Too Hot ((Open!))

[heartwood]

I always loved the summertime, but today, it’s just too hot. I stopped by the well to fill a canteen full of water, but it’s almost half-empty; I guess that’s what you expect when you’re sweating more than you drink. I had plans to do some exercise. Pushups, sit-ups, and some pull-ups on the tree branch just outside my house, but it’s too hot for that, way too hot.

Today’s a poetry day. I don’t have money for spare pieces of paper, but I have some scrap bark from work today, and some dark-blue berries. I crush the berries in a small wooden bowl until there’s only a thick, consistent liquid left. I don’t tell my mother I do this, I don’t want to be reprimanded for wasting food. Ironic, isn’t it? The food that I put on the table is to be rationed by my parents. I don’t see them standing in line for the reaping.

The reaping. That’s what I’ll write about. Who was chosen from our district again? Jana Hale and Amadeus Cumberland. Jana Hale, she shares her father’s work ethic. Hardworking, a bit tomboyish, but it didn’t take away from her attractiveness. A bit too short for my taste, but I don’t really know how to talk to girls anyway. I don’t know what to say. I guess she would have been the easiest to talk to…that doesn’t matter now, does it.

I find a nice, quiet area, just a short walk from my home. I sit, back to a large oak tree; it meshes with the curvature of my back nicely, so I decide this is where I’m going to stay.

Amadeus Cumberland. A ladies man, for sure. The girl, Paisley was her name I think, she screamed for him. Drew, she called him. It must be his middle name. Amadeus Andrew Cumberland, that’s truly a mouthful, his parents must not have known what they were doing. That doesn’t matter now either; at least one of them is going to be dead. I’m hoping it’s not Jana, at least she’s not arrogant.

I look around for a twig until I find one the perfect size. I touch my tongue to the tip before dipping it into the bowl, mixing it just enough. Now I can start writing. I must write, so I don’t forget the tributes that are being sacrificed for the entertainment of Panem.

One boy, one girl, but that’s no surprise,
One is tall, one short in size,
Two-dozen chosen, but one will rise,
Will it be the girl with two-toned eyes?

Or will it be the boy with many fans?
Females who wish for wedding bands.
The boy whose knife brings art from his hands,
Whose arrogance I can just not stand.

I hope that my wish will soon come true,
That the victor works, just as I do.
As I sit amongst the morning dew,
I hope its Jana, and not Drew.

I read over my poem, it’s not my best work, but it’ll have to do for now, i’ve run out of berry juice. I feel myself falling asleep; surely, no harm will come if I nap here. It doesn’t take much to wake me up, but I don’t feel like moving. It’s too hot for that.

[The Shining One]

I walked out my front door, silently, the exact same way I have been doing for… my whole life pretty much. It's not that I don't like my home, it's just too familiar. Too boring. The same way every day. No deviation. Then I realized I hadn't eaten yet. Soundlessly I walked back into the house. Quickly I grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it quickly in my mouth. I wasn't that hungry anyway. All I wanted was to get outside like I do every day too.

As soon as I stepped outside, my brain said, Dang, it's hot out. Whatever. I could cope. Summer's always the best anyway. Subconsciously I rubbed the back of the neck with my hand. I could feel the beginnings of sweat start to bead on my skin. Before I lingered on this thought I started running. I like running; the wind flowing past my long black hair feels like flying. I've always wished: if there is in fact and afterlife, I definitely want to be a bird. Being so free, away from the Games, away from hunger, poverty… I can dream, can't I?

Gradually I stopped running. Stopping fully, I looked up at the summer leaves sprouting from the trees. I studied the figures quietly, trying to remember what they looked like. This whole time I didn't speak; the lack of sound was so peaceful it would seem wrong to disrupt. Then I saw this oak tree. It looked strong and stable, like it could outlast any storm. My feet not making a single sound, I slowly made my way around to the other side of the tree, just for a look.


There, I found none other than a boy. Sleeping. In his lap there was bark with words written on it. In his hand there was a twig with the tip dipped in berry juice. A look of amusement crossed my face. Not sure why I found this funny, I turned around as quiet as a ghost and took a step forward. My foot brushed some old leaves the were blown from the trees with a less than quiet whoosh. Crap, I thought. I hope this kid's friendly. At that moment, all of my senses were hyper-aware. I froze, but looking completely and totally devoid of all emotion. Waiting silently, I hesitated to see the sleeping boy's reaction: would he wake up or not?

