? I love cats. When you buy/receive new clothes, do you instantly wear them or wash first? Wash them. Do you hate using public restrooms? VERY MUCH. I will avoid using one at almost all costs. What’s the weirdest item you’ve seen for sale on Ebay? Oh my fucking god. So one night my friend Chelsea and I were up REALLY late and were loopy as fuck and this bitch started looking up weird dildos and shit and I'm not even remotely kidding, she found a huge 50 lb. butt plug. I sincerely wish I was joking. Do you check to make sure there’s TP before using the restroom? Yeah. Do you drunk dial/text? I've never been drunk. Have you ever built a massive snow fort? No. We don't get enough snow here. Are parents to blame for what their kids do on the Internet? Not entirely. Do you use acronyms to remember things? I did in school. Do you take pills like Tylenol for the littlest aches and pains? No. When was the last time you went rollerskating? WOW I don't know, but it's been a long time. Do you call people “dude” a lot? Yes. Who was your favorite Ninja Turtle? I was never into them. Horror flicks make you: laugh, scream, or squirm? Out of those, I may ever only squirm at nasty shit. If you could become a doctor, what would you specialize in? Probably ophthalmology (eye doctors). The last time I went to the eye doctor, I got way too into the science and anatomy of the eyes and such. You woulda thought I saw God when I realized I could see the veins in my eyes during that "lemme shine this light straight into your eyes" tests; I thought it was SO cool. Well, I probably realized this at previous appointments, I just didn't remember. Hm, or maybe a pathologist, that'd be cool. I'm looking through a list of doctors, yes. What’s the cutest thing a little kid has ever said to/in front of you? Probably just "I love you" and stuff like that from my niece and nephew. Ha ha aw, wait... When my brother and older nephew were here, Christian exclaimed, "She's up!", like the MOMENT I moved in bed one morning. I'm so happy to say that kid loves me. He wore me the HELL out in the course of just three days, but man, I miss the lil dude now. That occasion in particular just really sticks out to me because I do not find myself good with kids, and to just hear how excited he was that I was up meant the world to me. Apparently I was fun enough. At what age do you plan on moving out? I hope in like... two more years, maybe less. I need a stable job, a car, but I also DO NOT want to live alone, so I'd want to wait until Sara was ready to move, too. I'm beyond thankful Mom isn't rushing me in the least, she seems happy I live here actually, but I don't want to be in her hair much longer nonetheless. I have to be an adult. Did any characters from TV shows scare you as a kid? Which one(s)? King Ramses from Courage the Cowardly Dog fuck-ing TERRIFIED me. His animation was unique to what was normal in the show, so that automatically stood out as different and weird, but more than anything, I was just so scared by his voice and repetitive lines. I had nightmares of that shitlord. HA HA OH MAN I REMEMBER THIS TOO: When I visited my aunt and uncle's when I was little, my family slept on the floor in a room downstairs, and there were small trees outside the window that would sway, and the outline on the curtains would make me think of him. I remember waking Mom up one night about it, and I think she gave me something for comfort, but idr what. What’s the saddest thing you’ve heard on the news recently? In my very own fucking state, consent can no longer legally be revoked when sex begins. Fuck this place. How long does it take before you trust a person? It depends on the person. It's usually a while, though. Have you ever made a time capsule? What did you put in it? Hm... I feel like I have? Wait yeah, I did in elementary school! It was a class effort. Idr where it was buried. What would you do if your mom or dad read your diary/journal/blog? My mother would be deeply concerned that my love of Mark runs as deep as it does, meanwhile my dad would be v v v confused. They would mutually be very worried of their daughter's willingness to eradicate the fools of the population and replace them all with miniature Fischfucks. Do you know anyone with a lisp? I may? I don't exactly have a lisp, but in certain words, I pronounce "s" weakly due to my tongue piercing getting in the way, but it's very mild. If you were to break a Guinness Record, which one would you try and beat? Idk. What’s the coolest item in your room? I'm not sure, I find a lot of things in here particularly cool for various reasons. Hence why it's so heavily decorated. I guess my favorite is probably the Japanese, limited edition Silent Hill: Revelation flyer I have framed on the wall. I won it in a giveaway and I love it alskdjfklajwer. I wanna collect more SH merch, man. Are you accident-prone? Yes, due to my own lack of common sense and clumsy nature. As a kid, what was your favorite activity on the playground? I BOLTED for that swing. Are huge muscles gross or sexy? I'm not a fan of extreme muscles. Have you ever fished and caught something weird? Phew, I grew up fishing all the time with Dad. I'm certain I have. Well, I caught a catfish by the eye, but only the method's weird there, lol. I still to this day feel so bad for the fella. Is old age catching up with you? In my back and knees lmao. Can you sleep through thunderstorms? Yes. Ever spent the night in a tent? Yes. Do people confide in you? Some do. Ever been around someone who makes you feel stupid? He doesn't intend to, he's just reeeaaally fucking smart. Actually, that goes for my brother, too. I knew he was very intelligent, but holy shit, when he was here last and I actually got to hear more about him, his beliefs, and general knowledge, dude's a genius. How many college degrees do you want? Either up to Bachelor's or Master's. For my career goal of being an out-in-the-field zoologist, I need the latter. Do you like animals? SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Have you ever written