peace | preston & paris

[pup]

paris hope

The fire sears through her mind. Her dreams made the flames, what is normally a distant memory, an all-to-familiar sight. Waking in a sweat, she pulls the covers off of her and breaths. Paris stares at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling as she attempts to gain a semblance of composure. Looking to her right, she sees that Preston had already left the comfort of their bed to confront the world. Rolling back to her left, she looks at the calendar hanging on the wall and sees L & N hangout with friends, 9AM written beneath the SUNDAY marking the day and she swears under her breath.

She must have slept through her alarm, which was now reading 9:43AM. With a sigh, she pushes herself up and swings her legs out of the bed. Leaving her room and checking the kids' room. The empty, unmade beds and lack of lovable, headache-inducing voices confirmed that Preston must have taken them to be dropped off.

With a yawn, she went to the bathroom to prepare for the day. It was one of those rare days where they neither had work nor a need to watch the kids. Thankfully, one of Nile's friends from school invited them over where another parent could supervise them for a little bit. Especially after needing to watch them at Mathilda's funeral, they needed a break.

No one liked Mathilda, the "Whore. Bitch. Slut." as Birdie put so eloquently. Paris would never have been described as a fan of the old hag, but she tried to keep the kids respectful. However, trying to convince them to not giggle when Great Auntie Birdie stood up to talk proved to be a chore that was as draining as trying to get the kids to ignore the antipathy between Preston and Grandpa P. "Remember, what we say: don't talk like Great Auntie Birdie." she had reminded them later. Despite her love for Preston, sometimes she wished she married into a family with slightly less dramatic relatives.

After finishing up in the bathroom, she walked back to her room to grab a small white tote bag. Lotus, who had gone through a stitching phase a year or two back, had needled on a delicately made, pale-blue bird onto the side. After placing a blanket in the bag, she looks back up at the calendar. Her eyes soften as her gaze lands on the text next to next Sunday: N's 12th Birthday.

One more week.

She had been trying to stay positive about it. Nile has almost made it to 12, which many kids in district eight are not fortunate enough to claim. 12 also meant it was the year they had been dreading. It was almost 23 years ago to the day when the Hope family's terrible luck had started.

Lily, Paige, Eva, Gentian, Damaris, Canvas.

Paris didn't know what she would do if Nile or Lotus' names ended up on the list of kids the Hope family kept trying to sweep under the rug. Tearing her eyes away, she walks out of the room and into their small kitchen. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, she scribbles out a message:

Meet me at the park : )

Shortly after placing a plate, two glasses, a block of cheese, a few slices of bread, and a small bottle of wine she had found at the market a few days ago, Paris left the house. The air was a little chilly, but it was one of those strangely warm winter days. It was hard to imagine that the streets were covered in a foot of snow just a week ago. Today was one of those perfect days for an unlikely picnic.

After making it to the park, which was just a small block of green space towards the outskirts of district eight, Paris set up the picnic. She placed the cheese and bread on the plate and poured the wine into the two glasses. After taking a sip from one of the glasses, she waits.

Soon enough, Paris hears the familiar footsteps behind her. Turning around, she squints up at him, the sun momentarily blinding her.

"Took you long enough. Are you excited for a relaxing day of party planning for next week?"

Grabbing his cup of wine, she holds it up for him to take. "Do you think we should invite more of the family this year? Twelve's a big age and, with everyone dancing on old Mathilda's grave, they're probably all in a good enough mood to not terribly scar the kids."

marcellus rhodes 11b arc