[heartwood]

I'm in the Hunger Games, axe gripped tightly in my left hand, throwing knives in my right. I’m standing behind a tree at the edge of the forest; the Cornucopia is only about fifty feet away. The bloodbath has just finished; the Career pack seems to be joining together, picking the remaining supplies. I count.

Ten dead, that means that there are thirteen others like me. Four in the Career pack remain; they begin to head my way. I grip the axe tightly, getting ready to throw the knives. The sun begins to shine harder than I can ever remember; the Career pack is getting closer. I try to stay behind the tree, quiet, I move my foot just a little, but that’s enough to kick a pile of twigs and leaves, I turn to see if I’m heard, but before I know it, a knife is flying at my face.

I wake up. I’m sweating profusely, I can’t tell if it’s because I’m hot, or because of my nightmare. My skin looks slightly less pale than usual, I guess this is what the girls call tanning, I never understood it. I know mine will turn into a burn, suddenly, I regret not bringing a shirt.

I look around to see where I am. Bowl, bark, twigs. Okay, I’ve been writing. I turn and look up at the sun to see what time it is, but before my eyes can reach the sky, I see a girl staring, blankly. I wonder how long she’s been there, and it takes me a few moments to reassure myself that I’m not in the Arena.

Tall, for a girl. She must be only two inches shorter than I am. Wearing all black, with long hair to match. She must be burning up in this heat. Then, I get to her eyes. Pitch black, floating in a sea of white. There’s something oddly appealing about it. I can’t help but feel like she’s looking through me instead of at me. I know I’ll write a poem about them.

We stare for a few more seconds, I can’t tell if she has any intention to speak, or if she even can. As unusual as she looks, I realize I’m the odd one here. Shirtless, odd items all around me, my hair is wild and my skin is soon to be burnt. I suppose I should let her know I’m somewhat normal. I open my mouth and speak the only thing I can think of.

“Hello.”

[The Shining One]

I stood still as a statue, not a muscle on my body even twitching. Before he had a chance to wake up, I quickly studied him. What I was able to collect was: he had no shirt, he was sunburned, he had recently been writing. He had black hair, was tall and he looked like he was having a dream of some sort. I could see the faint jerking of his eyelids, signifying his dream-filled sleep. Eventually I noticed that he was sweating, and a lot at that. Putting two and two together, I inferred that he was having a nightmare. Of course, it could always have been the heat, but overthinking things is inevitable for me.

My eyes ventured up a little higher, to just above his eyebrows. There I saw a heart shaped birthmark. His skin was so pale, almost wan, but not quite.

As I continued analyzing silently, the boy started.

He was awake now. He looked around a second before noticing me, as if to attempt to remember what he was doing there. He was positioning his head upward when he realized that I was there. It was kind of a funny scene, actually. Even though I came to this conclusion, I didn't let it show. The boy's eyes skated over me, then rising to my eyes. He seemed to linger on them for a longer period of time. Just as always: another falls victim to my genetically created pools of darkness.

We continued staring at each other for a few more moments. I wasn't about to speak first. From past experiences, I had learned to not speak first if I could avoid it. I didn't like to talk a lot. However, I do know how to handle words, but I just choose not to use them. Then the boy said, "Hello."


I blinked; I think that was the first time I had during this whole encounter. Keeping his gaze, looking right through his eyes, I nodded and said "Hi." I didn't say it like all those other preppy girls at school do, though: all light, airy and flirtatious. I just said it in my normal tone: hard and giving off a quite unfriendly vibe. That's all I would allow myself. If he wanted to speak up, it was his turn to. Patiently I waited, not once letting my eyes wander from his.

[heartwood]

Okay, so normalcy wasn't going to be the theme of this conversation, which was completely fine with me, I knew I was anything but normal. She hardly moved, she stared at me like she I was some sort of dangerous animal that she didn't want to provoke. When she spoke, her voice was harsh and direct, not unlike mine.

"Hi", she said.

We stood there looking at each other for just a little longer. I figured it was my turn to speak, but I didn't know what to say. Then I realized, normal people introduce themselves. She seems to be fine keeping things simple for now, I suppose I should just...be myself.

I cleared my throat."I'm Stump. You?"

[The Shining One]

My mind began to wander a bit when I saw a bird fly out of the corner of my eye, but my gaze didn't waver. My eyes remained locked on his. I breathed silently and steadily as he cleared his throat and introduced himself.

"I'm Stump. You?" he said. His name is Stump? Ha! What could I say? It was hilarious and it made no sense, but I wasn’t going to put that to voice. Even though I don't really care when I make someone upset, I didn't feel like offending him. There wasn't really a reason too.

Not seeing where the conversation was going, I scanned his eyes for any sort of hostility, but I found none.