anything longer than 10 pages? Yes; my high school senior project was at least one. There's other personal stories I wrote as a kid, too. Can you snap your fingers? Yes. Can you wink? My right eye, yes. I can with my left eye, but not without my face distorting pretty badly. What song explains how you feel about love? *shrugs* Does hardship make a person stronger? It depends on what they take from it. What comes to mind when you think of pregnancy? Ew please never. Have you ever attended a professional sporting event? Yeah, hockey games with Dad. What is your favorite brand of clothing? I don't have one. Which do you value more, intellect or work ethic? Work ethic. How well do you know the people you live with? Well, I live with my mom, who I've lived with my whole life, and we're very close, if that answers the question. Do you have any heroes? *blinks* Ever been to a cabin on a mountain? No, I wish. Ever lost your voice? At least once. Are you a cautious person? Yes. Meet Anxiety, baby. Do you enjoy comedy shows? Yeah. Do you chew gum? Sometimes, rarely. Do you think a lot when taking a shower? Not really. I just enjoy whatever music I have on. Are you currently charging your phone? No. Do you ever get razor rash? No. Are you a private person? It depends on the subject. If you straighten your hair, do you always use hair spray? N/A Do you curl your hair often? It's too short to be curled. What’s the earliest you’ve ever woken up for school? Idk. Probably around 5:00-5:30 if I was getting ready for a special day or something. Can you get ready in under 10 minutes? Yeah. Has anyone ever told you that you were a bad kisser? No. Do you like Frostys from Wendy’s? Hell yeah. Would you ever sleep in the same bed as your sibling? Sure, if we had no other choice. Ever taken a shower with someone? My little sister and I did all the time as kids, I'm guessing to save water. Would you consider yourself to be a creative person? Yes. Do you usually take a nap during the day? Yes, usually. Might you enjoy hanging out in the woods for day or two? HELL YEAH!!!!!! So long I have my camera and company, that'd be awesome!!! Do you suffer from frequent paranoia? Eh, not as badly as I used to. Two friends whom have been there for you the most? Sara and Girt. If you/your gf became pregnant accidentally, would you consider abortion? If it was my own fault for not using protection, I couldn't do it; then that's my own foolishness. I would regardless if my life was endangered, though. I do believe abortion is killing a living being once brain activity begins, but I believe in the right to put yourself first. If a complete stranger picked a fight with you, would you fight or flight? Flight if possible. Defend myself when necessary. Have you ever decided to set fire to something out of anger? No. Would you rather be a house pet or a wild animal? House pet, so long as my owner is a good one that truly loves me. Wild animal would be much more dangerous, and besides, I like the idea of companionship. Can you juggle more than two objects at once? lol I probably couldn't even juggle two. Can you function well on little to no sleep? Eh. I'm cranky for sure, but I can function. Well... depending. If I am REALLY tired, I won't be able to keep my eyes open. Do you find that it is difficult to maintain your mood? Even on medication, I'm still bipolar (not using that as an adjective; I'm legitimately diagnosed with it). My mood can change VERY quickly with tiny stimuli, but at a much, much milder degree. Have you ever listened to a group of chanting Monks? (if not you should) No, but it's cool! Two sports that you are horrible at? Tennis and volleyball. The latter mostly just hurts like a bitch. One thing that you would like to change about your life? My job situation. What was the last candy you ate? Sour gummy worms. Which decade was your favorite for fashion trends? Idk. I'm really not educated enough on what was trendy for each one. Do you like the current fashion trends? I pay no attention. Who is the strangest (or one of the strangest) person you’ve met? I won't give away his name as it's a pretty unique one, but there was a kid in high school who was certainly different in both good and bad ways. He was pretty unstable. Made his own religion. What are you struggling with currently? Finding a mfckn job. Do you forgive yourself for your mistakes? Most, I'd say. Have you ever been abused by a police officer? No. Name one friend who had a parent who was in jail. A cousin of mine. Has anyone tried to kill you and then played the victim? No? What is your favorite board game? I like Battleship and Scrabble. Can you remember the last time you played a board game? A few months back with Sara and Girt. Actually Scrabble, lol. List three traumatic memories you have. The only truly traumatic memory I have is the breakup. Well, I guess a nightmare I had with my dad kinda is too, seeing as it still affects my trust today? Have you ever been misdiagnosed with something by a bad doctor? Yup. How the fuck did I have ADHD, woman. If you don’t mind my asking, when was the last time you had diarrhea? Like about two weeks ago before my period started. That's starting to seem like a theme. Do you prefer sunny days or cloudy days? I like partly cloudy. Do you have a painful past? A good chunk of it. But I mean, who doesn't have some rough paths behind them. What was the best time of your life? Walking through Chicago with Sara and her dad one night was INCREDIBLE. Coming from the middle of nowhere into such a colossal city with all these lights and such was such a shock to me, and exploring it with them was super cool. It was cold as fuck, but still, it was fun. When was the last time you were hugged? Idk. Well, probably last time I was at Ashley's saying bye to everyone. Do you trust your doctor? Yes. Name something God has healed you of. HAHAHAHA. If applicable, how old were you when you got "saved?" I was raised into religion, so I don't know. I grew up "saved." Have you been baptized, and if so, where? Yes, at my childhood church.