"Aleta," I replied. Abnormally, Stump didn't seem scared of me. Yet, that is. It always happens, but a change would be nice for once.

[heartwood]

Aleta. I try to remember all I can about the girl, try to think if i've heard anything in the hallways at school, or at some point on the job, but nothing comes to mind.

She seems to speak less than I do, which puzzles me. I wonder what she's thinking, if she's planning something unusual. I wonder again what she was even doing here in the first place, and how long she was there. Of course, this is District 7, there isn't much privacy here, everyone knows where everything is, and maybe she comes here as much as I do. Oh, thats something I can ask her.

"Do you...come around here a lot?"I ask. That sounds like a stupid question, but what else am I to say?

[The Shining One]

So, I had introduced myself, and it was his turn to talk now. If he wanted to, that is. Then I wondered if I had heard of Stump from anywhere. You'd think that a name like that wouldn't be too hard to forget. My mental search came to no avail: Stump's identity remained a mystery, and if I forget someone, that means I've never net them before. I never forget a face.

"Do you...come around here a lot?" he asks. Hmmm… let's see, do I come here a lot? Well, I can't really say I've stopped here before. I pass this place every morning, but I never stop. Even though it's a nice spot, it's too open for me. More tree cover is what I like.


"No," was all I offered.

[heartwood]

Does, Thinks, Says, Hears

Okay, so, it’s not too bad so far. She’s not asking any questions I don’t know the answers to. Her sentences are short, if you can even call them sentences. I figured she would leave if she couldn’t stand the idea of talking. Ask her something easy, familiar.

I furrow my brow, the one under the birthmark. My eyes wander to hers again. They’re just so interesting, those black eyes of hers. I decide to ask about them, my curiosity is really getting the best of me. If she gets offended, I’m sure she’ll leave or something. I just want to know.

“Your eyes are interesting…I mean…different…not like bad different, good different. I mean…I like to write, that’s something I would write about.” I say more than I mean to, something I’m sure she never has an issue with.

I’m not the best at this talking thing, not to girls. I don’t know why it’s so different. Maybe its because I’m afraid of having to kill one in the Games…maybe it’s for other reasons. Should I leave?

For now, I stand my ground, wait for her reaction.

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[The Shining One]

At this point, I was starting to ask myself things, like, why haven't I just left yet? And others that made me question my sanity. I will shamefully admit this is one of the farthest conversations I've ever been in. Reasons: partially I don't initiate them, and partly because other people don’t initiate them with me.

I began to notice that Stump's gaze was frequently flicking up to my eyes. Many people think that they're abnormal, but now I thought it was to the point where it was funny. And then, as if answering my thoughts, Stump said:

“Your eyes are interesting…I mean…different…not like bad different, good different. I mean…I like to write, that’s something I would write about.”

Ok, I have to say that my eyes widened a little bit at this, as if to say, really? No one has ever wanted to write about them before. I had gotten "different" in the past, but never made a statement about writing. And why was he stuttering? At a first listen, it would seem like he doesn't have any self-confidence, but I wonder if it was just a quirk of his. I really didn't know.


"Why?" I inquired. Stump had piqued my curiosity. Who is this kid?

[heartwood]

Does, Thinks, Says, Hears

“Why?”

“Why?” was always one of my favorite questions, whenever anyone happened to talk to me. I don’t like talking about other people, so “Who?” didn’t really come into play. I don’t often pay attention to facts, I’ve always been more abstract, so “What, When, and Where?” never really got answered well enough by me.

But “Why?” was a beautiful question, because it always spurred beautiful answers. I couldn’t tell her that though, she’d think I was crazy. I don’t often think the same way as others do, the love of a particular type of question just affirms that.

The weirdest part was, I wasn’t even sure what she was asking. Was she asking why I found her eyes interesting? I thought that was pretty obvious. Was she asking why I would write about it? Then I realized, she has no idea what kind of writing I do.

“Well, you see…I like to write poetry.” I begin to speak with more confidence; I begin to speak to her like the focal point of a future work, instead of a girl who I had just met. “It’s easy to find words about something like that.”

I could see the puzzled look on her face; I had no choice to continue.

”I could compare them to a flower, like a black Iris…it has multiple meanings. Your dark irises, combined with your black hair make the whites of your eyes stand out more. It shows insecurity to not to look someone in the eye when they’re talking, but since your pupils and irises are nearly the same color, no one would be able to tell where exactly they’re looking, but I can tell…you always look people straight in the eyes…which means you’re more secure than most people.”