[wish4youff]

04 ~ Gloomy

King 

How could you prepare yourself to celebrate the birth and life of your savior, Jesus Christ, and worship the ground he walks on, for an entire day, when all you could think about was the hell you’ve been through? All the hell you’ve caused on innocent families. There hasn’t been much of a prideful moment in this life. Sure, there’s the achievement plaques, diplomas, awards, and physical growth that your family boosts and praises you about, but what about the deep down ugly truth that no one can handle to know. And if you knew that person, they’re gone now.

To know I have part in that, it breaks my heart. Then, there’s a segment of my mind that knows me well enough to know………I wouldn’t want anything else in the world. My mother always told me as a child that whatever you love to do, it’ll find its way into your life. As either your pride or your biggest regret. I decided to take the easiest way out, making it easy for myself. Easier for others. Caroline Vitale knew what she wanted out of life, and even though that was short-lived, I knew she didn’t regret one attribute of it. And she won’t want that for her son.

Kneeling, I gripped the natural blue colored roses tighter in my hand, staring down at the gray-marbled tile of the tombstone. The words; “Never forget those who fought for your life…” drawing my attention each time, no matter how much I’m here. At the age of thirteen, I didn’t understand those choice of words.

My father hated them, but my grandfather served as the last say so. Neither of them cared to explain to me.

Softly placing them down, my hand lingered for a moment, my eyes and nose burning with emotion as I thought of the years we once shared with another. This woman should’ve been there through thick and thin, cherish me, gave me the light in my darkness, and most importantly loved me; prepping me to love my own wife and protect my own family. Instead, the hate of family killed her soul before she could even leave this earth.

“It seems like every time I come here the weather is horrible, it’s always drizzling, and the clouds are dark and heavy,” Shaking my head, my attention transferred to the sky above me; for a second I wondered if this was my destiny – regardless of my wants and what I believe are my needs. God knows I pray for a change. “It’s been almost a year since I was here and sadly enough nothing has changed. I’m still working under Pop’s demand. Killing and serving. I remember you telling me to be something unique. Take on a new road and be a man of my own light….and yet, here I am. I just hope I didn’t disappoint you too much. You probably tired of me saying that, but….”

25, December 2003.

"I’m heading to Miami after this for a job and I have this heavy gut feeling. Sometimes going to go wrong, I don’t know what, but something. I’m hoping it’s just my mind, but you know how that goes. Stephen says it’s important I go through with it, yet I can’t forget. I hate Miami you know? I hate New York too, I’ve spoken about that before. But Miami? Miami took you away from me. I don’t even speak with our family down there anymore. I rather isolate myself forever than be the topic of pathetic conversations. I still remember your sister’s words the day of your funeral. Maybe she spoke out from a place of hurt, but I would never. Ever do something like that. That amount of pain has caused something damaging inside of me. Me and Ibrahim, my homeboy from Harvard, we were talking about me going to see a therapist. I thought about, but you know how that goes.”

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I closed my eyes for a brief second, stopping the tears from dropping.

“Sometimes I believe it’s your fault, you know? The reason I can’t allow myself to open up to others like normal people. It’s because you left and now I’m here, stuck to raise myself. Having a military brat, government manic as a fucking father. I remember questioning God, wondering why he left me with Stephen and allowed you to leave me. Half of me knows it was bound to happen. I hid behind my mother to protect me from everything. You knew me like the back of your hand. Even as a teenager I wasn’t allowing myself to know the man who made me. All I knew was he was a heartless person. Now I’m alone, speaking to the spirit of you and praying on an empty wish that you’re listening to your only child.”

Something moved out the corner of my eyes, naturally I kept my attention on the tombstone. I wouldn’t look to see what it was. I’ve always been afraid of the dead. Funny huh? Afraid of the dark even more. I couldn’t sleep without the slightest amount of light. My father would call me a wimp while my mother justified it with normal child behavior. Just to prove to Steepen I was a “man”, I forced myself to sleep without any light, and before long I was numb to; no longer caring.

“Recently I ran into someone from past. Well, a connection of hers. You don’t know her, I don’t talk about her aloud. But Stephen does. Olivia Smith, Chrissie younger sister. The last I seen of her was a young fifteen, maybe sixteen, year old girl who was struggling between letting her sister be happy yet not knowing who she would lean on if her only sibling and love one was gone. Knowing Chris as well as I do, I know the effect she has on people. Knowing if you were around, you’ll have encouraging words for me.”

Standing up, I looked back at the sky. That figure moved again forcing me to see the last person I anticipated here. Stephen, standing a clear distance, but close enough for me to make out who it was. He’s braver than me. I’ll be running from this place if I was him.  

"I love you, ma.” Saying my last words, I stared back at her grave for a few seconds, mentally praying for courage to continue my life, a life she would want me to keep pushing through.

Chrissie 

“I think this color would be perfect for you, Chrissie. Red seems to be in too.”

The sounds of Keyshia Cole’s Love Letter featuring rapper Future played through my Beats Pill XL speaker off the random Pandora station of Olivia’s choice. My humming stopped as my sister held up the hot red polish. Looking down at my nails, I simply shook my head with a slight smirk.

The sound of the oven timer caught my attention pulling me away from the conversation. My sister knows me better than anybody. Nude and baby pinks are my go to colors, always have been. Once inside the kitchen, I grabbed my oven mitts to take out the leftover pizza from the night before. It didn’t take her long to follow behind, grabbing two oversized pans we would use whenever eating pizza. With six slices warmed and hot, Liv separated the food, while I got myself a bottle of Dasani water.

“I mean I need to get a fill, but I’m not trying to be all bold and new. Something simple is fine.” I finally said, adding fuel to the fire she was already burning underneath my behind.

I loved my sister, we had our moments, but we were all we had also, so those tempting moments could never overshadow. Our parents passed away when we were young, Liv was only ten at the time and I was fifteen. I had more understanding and maturity to the situation; helping to open my eyes for her and I, knowing they wouldn’t want us to deter.

Every weekend she’s here. Or either I’m at her house. Never sleepovers because she literally lives five minutes away and unlike myself Olivia has been in a committed relationship for over four years so I try not to take too much of her time away from her fiancé; Travis.  

“Maybe bold and new is what you need though Chris. Switch it up. I already told you to dye your hair.” Relaxing in the couch, I shook my head, picking up a piece of the cheesy goodness.

“Nails is one thing, but hair……no.”

“I did it.” Olivia replied quick, and I should’ve known that would be her response to this.

During her senior year of high school Olivia came to me with the idea of red or either blonde hair; as the supporting sister I am, and only sister I agreed. Mostly because I didn’t believe she would go through with the idea. Our mother was a natural redhead woman, while our father was full on African-American. Liv took more of the red shade, while I was jet black, so there was no reason for a darker shade, in my opinion. Plus, it took over a week for her to actually dye it. When she finally came home with the red hair, I was stunned, relieved, and even happy for her. It looks good. On her.

“I’ll try the nail polish, but that’s it.”

I could already hear her next question.

“When?”

“Next week, Wednesday. Christmas visitors and those last-minute shoppers will have the roads filled so I’ll do it early in the week.”  

“Good because I want to come. Plus, I need to get a few things myself. Travis’ mother and father is coming in for Christmas this year and I wanna make a good impression.”

“Olivia, really? Y’all been together for four years. And you’re a good girl, I’m sure they’ve seen this quality about you. Don’t go out buying unnecessary things and being extra just because his parents are coming into town. They’ll know.”

“Shut up,” Laughing I shrugged my shoulders at her words. “I’ve never stayed in the house with them and they have never been over to our house for no more than a couple hours. They’re staying the night! I have to make a good impression.”

“Again, no you don’t, not now. By now? His mother has read you and knows exactly what kind of woman she’s dealing with, maybe even his father, but surly his mother. From the moment, he started to bring you around, she knew. And more importantly, don’t wait unless last minute to do your shopping. She’ll know that too.”

“You know this how? You’ve never had a long-term mother-in-law. Matter-a-fact, you never had a mother-in-law.”

“This is why.”

After a few seconds, there was no response and I drifted my attention to the television. Over the years, I’ve let myself out there and experimented with relationships. Small dates her, buddies there, but nothing ever too serious. My sister considered therapy and when I asked why, she changed the subject. Part of the reason is my career; other half is time-management.

“You know we never discussed me seeing Kingston that day.”

Yeah, that.

“What’s to talk about? You ran into King. Next topic.”

“Cut the bullshit. I know there has to be some kind of emotion there. And if not, you need to seek some mental help for real,” Snapping my head in Olivia’s direction, she held up her hand, stopping me from protesting. “Because you’re forcing yourself to block out past experiences instead of dealing with them.  I get you two left off on bad blood, what I don’t understand is why you can’t talk about it. Even as your sister, you keep me in the dark. That half of me that wants to keep you happy, knows you know what you’re doing as a woman, but damn. I can tell from how every time his name has come up your entire body language changes.”

“Kingston is……..Kingston. There’s no way to explain it. We were friends,” I started off with.

“And nothing else?”

“No. We were friends. Strictly friends, he wouldn’t even cross that line with me.”

“Why not?” Looking at Olivia, I could only wonder myself.

“Kingston had his way of doing things. He spoke when he wanted to. Interacted when he wanted to. Partied when he wanted to. If the situation didn’t fit his vibe, he didn’t go through. And mind you this was in college. I could only imagine what the man is like now.”

“Well, you know I only know the man you randomly speak about, but he seemed nice that day in the deli. I didn’t notice him at first, but he knew me.  When he said your name, it was like something clicked, making me remember him.”

“Trusts me when I say the man is bad news for me. And vice versa.”

“You’re bad for someone?”

“For him, hell yeah.”

And with that, luckily, she dropped the topic. That was enough for a day.

[she-said-hey-babe-take-a-walk]

I love Colorado. Well. I love being able to see the mountains and be close enough to Denver that it is not impossible to get there by public transportation even if it took a few hours.

I used to walk about 4 blocks to the bus stop and transfer over the bridge to the light rail then get off and get on another bus then transfer to yet another bus and then finally drive up federal from the colfax transfer station or whatever it's called just to go walk another 4 blocks to my friend's house to hang out.

I am actually not complaining about it. I miss my mobility. I don't think it's fair to say health e at ne size for across the board usage. Yes I was varying degrees of fat throughout my life. If you can imagine a 6 year old girl who had to wear the husky boys jeans to school then you can picture a person who has been just about every single size between their 6 year old "6x in girls" (note this was typical kids size clothing just a size up from a 6 like any kid wears) dresses for Easter to their 2x boys skate company shirts and the nearly double that 4x in women's size dresses that they had to wear to work back to a 28 up to a 34 and two times even the 5x from Catherines didn't fit and even sized out of their 5x woman within coat.

I don't like to post pictures of myself. I don't like anything about the way I look facially because I look just like my dad.

You know those kids that are cute until they hit a certain point and they start growing up uglier and uglier?

Not a myth.

I am very sick right now. Like it's super shitty and it's so hard to get to the point where I can get more mobile again. It's not nearly as bad as I was in Texas. Since August I have lost like 50 lbs. I am not really trying to do anything dye it ing wise. Riots not diets.

But like I started walking Rocky and then he got more spry and I got more spry then I was also not bringing soda (yeah I'm a Texan but I don't call it all Coke anymore) into the house.