I was going to stop, but more words keep floating into my head. There is so much I can write about, in a way, I can’t help myself.

“I like to look at people’s eyes, you can see what kind of person some one is by looking at them. But you, it’s the opposite. They’re hypnotizing almost…it’s like you can see what I’m thinking…or at least, that’s what I would write, or…while I would write about them…that’s…what you were asking, right?”

I don’t know why I just said all this to a stranger. I don’t often get to speak about my writing, so I suppose I was a little over-excited.

Tags: The Shining One | Words: 720
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[The Shining One]

There was no doubt that I looked completely confused. I could feel it on my face. Wait, that only makes sense. Ha. Sometimes, I feel like I think too much. Well, I have heard before that the quietest people have the loudest minds. Can’t really say why exactly, but I enjoy thinking. My mind is clear to me as true sight is to anyone else. My train of thought was interrupted when Stump spoke up.

“Well, you see…I like to write poetry. It’s easy to find words about something like that. I could compare them to a flower, like a black Iris…it has multiple meanings. Your dark irises, combined with your black hair make the whites of your eyes stand out more. It shows insecurity to not to look someone in the eye when they’re talking, but since your pupils and irises are nearly the same color, no one would be able to tell where exactly they’re looking, but I can tell…you always look people straight in the eyes…which means you’re more secure than most people. I like to look at people’s eyes, you can see what kind of person someone is by looking at them. But you, it’s the opposite. They’re hypnotizing almost…it’s like you can see what I’m thinking…or at least, that’s what I would write, or…while I would write about them…that’s…what you were asking, right?”

Wow. That was a long string of words. It intrigued me, how he could come up with all of this just like that. I was a good thinker too, but more analytically. Logically. That’s why I can figure people out fast. He liked writing poetry, he said. I blinked, but this time, in amazement. I felt like I had just been exposed. He had totally figured me out, well, maybe not all of me. But, he was observant enough to know that I looked at him straight into his eyes. Not many people are secure enough to do that, but I guess that I… am. I was truly astounded, completely surprised. So, I’m opposite, I thought. I suppose this is true, given the fact that I don’t want anyone to totally understand me. There’s no fun in that. Once again, my eyes widened ever so slightly and my face looked mildly dumbfounded. By the sound of his voice, Stump’s poetry meant a lot to him. That was the most he’d said so far, and it was a far reach from the rest of his word count.

“That’s… very observant of you. And yes...” I was still too far into my mental funk to say anything more intelligent.

[heartwood]

Does, Thinks, Says, Hears

It was the first time she had shown any emotion on her face. She spoke a little more than usual. I don’t know what to say after; I can’t tell if I’ve made her feel awkward, or violated, after all, it was her physical appearance I was commenting on.

“Yea…I like to pay close attention to things.”

Maybe it was the heat messing with me. Maybe it was because I’m used to being the one who talked the least, not the one who spit out rants about irises, but I figure I should apologize, I don’t know why, it just seems like the normal thing to do.

“Sorry if I caught you off-guard…I don’t usually rant like that.”

Tags: The Shining One | Words: 720
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[The Shining One]

Still temporarily amazed, I thought about what he had said. Black irises... I understand how that has a double meaning. Hey, I'm learning some poetry! Never am I usually this affected by someone's words. It's probably because no one has ever spoke about me poem-wise, but that aside, never.

Then he said, “Yea…I like to pay close attention to things.” A second later he added, “Sorry if I caught you off-guard…I don’t usually rant like that.” So, my prediction was correct. But it must have been a subconscious prediction, since I don't remember making it. He's like me in a way: quiet, but with an active mind and sharp eyes.

"You didn't. I've just never been described that way." I said with an internal smile. No one else felt it or saw it except for me, but I knew it was there. But I never smile. Is the heat getting to me?

[heartwood]

Does, Thinks, Says, Hears

I settle on the fact that this is going to be the speed of the conversation, and I’m grateful for it. Usually, if someone is talking to me, they are giving me some sort of command for work, venting, or asking me to solve a problem in school.

I wipe a beat of sweat off my forehead, and look up at the sun for the time. It should be getting cooler, but my parents will be expecting me to bring back dinner, which means going to the market and using some coins to buy us all food.

I look back at the girl who seems to be pondering something.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the market before sundown.” I nod briefly, and take one last look at her eyes, trying to remember every quirk for my next poem. I look around for my bowl and bark, leaving the twig on the floor; I can always get another twig. I pick them up and secure them in my pouch.

“It was nice meeting you Aleta.” I can’t help but think about how less monotonous my voice sounds I sling my pouch around my shoulder, and start heading towards the market.

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