We are both very broke all the time and the person who has been so generously allowing me to just like exist daily in his space and hasn't killed me yet has a couple of things like he doesn't really like cooking to happen for several actually valid chronic illness reasons so I don't get a lot of chances to get 3 meals a day and he is pretty generous with his money and will not let me starve so he basically says he lets get food once a day and that's what I eat. But like we don't eat the fast food. We try to pick the least processed foods we can get through the apps.

Which is fucking ridiculous and expensive.

But like I literally just crashed on his couch one day and I'm still here and I'm honestly not sure I have anywhere else to go at this point in time.

I wanna work on this. I don't like to make resolutions for new years I don't think my executive dysfunction has any idea what a resolution is tbh

I did not plan to be this stoner on the couch forever. My friend and I had plans but unfortunately we are both in disability situations and she has a niece who she takes care of. We could go to Greeley and get a place to live and probably be able to afford it but why the fuck do you think I live here it's not to go way out there and see nothing but flat land everywhere.

I don't want to be super far away from here. I might as well go back to Texas if I can't live in Denver's metro area. I am basically living in the Denver/Boulder version of the mid cities of Dallas fort worth. I like that. It's expensive asf. I am just so upset that the housing market is so fucked. My first apartment in Denver was cheaper than my apartment in Arlington. It was a four plex and it was right there off federal and colfax so close to mile high that we could hear the game noises

I lived in a house from the 1880s in my own 3 bedroom apartment for 750 dollars. You can't even find a room for that now. Thanks I'm aware I migrated from Texas too.

But I didn't even have any clue how weed was such a thing here and I was just in love with like the mountains and I still feel like I'm a little kid on Christmas morning every single time it snows. I feel at home here in a way that just makes me more aware that Texas just doesn't feel right.

[readbookywooks]

4. We slog back to the train in silence. In the hallway outside my door, Haymitch gives my shoulder a pat and says, "You could do a lot worse, you know." He heads off to his compartment, taking the smell of wine with him. In my room, I remove my sodden slippers, my wet robe and pajamas. There are more in the drawers but I just crawl between the covers of my bed in my underclothes. I stare into the darkness, thinking about my conversation with Haymitch. Everything he said was true about the Capitol's expectations, my future with Peeta, even his last comment. Of course, I could do a lot worse than Peeta. That isn't really the point, though, is it? One of the few freedoms we have in District 12 is the right to marry who we want or not marry at all. And now even that has been taken away from me. I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. If we do, they'll have to face the reaping each year. And wouldn't it be something to see the child of not one but two victors chosen for the arena? Victors' children have been in the ring before. It always causes a lot of excitement and generates talk about how the odds are not in that family's favor. But it happens too frequently to just be about odds. Gale's convinced the Capitol does it on purpose, rigs the drawings to add extra drama. Given all the trouble I've caused, I've probably guaranteed any child of mine a spot in the Games. I think of Haymitch, unmarried, no family, blotting out the world with drink. He could have had his choice of any woman in the district. And he chose solitude. Not solitude - that sounds too peaceful. More like solitary confinement. Was it because, having been in the arena, he knew it was better than risking the alternative? I had a taste of that alternative when they called Prim's name on reaping day and I watched her walk to the stage to her death. But as her sister I could take her place, an option forbidden to our mother. My mind searches frantically for a way out. I can't let President Snow condemn me to this. Even if it means taking my own life. Before that, though, I'd try to run away. What would they do if I simply vanished? Disappeared into the woods and never came out? Could I even manage to take everyone I love with me, start a new life deep in the wild? Highly unlikely but not impossible. I shake my head to clear it. This is not the time to be making wild escape plans. I must focus on the Victory Tour. Too many people's fates depend on my giving a good show. Dawn comes before sleep does, and there's Effie rapping on my door. I pull on whatever clothes are at the top of the drawer and drag myself down to the dining car. I don't see what difference it makes when I get up, since this is a travel day, but then it turns out that yesterday's makeover was just to get me to the train station. Today I'll get the works from my prep team. "Why? It's too cold for anything to show," I grumble. "Not in District Eleven," says Effie. District 11. Our first stop. I'd rather start in any other district, since this was Rue's home. But that's not how the Victory Tour works. Usually it kicks off in 12 and then goes in descending district order to 1, followed by the Capitol. The victor's district is skipped and saved for very last. Since 12 puts on the least fabulous celebration - usually just a dinner for the tributes and a victory rally in the square, where nobody looks like they're having any fun - it's probably best to get us out of the way as soon as possible. This year, for the first time since Haymitch won, the final stop on the tour will be 12, and the Capitol will spring for the festivities. I try to enjoy the food like Hazelle said. The kitchen staff clearly wants to please me. They've prepared my favorite, lamb stew with dried plums, among other delicacies. Orange juice and a pot of steaming hot chocolate wait at my place at the table. So I eat a lot, and the meal is beyond reproach, but I can't say I'm enjoying it. I'm also annoyed that no one but Effie and I has shown up. "Where's everybody else?" I ask. "Oh, who knows where Haymitch is," says Effie. I didn't really expect Haymitch, because he's probably just getting to bed. "Cinna was up late working on organizing your garment car. He must have over a hundred outfits for you. Your evening clothes are exquisite. And Peeta's team is probably still asleep." "Doesn't he need prepping?" I ask. "Not the way you do," Effie replies. What does this mean? It means I get to spend the morning having the hair ripped off my body while Peeta sleeps in. I hadn't thought about it much, but in the arena at least some of the boys got to keep their body hair whereas none of the girls did. I can remember Peeta's now, as I bathed him by the stream. Very blond in the sunlight, once the mud and blood had been washed away. Only his face remained completely smooth. Not one of the boys grew a beard, and many were old enough to. I wonder what they did to them. If I feel ragged, my prep team seems in worse condition, knocking back coffee and sharing brightly colored little pills. As far as I can tell, they never get up before noon unless there's some sort of national emergency, like my leg hair. I was so happy when it grew back in, too. As if it were a sign that things might be returning to normal. I run my fingers along the soft, curly down on my legs and give myself over to the team. None of them are up to their usual chatter, so I can hear every strand being yanked from its follicle. I have to soak in a tub full of a thick, unpleasant-smelling solution, while my face and hair are plastered with creams. Two more baths follow in other, less offensive, concoctions. I'm plucked and scoured and massaged and anointed until I'm raw. Flavius tilts up my chin and sighs. "It's a shame Cinna said no alterations on you." "Yes, we could really make you something special," says Octavia. "When she's older," says Venia almost grimly. "Then he'll have to let us." Do what? Blow my lips up like President Snow's? Tattoo my breasts? Dye my skin magenta and implant gems in it? Cut decorative patterns in my face? Give me curved talons? Or cat's whiskers? I saw all these things and more on the people in the Capitol. Do they really have no idea how freakish they look to the rest of us? The thought of being left to my prep team's fashion whims only adds to the miseries competing for my attention - my abused body, my lack of sleep, my mandatory marriage, and the terror of being unable to satisfy President Snow's demands. By the time I reach lunch, where Effie, Cinna, Portia, Haymitch, and Peeta have started without me, I'm too weighed down to talk. They're raving about the food and how well they sleep on trains. Everyone's all full of excitement about the tour. Well, everyone but Haymitch. He's nursing a hangover and picking at a muffin. I'm not really hungry, either, maybe because I loaded up on too much rich stuff this morning or maybe because I'm so unhappy. I play around with a bowl of broth, eating only a spoonful or two. I can't even look at Peeta - my designated future husband - although I know none of this is his fault. People notice, try to bring me into the conversation, but I just brush them off. At some point, the train stops. Our server reports it will not just be for a fuel stop - some part has malfunctioned and must be replaced. It will require at least an hour. This sends Effie into a state. She pulls out her schedule and begins to work out how the delay will impact every event for the rest of our lives. Finally I just can't stand to listen to her anymore. "No one cares, Effie!" I snap. Everyone at the table stares at me, even Haymitch, who you'd think would be on my side in this matter since Effie drives him nuts. I'm immediately put on the defensive. "Well, no one does!" I say, and get up and leave the dining car. The train suddenly seems stifling and I'm definitely queasy now. I find the exit door, force it open - triggering some sort of alarm, which I ignore - and jump to the ground, expecting to land in snow. But the air's warm and balmy against my skin. The trees still wear green leaves. How far south have we come in a day? I walk along the track, squinting against the bright sunlight, already regretting my words to Effie. She's hardly to blame for my current predicament. I should go back and apologize. My outburst was the height of bad manners, and manners matter deeply to her. But my feet continue on along the track, past the end of the train, leaving it behind. An hour's delay. I can walk at least twenty minutes in one direction and make it back with plenty of time to spare. Instead, after a couple hundred yards, I sink to the ground and sit there, looking into the distance. If I had a bow and arrows, would I just keep going? After a while I hear footsteps behind me. It'll be Haymitch, coming to chew me out. It's not like I don't deserve it, but I still don't want to hear it. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture," I warn the clump of weeds by my shoes. "I'll try to keep it brief." Peeta takes a seat beside me. "I thought you were Haymitch," I say. "No, he's still working on that muffin." I watch as Peeta positions his artificial leg. "Bad day, huh?" "It's nothing," I say. He takes a deep breath. "Look, Katniss, I've been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn't fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I'm sorry." His apology takes me by surprise. It's true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Games was something of an act. But I don't hold that against him. In the arena, I'd played that romance angle for all it was worth. There had been times when I didn't honestly know how I felt about him. I still don't, really. "I'm sorry, too," I say. I'm not sure for what exactly. Maybe because there's a real chance I'm about to destroy him. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about. You were just keeping us alive. But I don't want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there's a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends," he says. All my friends are probably going to end up dead, but refusing Peeta wouldn't keep him safe. "Okay," I say. His offer does make me feel better. Less duplicitous somehow. It would be nice if he'd come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I'm glad we're speaking again. "So what's wrong?" he asks. I can't tell him. I pick at the clump of weeds. "Let's start with something more basic. Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your life to save mine ... but I don't know what your favorite color is?" he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. "Green. What's yours?" "Orange," he says. "Orange? Like Effie's hair?" I say. "A bit more muted," he says. "More like ... sunset." Sunset. I can see it immediately, the rim of the descending sun, the sky streaked with soft shades of orange. Beautiful. I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it's all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn't want me to. I'd better stick to small talk. "You know, everyone's always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven't seen them," I say. "Well, I've got a whole train car full." He rises and offers me his hand. "Come on." It's good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand. At the door, I remember. "I've got to apologize to Effie first." "Don't be afraid to lay it on thick," Peeta tells me. So when we go back to the dining car, where the others are still at lunch, I give Effie an apology that I think is overkill but in her mind probably just manages to compensate for my breach of etiquette. To her credit, Effie accepts graciously. She says it's clear I'm under a lot of pressure. And her comments about the necessity of someone attending to the schedule only last about five minutes. Really, I've gotten off easily. When Effie finishes, Peeta leads me down a few cars to see his paintings. I don't know what I expected. Larger versions of the flower cookies maybe. But this is something entirely different. Peeta has painted the Games. Some you wouldn't get right away, if you hadn't been with him in the arena yourself. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. The dry pond bed. A pair of hands, his own, digging for roots. Others any viewer would recognize. The golden horn called the Cornucopia. Clove arranging the knives inside her jacket. One of the mutts, unmistakably the blond, green-eyed one meant to be Glimmer, snarling as it makes its way toward us. And me. I am everywhere. High up in a tree. Beating a shirt against the stones in the stream. Lying unconscious in a pool of blood. And one I can't place - perhaps this is how I looked when his fever was high - emerging from a silver gray mist that matches my eyes exactly. "What do you think?" he asks. "I hate them," I say. I can almost smell the blood, the dirt, the unnatural breath of the mutt. "All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you've brought it, back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?" "I see them every night," he says. I know what he means. Nightmares - which I was no stranger to before the Games - now plague me whenever I sleep. But the old standby, the one of my father being blown to bits in the mines, is rare. Instead I relive versions of what happened in the arena. My worthless attempt to save Rue. Peeta bleeding to death. Glimmer's bloated body disintegrating in my hands. Cato's horrific end with the muttations. These are the most frequent visitors. "Me, too. Does it help? To paint them out?" "I don't know. I think I'm a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am," he says. "But they haven't gone anywhere." "Maybe they won't. Haymitch's haven't." Haymitch doesn't say so, but I'm sure this is why he doesn't like to sleep in the dark. "No. But for me, it's better to wake up with a paintbrush than a knife in my hand," he says. "So you really hate them?" "Yes. But they're extraordinary. Really," I say. And they are. But I don't want to look at them anymore. "Want to see my talent? Cinna did a great job on it." Peeta laughs. "Later." The train lurches forward, and I can see the land moving past us through the window. "Come on, we're almost to District Eleven. Let's go take a look at it." We go down to the last car on the train. There are chairs and couches to sit on, but what's wonderful is that the back windows retract into the ceiling so you're riding outside, in the fresh air, and you can see a wide sweep of the landscape. Huge open fields with herds of dairy cattle grazing in them. So unlike our own heavily wooded home. We slow slightly and I think we might be coming in for another stop, when a fence rises up before us. Towering at least thirty-five feet in the air and topped with wicked coils of barbed wire, it makes ours back in District 12 look childish. My eyes quickly inspect the base, which is lined with enormous metal plates. There would be no burrowing under those, no escaping to hunt. Then I see the watchtowers, placed evenly apart, manned with armed guards, so out of place among the fields of wildflowers around them. "That's something different," says Peeta. Rue did give me the impression that the rules in District 11 were more harshly enforced. But I never imagined something like this. Now the crops begin, stretched out as far as the eye can see. Men, women, and children wearing straw hats to keep off the sun straighten up, turn our way, take a moment to stretch their backs as they watch our train go by. I can see orchards in the distance, and I wonder if that's where Rue would have worked, collecting the fruit from the slimmest branches at the tops of the trees. Small communities of shacks - by comparison the houses in the Seam are upscale - spring up here and there, but they're all deserted. Every hand must be needed for the harvest. On and on it goes. I can't believe the size of District 11. "How many people do you think live here?" Peeta asks. I shake my head. In school they refer to it as a large district, that's all. No actual figures on the population. But those kids we see on camera waiting for the reaping each year, they can't be but a sampling of the ones who actually live here. What do they do? Have preliminary drawings? Pick the winners ahead of time and make sure they're in the crowd? How exactly did Rue end up on that stage with nothing but the wind offering to take her place? I begin to weary of the vastness, the endlessness of this place. When Effie comes to tell us to dress, I don't object. I go to my compartment and let the prep team do my hair and makeup. Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. Effie gets Peeta and me together and goes through the day's program one last time. In some districts the victors ride through the city while the residents cheer. But in 11 - maybe because there's not much of a city to begin with, things being so spread out, or maybe because they don't want to waste so many people while the harvest is on - the public appearance is confined to the square. It takes place before their Justice Building, a huge marble structure. Once, it must have been a thing of beauty, but time has taken its toll. Even on television you can see ivy overtaking the crumbling facade, the sag of the roof. The square itself is ringed with run-down storefronts, most of which are abandoned. Wherever the well-to-do live in District 11, it's not here. Our entire public performance will be staged outside on what Effie refers to as the verandah, the tiled expanse between the front doors and the stairs that's shaded by a roof supported by columns. Peeta and I will be introduced, the mayor of 11 will read a speech in our honor, and we'll respond with a scripted thank-you provided by the Capitol. If a victor had any special allies among the dead tributes, it is considered good form to add a few personal comments as well. I should say something about Rue, and Thresh, too, really, but every time I tried to write it at home, I ended up with a blank paper staring me in the face: It's hard for me to talk about them without getting emotional. Fortunately, Peeta has a little something worked up, and with some slight alterations, it can count for both of us. At the end of the ceremony, we'll be presented with some sort of plaque, and then we can withdraw to the Justice Building, where a special dinner will be served. As the train is pulling into the District 11 station, Cinna puts the finishing touches on my outfit, switching my orange hairband for one of metallic gold and securing the mockingjay pin I wore in the arena to my dress. There's no welcoming, committee on the platform, just a squad of eight Peacekeepers who direct us into the back of an armored truck. Effie sniffs as the door clanks closed behind us. "Really, you'd think we were all criminals," she says. Not all of us, Effie. Just me, I think. The truck lets us out at the back of the Justice Building. We're hurried inside. I can smell an excellent meal being prepared, but it doesn't block out the odors of mildew and rot. They've left us no time to look around. As. we make a beeline for the front entrance, I can hear the anthem beginning outside in the square. Someone clips a microphone on me. Peeta takes my left hand. The mayor's introducing us as the massive doors open with a groan. "Big smiles!" Effie says, and gives us a nudge. Our feet start moving forward. This is it. This is where I have to convince everybody how in love I am with Peeta, I think. The solemn ceremony is pretty tightly mapped out, so I'm not sure how to do it. It's not a time for kissing, but maybe I can work one in. There's loud applause, but none of the other responses we got in the Capitol, the cheers and whoops and whistles. We walk across the shaded verandah until the roof runs out and we're standing at the top of a big flight of marble stairs in the glaring sun. As my eyes adjust, I see the buildings on the square have been hung with banners that help cover up their neglected state. It's packed with people, but again, just a fraction of the number who live here. As usual, a special platform has been constructed at the bottom of the stage for the families of the dead tributes. On Thresh's side, there's only an old woman with a hunched back and a tall, muscular girl I'm guessing is his sister. On Rue's ... I'm not prepared for Rue's family. Her parents, whose faces are still fresh with sorrow. Her five younger siblings, who resemble her so closely. The slight builds, the luminous brown eyes. They form a flock of small dark birds. The applause dies out and the mayor gives the speech in our honor. Two little girls come up with tremendous bouquets of flowers. Peeta does his part of the scripted reply and then I find my lips moving to conclude it. Fortunately my mother and Prim have drilled me so I can do it in my sleep. Peeta had his personal comments written on a card, but he doesn't pull it out. Instead he speaks in his simple, winning style about Thresh and Rue making it to the final eight, about how they both kept me alive - thereby keeping him alive - and about how this is a debt we can never repay. And then he hesitates before adding something that wasn't written on the card. Maybe because he thought Effie might make him remove it. "It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we'd like for each of the tributes' families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives." The crowd can't help but respond with gasps and murmurs. There is no precedent for what Peeta has done. I don't even know if it's legal. He probably doesn't know, either, so he didn't ask in case it isn't. As for the families, they just stare at us in shock. Their lives were changed forever when Thresh and Rue were lost, but this gift will change them again. A month of tribute winnings can easily provide for a family for a year. As long as we live, they will not hunger. I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch's voice. "You could do a lot worse." At this moment, it's impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift ... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn't seem forced at all. The mayor steps forward and presents us each with a plaque that's so large I have to put down my bouquet to hold it. The ceremony's about to end when I notice one of Rue's sisters staring at me. She must be about nine and is almost an exact replica of Rue, down to the way she stands with her arms slightly extended. Despite the good news about the winnings, she's not happy. In fact, her look is reproachful. Is it because I didn't save Rue? No. It's because I still haven't thanked her, I think. A wave of shame rushes through me. The girl is right. How can I stand here, passive and mute, leaving all the words to Peeta? If she had won, Rue would never have let my death go unsung. I remember how I took care in the arena to cover her with flowers, to make sure her loss did not go unnoticed. But that gesture will mean nothing if I don't support it now. "Wait!" I stumble forward, pressing the plaque to my chest. My allotted time for speaking has come and gone, but I must say something. I owe too much. And even if I had pledged all my winnings to the families, it would not excuse my silence today. "Wait, please." I don't know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they've been forming in the back of my mind for a long time. "I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," I say. I look at the pair of women on Thresh's side. "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. I respected him for that." For the first time the old hunched woman - is she Thresh's grandmother? - raises her head and the trace of a smile plays on her lips. The crowd has fallen silent now, so silent that I wonder how they manage it. They must all be holding their breath. I turn to Rue's family. "But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim." My voice is undependable, but I am almost finished. "Thank you for your children." I raise my chin to address the crowd. "And thank you all for the bread." I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me. There's a long pause. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone whistles Rue's four-note mocking-jay tune. The one that signaled the end of the workday in the orchards. The one that meant safety in the arena. By the end of the tune, I have found the whistler, a wizened old man in a faded red shirt and overalls. His eyes meet mine. What happens next is not an accident. It is too well executed to be spontaneous, because it happens in complete unison. Every person in the crowd presses the three middle fingers of their left hand against their lips and extends them to me. It's our sign from District 12, the last good-bye I gave Rue in the arena. If I hadn't spoken to President Snow, this gesture might move me to tears. But with his recent orders to calm the districts fresh in my ears, it fills me with dread. What will he think of this very public salute to the girl who defied the Capitol? The full impact of what I've done hits me. It was not intentional - I only meant to express my thanks - but I have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of District 11. This is exactly the kind of thing I am supposed to be defusing! I try to think of something to say to undermine what has just happened, to negate it, but I can hear the slight burst of static indicating my microphone has been cut off and the mayor has taken over. Peeta and I acknowledge a final round of applause. He leads me back toward the doors, unaware that anything has gone wrong. I feel funny and have to stop for a moment. Little bits of bright sunshine dance before my eyes. "Are you all right?" Peeta asks. "Just dizzy. The sun was so bright," I say. I see his bouquet. "I forgot my flowers," I mumble. "I'll get them," he says. "I can," I answer. We would be safe inside the Justice Building by now, if I hadn't stopped, if I hadn't left my flowers. Instead, from the deep shade of the verandah, we see the whole thing. A pair of Peacekeepers dragging the old man who whistled to the top of the steps. Forcing him to his knees before the crowd. And putting a bullet through his head.